From Governess to Countess (Matches Made in Scandal #1)(58)

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘You must have felt the same feeling of helplessness countless times, in battle.’

He leaned over to take her hand. Her fingers were icy compared to his. She allowed herself the comfort of his touch for a fleeting moment, but then she slipped free from his clasp. ‘I’ve never spoken of it. But I think it’s time. If you care to listen?’

He nodded. And so she braced herself to speak. She had relived that fateful night on so many occasions, in her dreams and in her waking nightmares, yet she had never once articulated her feelings, never once described events in words. It was dreadful and it was draining and it was difficult, but as she explained the unfolding drama to Aleksei, the little boy’s symptoms, the various remedies she had tried, a certain calm took over.

‘I would not allow myself to believe the outcome would be fatal,’ she said. ‘He was not the first patient I had lost, but on previous occasions the cause was clear, I knew the sickness, knew the odds. With this little one, there was no explanation for the fever, no reason that I could determine for my herbal remedies to fail, because they had always worked in similar cases before. I did increase the dose beyond what I would usually administer to such a small child, I did do that, Aleksei, and I did tell his mother that I was doing so. When he did not improve but worsened, I could not believe that it was because of my herbs—but I have to accept that it might have been.’

She drew a shaky breath. Aleksei said nothing, waiting for her to continue, his blue eyes intently focused on her. ‘In the end, they summoned an eminent physician. Dr Anthony Merchmont.’ She could not repress a shudder. ‘A renowned expert in childhood illnesses. When he first arrived I was at my wits’ end and I was—I was actually relieved to see him. The little boy was dying, and in such pain, I thought—I so foolishly thought—that we would be united in trying to ease his suffering, if not in curing him.’

Her lip curled as she remembered the way the physician had looked down his nose at her, had commanded her to leave. ‘It was the boy’s mother who insisted I remain. She trusted me—at that point, she still trusted me.’ It was so very painful to recall the woman’s face when she believed that Allison had betrayed her.

The climax to the tragic tale was quickly told. ‘Dr Merchmont did only what any other physician would have done for a fever. He cupped blood. He applied blisters.’ And the child had screamed and screamed as the heated glass was placed on his back, and she had tried to intervene, because it was obvious by then that the harsh treatment was draining what little strength the child had left. ‘He died in his mother’s arms as dawn was breaking. I have never witnessed such raw grief.’

There was no blocking this memory. The silence, the stillness of the shock, the utter disbelief. And then the screaming. Allison wrapped her arms around herself. ‘He was five years old, only a year older than Nikki. Two days before, he was in perfect health, and now he was lying there, like a—a wax doll, and his mother could not believe he was gone. I could not believe it myself. I still find it...’ A sob racked her body, and she tightened her grip on herself, motioning Aleksei away. ‘Let me finish. I have not yet described the aftermath.’

Now anger fizzed again inside her. ‘He—Dr Merchmont—his first reaction was to absolve himself completely of any blame. He was called in too late, he said. By this time his lordship—the child’s father was in the sickroom, so angry, looking for fault—and who can blame him for that, but...’ Allison clenched her fists. ‘There was so much shouting, and all the while the child, the poor little boy was lying there, his mother cradling him in her arms and rocking him, as if he were simply asleep.’

She paused, took several deep breaths. ‘I don’t know, I can’t recall precisely how—it must have been her, or the maid who disclosed the fact that I had increased the dose of my herbal potion. The poor woman, she did not intend to point the finger at me, but she was hysterical and I—well, it was true, I had increased the dose.’

Aleksei swore viciously. ‘So this Merchmont fellow seized the opportunity to pin the blame on you, even though it might have been his intervention which hastened the boy’s death?’

He was incredulous and, Allison now realised, rightly so. ‘It was easy enough to do,’ she said, tight-lipped, ‘and I made it easier for him, for I didn’t defend myself. How could I, when I thought—when it was possible that I had contributed in some way?’

‘Allison, you don’t really believe that? Had you ever made such a miscalculation before?’

The very same question The Procurer had posed. ‘No, I had not, and I am as sure as I can be that what I did was not harmful.’

‘Then why didn’t you defend yourself?’

‘Because by the time I had recovered from the shock of what had happened, it was far too late.’ She told him then, in clipped tones, of the orchestrated campaign waged against her. Of the slanderous things which had been said of her. The lies. And the defilement of her reputation.

Aleksei listened, anger and resentment at her treatment burning in his eyes. ‘What did you do?’

He expected her to have acted. It was flattering. And mortifying. What a poor wee soul she had been. ‘Nothing,’ Allison confessed. ‘And by doing nothing, I tacitly admitted my guilt.’