Seven

"Catherine? Julia? Is that you? Oh, come quickly, please!"

Lady Cavendish's voice was the first thing that greeted Catherine as she was attended into the entrance hall of Broxcliffe Park by the butler. It was shrill, full of distress and accompanied by the hasty scurry of feet as Catherine's aunt suddenly came into view on the landing, galloping down the stairs before coming to a halt as she reached the hall and took in Catherine's drenched, dishevelled and shivering state.

"Catherine – whatever has happened to you?" cried Lady Cavendish, her voice creeping up another octave, face blanching as another thought suddenly occurred to her. "And – and where is Julia?"

"Julia is perfectly well, Aunt, do not worry yourself. She has accompanied Miss Russell to Wyndham Hall by carriage," Catherine told the hysterical woman urgently, suddenly not so envious of Julia's current situation. If the usually sensible Lady Cavendish was so worked-up at their being out in this weather, she could not imagine what sort of state Lady Russell might have worked herself into by now.

"We found ourselves caught in the rain down in Barnbury when Professor Lawes drove by and offered his carriage. He then journeyed to Broxcliffe Park with me on foot," Catherine added grimly, rather reluctant to share that piece of humiliating information with her aunt.

"On foot?" echoed Lady Cavendish incredulously, eyes popping. She seemed briefly lost for words, unable to decide which of the professor's wrongs she was most angered by.

"What a dreadful man!" she exclaimed once she finally found her voice. "Evidently intelligence does not count for much in terms of manners. I cannot imagine what he was thinking, having you traipse through the mud together – did he not consider what it would mean for your reputation if you were seen alone with him, completely unchaperoned? Besides that, he clearly has no regard for the delicacy of a lady's health. I will send for Nancy to help you change at once, and then I must urge that you sit awhile by the fire and rest, for I fear dreadfully you will catch cold – but, oh Catherine!"

Lady Cavendish's speech had become increasingly distorted as it went on, quite incomprehensible by the time it tailed off in a high-pitched wail. Fearing her aunt was close to fainting, Catherine attempted to usher her into a nearby armchair. However, as Catherine tried to soothe her, Lady Cavendish seemed only to become even more hysterical, beginning to sob loudly in a most uncharacteristic fashion.

By this point Catherine was feeling increasingly unnerved - there was clearly something more sinister accounting for her aunt's  troubled state. Catherine was just wondering if she had better send for Sir William or a doctor when Sir William himself appeared on the landing, hurrying down the stairs as his wife had done moments previously.

"You have been told, I presume?" he asked Catherine sorrowfully, examining his wife's distressed countenance anxiously before doing a double-take at the muddy puddle of water Catherine's dripping clothing had created around her.

"Told of what, Uncle?" Catherine asked in a faltering voice. Her stomach began to twist itself in knots as she looked from one drawn face to the other, suddenly dreading what Sir William had to say.

Lady Cavendish let out a distressed whimper, covering her face with her handkerchief. Her husband gently squeezed her hand in a reassuring manner, before turning back to Catherine with an anguished expression on his face.

"There has been a letter, from Donbroke," began Sir William; speaking as though each word caused him a great deal of pain. Catherine's stomach contracted further as a deep sense of foreboding washed over her, heightened by a sorrowful sniff from Lady Cavendish.

"It grieves me to be the bearer of bad news, Catherine – but your mother writes to inform me that your sister Elizabeth has been taken seriously ill, and requests that you journey back to Warwick as soon as possible."

In that moment, Catherine's world came apart at the seams.

"Bessie," she moaned softly, backing herself into a chair as she felt her knees give way.

A handful of emotions tore through Catherine's heart simultaneously: pain, mixed with despair, along with the harsh sting of guilt. For Catherine had known, deep down, that something like this was going to happen – it was the very reason she had been hesitant about leaving Donbroke in the first place. Bessie was too weak to keep her spirits lifted without Catherine's care and attention; Catherine knew this better than anyone, yet she had left her sister alone anyway.

