Amanda whistled. “A surgeon—and Joseph Lister no less! Oh, dear, this does sound serious.”
“My mother has been complaining of not sleeping well nights, from discomfort in her foot.”
“You don’t suppose it’s a return of the terrible gout she had years ago?”
“I don’t know.” Louise set Eddie down. He continued trying to scramble up the wall to better see out the window. “I had better go and check on her.”
“You must. And we’ll be off. It’s time for Eddie’s nap, and his mother could use a rest as well. I’ll see you tonight at the banquet, my dear.” Amanda kissed her on the cheek. “We’ll walk ourselves out. Eddie has to play horsy along the way and annoy the servants.”
Louise rested a hand on the little boy’s head, and her heart swelled with affection. She’d come to terms with giving him up, hard as it had been. Amanda was a wonderful mother. Giving him over to her was the best thing she could have done for him, under the circumstances. How many other desperate mothers had sacrificed their babies—unable to afford to feed them or to face society’s scorn at their bringing a child into the world without a proper husband? The very thought made her feel ill.
Louise ran into her mother’s maid of honor on her way through the palace. “What’s happening? I saw Dr. Lister arrive.”
The woman shook her head, frowning. “Her Majesty’s foot is causing her excruciating pain. She’s been so very brave, not speaking of it for days. She’s worried he won’t let her leave her bed. She could barely walk on it this morning.”
“Oh dear,” Louise said. “Where is she now? With Lister, I assume.”
“In her privy chamber, Your Highness. She hasn’t left it all morning.”
Not a good sign, Louise thought. Her mother usually was a whirlwind of activity, tackling one task after another so long as her health held. But when she was in pain she might spend an entire day, or as long as a week, shut off in her room.
Louise arrived at her mother’s chamber, breathless. Her brother Alfred was already there, standing outside the closed door, pacing.
“What’s Lister saying, Affie?” she asked.
“Not a word yet.”
“She will be so disappointed if she can’t go to the church tomorrow.”
He nodded. “I think her own doctor has already advised her not to go.” He chuckled and brushed a hand over his dark beard. “At least I expect that was the reason for the outburst a moment ago. I heard her shout something quite rude at the man.” He gave her a bemused smile. “If she’s able to rally that much energy I can’t believe she’s as helpless as these physicians think.”
Louise couldn’t have agreed more.
Finally the door opened. Edwards and Lister stepped into the hallway, consulting in hushed voices, their faces drawn. Louise stepped forward to be seen, and the two men stopped and bowed.
“Your Royal Highness,” Joseph Lister said, “you, at least, look in good health.”
“I am, sir. And you? You are involved in experimental treatments I’ve heard.”
“Yes indeed, important studies of aseptic treatment of wounds, and I’m anxious to return to the work immediately. I must excuse myself. Dr. Edwards will fill you in on your mother’s condition and my recommendations.” He bowed again and took his leave.
Louise turned to her mother’s physician. “Is it the gout again?” She was aware of another figure joining them and glanced around to see the Prince of Wales step up beside her. Although still early in the day, Bertie was already decked out in full military uniform with epaulets, gold braid, and enough medals to sink a small ship.
“The gout,” Edwards repeated, “yes, as I feared it would be. The good news, according to Lister, is that it will be temporary and subside if she keeps off the foot.”
“Good luck with that,” Louise said.
Affie stepped forward. “But the Accession Day celebration, tomorrow?”
The doctor rolled his eyes. “Yes, we’ve both suggested a postponement might be in order. But I’m afraid your mother is having none of it. She will go to the church despite the cost in pain.”
Louise nearly smiled. So predictable her mother was. “What about treatment?”
“I’ve bandaged her foot, dosed her mildly with morphine for the pain, which is all she would allow. I’ve prescribed laudanum, and she can take that at any time. Whether or not she will take it, I cannot say. Her diet will be changed—less meat and rich foods, more vegetables. I’m on my way to her head chef to give my instructions.” He looked gravely at Louise. “Perhaps you can encourage her to make, at least, a few simple changes in the arrangements for the rest of today and tomorrow?”
“Anything. Just tell me what I’m to do.” She hadn’t forgotten the impossible situation her mother had put her in. Marrying her off to Lorne had been bad enough. Shipping them to the Canadian wilderness was a devious trick, and Louise would confront her mother and tell her so when the time was right. Eventually she’d need to decide whether or not she could ever forgive the woman for manipulating her life so. But Louise found no joy in seeing her mother suffer.
“Her Majesty’s spirits are low,” the doctor was saying. “She needs to be distracted from dwelling on the pain. If you can, get her out of that oppressive dark room when she wakes from the medicine. Wheel her around outside in her garden chair.”
“Of course.”
Bertie said, “And I? What can I be doing, doctor?”
Edwards thought for a moment. “Just spending time with her will be encouraging but—”
“Yes?”
“Tell me, do you know her actual arrangements for traveling to the church tomorrow?”
“She’ll use her coronation coach, of course. It’s partially open, allowing her to be seen by her subjects and wave to them as we pass. There will be six in her coach. Rather a tight fit if you ask me, but that’s her plan.”
“I see.” Edwards nodded and touched the knuckles of one hand to his lips in thought. “The thing is, she’ll be better off with the foot elevated. The garden chair can be adjusted to allow for that here. But she’ll need to be carried into the church. She won’t like it, but I’ve told her it’s the only way, as she’s to put no pressure at all on the foot. The other problem is the open carriage. With so many of you in it, she won’t be able to keep the foot supported without it being seen from the street. To make the trip easier on her, I suggest you arrange for a smaller, partially closed carriage. Let her take one other person with her for company. She can keep the foot elevated without feeling self-conscious.”
“I’ll go now and see the stable master about that,” Bertie said. He turned to Louise. “Perhaps that ornate lacquered sedan chair, the gift of the Mikado, might be employed to convey her in grand fashion from the carriage into the church? She might fight that less than being carried.”
“Perfect,” Louise agreed. “I’ll arrange for it to be brought up from the carriage house.” She gave her brother a cautionary look. “She won’t like any of this, you know.”
He laughed. “Oh, how well I know!”
Forty-eight
Louise had just ordered the wheeled garden chair brought to her mother’s room, and was on her way there herself, when one of their servants approached her from the opposite end of the hall. He stopped just ahead of her, bowed, and held out a silver salver on which rested a folded sheet of paper.
“Thank you, Henson. Is a response expected?”
“The young”—he coughed delicately into his hand before finding a gentle enough word to express his disdain—“person who delivered it did not wait for one, Your Highness.”