Gentlemen of Gloucestershire: Chapter 12

Had Henry merely dozed the next few days, unconscious and without knowledge of the world, Catherine might have been quite bored. She was not fitted for languor by nature or inclination, and was always happiest when she and her husband could find reason to enjoy the open air. An uninterrupted state of idleness, with only Shakespeare and Pope for company, might have sorely tried her troth to serve in sickness. She later reflected how wicked and ungrateful the heart of woman was: had she been spared any real affliction, she might have been provoked to frustration, or worse still, even been tempted to resent her husband for imprisoning her, albeit unwillingly.

For the truth is that while the long morning continued unabated with little in the way of distraction, the afternoon more than compensated for this respite. Henry's sleep grew fretful as the hours passed, his coughing returning in fits and starts, and though Catherine kept a steady regime of cool cloths upon him, his fever raged on. By the time the clock chimed three it could not rightly be presumed that Henry was resting at all. To Catherine's mind it seemed he barely breathed without also violently expelling that same air, with sounds that wrenched her heart as much as his own frame.

She had attempted to ask if he wanted something to eat, for he must be hungry, but it was all she could do to get him to drink the cup she pressed to his lips. He did not appear to understand her even when turning in her direction, the lucidity of the morning lost in whatever delirious state he inhabited, his voice low and unintelligible.

Another wife might have lamented the fate that made her nursemaid to her husband's ills. Catherine, though, was not such a person; as she had experience in treating sick brothers and sisters at home, she did not think it beneath her dignity to do the same for Henry. Indeed, she managed to spare a prayer of thanks that she was so close by, for however awful the experience was, ignorance would be worse still. At least she had the satisfaction of knowing he was relying on her. She revelled every time she was able to get more water in him, and grieved when she must clean up the mess made when he was unable to keep it down. She could not spare a thought for her own suffering while his continued.

This pattern lasted well into evening. Catherine did not think to ask a tray be prepared for herself, not even when the maid brought the doctor's prescribed plate of gruel and thin wine for the sick man. It did not look very appetizing to her, and she privately wondered if it was really a good thing for Henry. "Please, is there anything else cool he might have?" she asked.

But the girl was at a loss to answer, and only said she would look about as she replaced the chamber ware and supply of cloths. All too soon she took the dirty articles for cleaning. Catherine had no notion of directing she return after a certain time, or even to command that special things be sent for. She merely turned all her attentions back to her poor husband.

After some doing she managed to coax him into a sitting position. "You must eat something Henry," she said, taking up the bowl and spoon. It was not easy, as he barely seemed aware of what she was doing, but Catherine had not fed two sisters and a brother from infancy for nothing. She cajoled and guided, and was satisfied to see at least some of the bowl emptied before another fit interrupted their progress.

The drink at least helped, laced as it was with the medicinal drops, and Henry at last subsided into another nervous sleep. Catherine felt tired herself when he ceased tossing, and longed to lay beside him with arms wrapped protectively around, as he was wont to do after a trying day. Instead she dozed as she could, keeping a hand lightly pressed to his so that the slightest movement would alert her to his needs. It was only when she tried to read again that Catherine noticed how very dark it had become, and close upon that realization was another: that she had stupidly forgot to ask for a fresh candle.

That night was a long ordeal: brief snatches of rest followed by uncountable bouts of care. Sometimes she could only reach out to hold him still, and it seemed her murmurs did occasionally soothe his restlessness. All the while she reminded him of her presence, promised she would not leave him, and prayed he would recover enough of his senses to realize it. For pressed close she occasionally heard him call for his sister and once for someone else; she did not recognize the appellation but thought it might have been his mother, though dead for so many years. "And how awful if he should fancy himself all alone, with no one to care for him."

It did not surprise her that the name of Henry's father never passed his lips.

Morning brought the maid with fresh supplies. The girl was shocked to discover the lady in the same position as she had been in yesterday, mussed and beleaguered. "Are you unwell too, ma'am?"

Catherine shook her head, but could not keep a sigh from escaping. "I am very hungry," she admitted. "But I do not require much; only, is there some fruit I might have?"

The girl said she would return with something; it was of the same tone as yesterday's promise, so that Catherine did not bother hoping for relief and turned instead to the task of once again getting sustenance in her husband.