And now Bessie was paying the price for Catherine's neglect.

Bile rose in Catherine's throat as she tortured herself with the image of her darling sister, weak, bedridden and terrified. Catherine had always been right there at the bedside whenever Bessie was ill, to comfort her and put her at ease – but now, she had left her sister to face her illness completely alone.

Well, Bessie would not be alone for long. Now that the initial shock had worn off, Catherine suddenly found herself springing into action, all but leaping from the armchair and rushing up the stairs without another moment's consideration.

"I must return at once!" she called over her shoulder, leaving her stunned aunt and uncle in the hall below.

"Catherine, you will make yourself ill!" she heard Lady Cavendish exclaim. "Imagine how your poor mother would feel then!"

Lady Cavendish's words did tug on Catherine's heartstrings, but she forced herself to ignore them and continued moving towards her bedchamber. There was currently no room in her head to consider anyone but Bessie, and the all-consuming desire to be back at Donbroke, at her side. If Catherine did catch cold, then so be it; she had always been fortunate enough to be a strong and healthy young woman, able to fight off illness easily. Not like Bessie – she had always been a poor, frail creature, plagued with maladies from birth. If she truly was as ill as her mother said...

The prospect of not making it home in time drove Catherine into a complete state of frenzy. She had reached her bedchamber now, and began hurling gowns into her trunk haphazardly, unable to care about folding them properly at such a time as this. In this frame of mind she was not to be reasoned with, so when she heard footsteps approaching outside all sorts of emotions boiled up at once, and, manners forgotten, she turned to face the door ready to give Lady Cavendish a piece of her mind. But all the exclamations of anger died almost instantly on her tongue, because it was in fact Sir William who stood in the doorway, an expression of forced calm on his face.

"I have requested that the carriage be prepared for departure as soon as possible," he said simply.

Catherine, who had opened her mouth ready to argue, shut it again with a snap.

"Oh," was all she managed in reply.

At any other time Catherine would be mortified at her lack of politeness, but fortunately Sir William seemed to be of the opinion that this was not a moment at which remembering correct manners was of great importance.

"Nancy will be up momentarily to assist with your packing," Sir William went on, eyes flickering briefly over to the heap of gowns piled in Catherine's trunk, "and then, as soon as I have seen to it that all business here will be taken care of during my absence, we may take our leave."

After all that had happened so far that morning, Catherine's mind was working rather slowly, so it took her a moment or two to comprehend her uncle's meaning.

"Your – your absence?" she stuttered, once she understood. "But, Uncle, surely you cannot mean to join me?"

"That is indeed my intention."

"Uncle, I simply cannot ask this of you. My aunt and cousins..."

"William will remain here," Sir William interrupted, "and I am perfectly confident that he will take good care of both your aunt and Julia during my absence. I will not hear anything further on this subject, Catherine, for it is quite decided. What respectable man would allow a lady to embark on a journey of this length alone, much less his niece? No, I am accompanying you, and that is that."

Catherine suddenly felt overwhelmed with a rush of gratitude towards her uncle. She tried to thank him but the words caught in her throat, and for a moment she dearly wanted nothing more than to fall apart in Sir William's arms and have her comfort her as if she were still a little girl. But falling apart would not do; she needed to remain strong until she reached Donbroke, for both her mother's sake and Bessie's. Mrs Taylor, prone to worry and distress, had always counted on her eldest daughter to remain calm, especially where matters with Bessie were concerned - Catherine could not let her mother down.

With a heavy sigh, Catherine mustered the strength to pull herself together.

"Thank you, Uncle," she replied earnestly, determinedly blinking tears from her eyes. "Truly, thank you. I..."

"Hush, now, dear," murmured Sir William gently, just as Nancy appeared in the doorway. "The sooner we are on our way, the better."

