The Noble Life

Eight

Everything in Bessie's room was grey; from the eerie half-light cast by the drapes covering the window, to the face of the shrivelled invalid lying in the enormous four-poster bed. Grey specks had also appeared in the hair of the familiar figure standing over Bessie since the last time Catherine had seen him. The hushed silence dominated the atmosphere in here, so prominent that Catherine felt as though she should not break it by speaking. But break it she must; she had to know.

"Dr Lovell," Catherine hissed, as quietly as she could

The greying man turned to face her, and Catherine's heart sank as she noted how his brow was creased with worry.

Dr Lovell had been an all-too-regular visitor at Donbroke over the years. It was he who had delivered little baby Elizabeth, and he who had made the declaration most dreaded by all new parents: that their new baby was weak and feeble, and not healthy. Naturally Mrs Taylor had not taken this news well – Catherine seemed to remember the smelling-salts being required on that particular occasion – and although the family desperately hoped that Dr Lovell was mistaken in his judgement, he had, in fact, been proven correct several times over the following thirteen years.

Each winter seemed to bring a new malady for Bessie, even after Mrs Taylor decided to prevent her from venturing outside more than necessary during the colder months. She had contracted smallpox as a small infant, which had caused a very early scare for the Taylor family. Thankfully Bessie managed to pull through, but it seemed no time before she was taken ill again, with measles this time. Once again Bessie made a recovery, but several winters since then she had suffered with influenza, and had caught cold more times than Catherine cared to recall.

Throughout each of these ailments, the good Dr Lovell had always been present, offering both treatment for Bessie and support for the family. Without him, Catherine truly felt the entire family would have crumbled during a couple of the darkest moments they had experienced. For there had been various occasions when the outlook had been very bleak indeed; far too many times when Bessie had almost been taken from them for good. During these periods Dr Lovell was their rock – a constant in an otherwise topsy-turvy world, remaining calm and professional, disguising his fears well.

This was how Catherine knew the seriousness of the situation now.

"How bad?" she gulped, having captured the doctor's attention. Her eyes darted briefly over to Bessie's bed, breath catching in her throat as she once again took in her sister's colourless face. Bessie had always been a pale-skinned child, but now her complexion was the speckled grey of a bowl of porridge.

"Oh, Catherine," murmured Dr Lovell – he was well past the need for formalities with the Taylor family by now – "thank goodness you have come."

Fear snaked through Catherine's veins at the doctor's words, extinguishing any sense of relief she'd felt at discovering Bessie still alive. The way he spoke – it was as if the outcome was certain. It was as if Dr Lovell was saying she had arrived just in time.

Just in time to say goodbye.

"Please tell me plain what ails my sister, doctor – and – and inform me of the m-most likely outcome," said Catherine through trembling lips, fighting against the tears on the verge of trickling down her cheeks. "I must know the truth."

Dr Lovell hesitated before replying, as if unsure of the best thing to do. But the steely look of determination in Catherine's eyes seemed to win him over.

"It is pneumonia," Dr Lovell admitted, taking hold of Catherine's hand and gently steering her into one of the armchairs at Bessie's bedside, no doubt usually occupied by Mrs Taylor. "It has taken a firm hold, and as frail as she is, I fear she is currently in a very vulnerable position. She is a fighter, though, is young Bessie – we all know that. In order to give her the best chance possible, it is imperative that Bessie's surroundings are made very hygienic, and that she does not come into contact with anyone who is at all unwell. With her immune system as weak as it currently is, the slightest infection could be enough to..."