He seemed more coherent, if still weak, and readily accepted her spoonfuls. Catherine could not tell if he actually felt cooler or if it was merely a trick of her mind, but decided to press water to him regardless and was happy to see him drink it without mishap. His coughs were farther apart, and he slipped back into sleep without nearly as much resistance. Almost she could be persuaded of his recovery.

She had just begun to tidy up from this light repast when the maid returned with the housekeeper, who asked that Mrs. Tilney step outside for a discussion. Catherine reluctantly did so lest any whisper interrupt her husband's hard-won rest, and found herself solicited to leave her haven permanently. "Surely the young lady wished to change, and get some rest herself in another room: it was for them to make sure the master was fed."

Catherine was so out of sorts she nearly asked if that were the case, where they had been all this time. But she contented herself to reply that she was happy where she was.

The maid looked of a mind to disagree but the housekeeper ordered her to set about the morning’s cleaning, and waited until they were alone to speak again. "You are very good to attend your husband. But I am sure he would not want you to grow ill caring for him. Will you not repair to the neighbouring room? I promise to remain here, and you will be able to hear if there is any change."

"I am grateful for your concern but I have vowed to keep to this chamber, and I must keep my word. I only asked for a little something to eat, but if that is not allowed I will not trouble about it."

This speech, delivered without martyrdom or coyness, astonished the other woman so that she could not find any further arguments, and when the maid came out with her burdens the lady was able to make her escape back into the room unmolested. It did not occur to Catherine to find a champion among the household, or to use her position in any way that did not directly tie back to regaining Henry's health. Rather foolishly, although based on hard experience, she did not think there were many in the abbey of warm feelings, and certainly could not believe one among them would resist whatever miserly plot the general might design for his second son.

After another hour had ticked by the housekeeper returned, this time asking if the lady would please accept the food she brought. Amazed and dull with fatigue, Catherine readily accepted, and fell onto the meal with more vigour than her earlier words might have foretold. This absorption meant she barely noticed the other's work until finished, when glancing up she saw a small cot setup in the corner of the room. Seeing her looks, the older woman smiled. "The lady looked much better after a meal, would she be willing to lay down a bit?"

There was a suggestion in Catherine's mind that she ought not to violate the spirit of her promise to keep by Henry's bedside, conscious as she was of his murmurs and worried it betrayed a turmoil of the mind as well as the flesh. But her constitution, though hearty, was unused to this fatiguing work, and she decided it could not signify to be separated from him by a few feet. "And he is sleeping soundly enough, he may be more comfortable if I do not hover over him," was her lucky recollection. She thanked and dismissed the housekeeper, and though dubious of her ability to sleep when her nerves were so keyed, fell into a repose nearly as soon as she had lain down.

When she awoke it was midafternoon, and after assuring herself Henry looked no worse (even if he also appeared no better), was glad of the refreshment her nap provided. Though as the day appeared as fine as the one before, she was disappointed not to indulge in a walk about the grounds.

The housekeeper checked on her by and by, and Catherine felt encouraged to ask for candles and more writing materials. "And, would it be possible, when Mr. Tilney's tray was brought, for it to have a bit of honey added? She was sure the doctor could not object, and it might aid him in receiving his nourishment better." All was provided without question, to Catherine's great relief.

Unable to consider what else to do, she settled on more letters, and found herself penning one to her husband, an activity not practised since the period when her engagement had been a private affair, known only to their families. In doing so she found release for her emotions, unable to be voiced to the slumbering form before her, and found that like many such activities, time apart had not diminished its attraction nor distinction.

When the trays were brought Catherine ate her breakfast quickly, wishing to preserve what rest her husband still enjoyed as long as possible. She was sure his colour was much better, and though still warm his flesh was not as fiery as it had been. These encouraging signs lightened her spirits as much as her earlier rest, and she wished she could avoid waking him altogether. But she would not risk his recovery by foolish inattention to the doctor's instructions: Henry's strength must be kept up.

He startled at her touch and call with a motion more alert than any in the past day, and she felt she had never been happier than when he looked directly at her with a question of "Catherine?"

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Today's supplemental blog feature is on the Austenesque Reviews website: I share more of my writing journey, especially how COVID-19 impacted this book, and a sneak peek of what's to come.