***

With Nancy's quiet, efficient help, Catherine had changed into a dry gown and packed all her belongings within half an hour. She felt extremely glad of the maid's assistance; her hands were fumbling so much that she was quite incapable of undressing herself,  due to the violent shivers now coursing through her body. As the butler was called to carry the trunk down to the now awaiting carriage, Catherine gave Nancy her heartfelt thanks, before making her way to the hall where Lady Cavendish and William were waiting to bid them farewell. Julia, of course, was still at Wyndham Hall, and Catherine felt a sharp pang in her chest as she realised things would have to be left unresolved between them – but nothing could be done about that now. Bessie was Catherine's priority.

By now Lady Cavendish had managed to compose herself a little - or so Catherine thought. However, a fresh wave of hysteria came over her aunt as she embraced Catherine, and in the end she had to be helped away by her own maid. William remained determinedly expressionless as he gave Catherine a solemn embrace, and despite her distracted state of mind Catherine could not help feeling mortified at this closeness with her cousin after her rude behaviour at the ball. Perhaps the only positive thing about Catherine's removal to Warwick was the opportunity to spend some time away from William; hopefully by the next time she visited all the unpleasantness would be forgotten.

Within another five minutes Sir William appeared, affairs in order, and they were free to be on their way. As the carriage conveyed them along the drive out of Broxcliffe Park, Catherine gazed out at the sandstone building disappearing out of sight with mixed emotions. Part of her felt extremely glad to be leaving Barnbury, for her visit had not at all lived up to her expectations, and she had spent a large portion of her time there feeling rather miserable. Another part of her, though, couldn't help feeling rather wistful – she felt sure that Barnbury had more to offer than what she had experienced.

Catherine had found the journey to Barnbury agonisingly slow, spending most of it impatiently waiting to arrive at Broxcliffe Park. But now Catherine was quickly learning that there was a notable difference between impatience, and desperation, which was what she currently felt. It was as if her every thought was consumed with willing the carriage onwards; every fibre of her being yearning to be at Bessie's side. On the road as they were, Mrs Taylor had no means of conveying news to them – so it would only be once they arrived at Donbroke that Catherine would discover if she had arrived too late.

Such dreadful circumstances coupled with large periods of time with nothing to do but think is never a good combination, and indeed Catherine spent most of this journey in a state of utter mental turmoil. Sir William attempted to offer comfort whenever possible, but knew that he could not do much more for his niece than simply providing company. Both Catherine and Sir William were extremely relieved, therefore, when at long last the carriage crossed the border into the county of Warwickshire - but now mingled with Catherine's wild impatience to reach Donbroke was also a simmering sickness deep in the pit of her stomach as she anticipated what might meet her there.

The sickening sensation clutched tighter at Catherine's stomach as they finally pulled up outside Donbroke, for not a moment later the front door was flung open and Mrs Taylor came hurrying down the steps to meet them. Catherine sucked in a startled breath as she took in her mother's dishevelled state; her usually pristine ringlets were unravelling and flying behind her, and she clutched a handkerchief to her blotchy red face. Without bothering to wait for Sir William, Catherine darted out of the carriage and was at her mother's side in a heartbeat.

"Mama?" Catherine choked, in a strangled voice quite unlike her own. "Is she-?"

Mrs Taylor simply shook her head, unable to speak, and with an anguished wail, threw herself into her eldest daughter's arms.

By now Sir William had reached Catherine's side, and without a moment's hesitation Catherine withdrew from her mother's arms and left her with Sir William, trying to ignore Mrs Taylor's violent sobs as she rushed up the stairs and through the still open front door.

It was the silence that hit her first.

Donbroke was often quiet when Catherine's brothers were away at school, but not like this. This was a cold, stifling silence which shrouded the house, as if the very walls were afraid of breathing. It sent a shiver running up Catherine's spine, chilling her very bones, as she suddenly became overwhelmed by an ominous feeling of finality. For a few moments Catherine felt completely removed from reality as she became encompassed by the ghostly atmosphere - but a creaking floorboard overhead jolted her abruptly back to her senses.

With a deep, shuddering breath Catherine steadied her thoughts, before beginning to ascend the stairs towards her sister's bedchamber.