Yes its shorter than it could have been, but I can only stay in moody Frederick mode for a short time cause its so utterly depressing, and while it might have been interesting, I just cant go on for pages about how hopeless he is feeling, and how his heart aches and how, oh how he wishes for a second chance…sometimes less is more.
The night passed.
To Frederick, it went neither slowly nor fast as he kept up his vigil at her side. He sat straight in the chair by the bed only occasionally moving when he deemed that her forehead needed mopping or that her lips needed to be moistened.
He was almost afraid to blink.
Scared that if he took his eyes off her, then something might happen and he would lose her. And he did not think he would be able to cope with that. To say that he had been reckless back in the year six, when fighting against the hurt and confusion of broken engagement from her, would be nothing compared to how he might be if he lost her for good.
It sent shivers down his spine just thinking about it.
He knew that they had not been on the best of terms lately, something that was entirely his own fault, he had been a complete bastard towards her on his return and was paying for it now.
Honourably engaged to one woman while his heart belonged to another.
It was all a mess.
A mess he himself had created. Had he of had more energy and been willing to be out of her sight, then he might have gone to find an outlet for his anger. As it was, he remained in his seat and allowed it to stew and fester, becoming more and more depressed and desperate as the hours passed and she still did not show any signs of getting better.
She tossed and turned often. He caught the barest sounds of names from her lips, but was unsure of whom she called for. He held onto her hand often, trying to warm the flesh with the hope that she might wake under his touch.
It was a foolish belief but it kept him going.
It was more than once that he had to wipe at his face, the tears coming of their own accord. He opened his mouth to speak many times throughout the night but could not find the words to say to her, even in the state that she was in, he did not want to belittle her with half assed words of comfort and regret.
Words of love that he could not fully honour.
Margaret Harville was in at six, stoking the fire and laying on a bowl of fresh water and a light breakfast for him. He did not feel like eating but one look from the woman of the house sent him reaching for a slice of toast and stuffing it quickly in his mouth. His mouth was dry and it took a whole cup of tea to wash the toasted bread down.
She had a knowing look in her eye and Frederick was left in no doubt that she now knew the whole story of Anne and himself. He lowered his eyes to the ground when she caught them, ashamed at the way he had been acting before and what she must think of him after everything that had happened.
She patted his arm in comfort as she passed and left the room.
It was another hour before Harville came and ushered him out of the room, sighting that the woman had to change the sheets and other such duties. He allowed himself to be led out of the room, but would go no further than the hallway. He eyed the door to Benwicks room warily.
"She will sleep soundly for another hour or so," said Harville when he noticed his friends gaze. "Longer if we do not disturb her."
Frederick nodded before leaning into the stone wall and resting against it. He was utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally.
"I take it you did not get any sleep last night?" Harville said, his words more a statement than a question. Frederick's appearance spoke more than words could. His eyes where red, the area round them dark. His hair was sticking up as though he had run his hand through it continuously throughout the night, and his face needed a shave.
"I was not going to take the chance that by falling asleep, that something might happen to her. That I might not be able to do anything had she faced some difficulty, that she might have," his breathing and words sped up as he went on, as he became more and more agitated.
"You need not say anymore Frederick. I would have done the same in your position." Harville interceded when he stopped to take a breath, placing a hand on Frederick's shoulder and giving him a small shake, willing him to calm down.
"You would not have been as stupid to involve yourself in a situation like this," Frederick replied.
"We are all fools in love."
They lapsed into silence then. There was movement beyond the door but the rest of the house was silent. With the children being gone it was as though some of the life had been sucked out of the house, leaving it barely functioning. The quiet was also a help as it allowed Frederick to arrange his thoughts and set his mind.
"I am not leaving till the surgeon has been," he said to Harville as they continued to stand in the small hallway.
"The sooner you are on your way, the better," his friend said to him. "Charles is due soon to check on his sister. Do you really want to be here to tell him you are leaving?"
Frederick paced around the small area, his fists tightly bunched. "I will not go till I have heard she is better. Even if that means climbing down the pipes to avoid seeing Charles."
Harville sighed, he knew he would not be able to convince his friend on this matter. "Very well."
The door to the room opened moments later and he was allowed back in.
"How do you think she does?" he asked Margaret as the woman finished up in the room. He was hoping for a favourable answer but she did not look altered to him, and was the same colour, same constitution as she had been when he first laid eyes upon her the evening before.
"She is still here," Margaret said, "And that must be taken as a good sign."
He took Anne's hand again and felt his spirits rise a little that it no longer felt as cold, that her hand seemed to have warmed a little.
He still had a hold of her hand when he surgeon appeared some half and hour later. The other man said nothing about it, nor did he ask him to leave so Frederick stayed where he was as the surgeon began to examine her.
It was clear to Frederick that the surgeon was not as concerned about her health as he had been the previous night, though the elder man frowned when he felt at her head and her wrist.
"Is she doing better" he asked.
"She has made it through the night, and for that we must be thankful," he surgeon said, mirroring Margaret Harville's words from earlier. "I am still concerned that her fever is still high and that she has not woken yet. Do you know if she woke during the night."
"No, she did not."
"Hmm. It might be the case that because she was not at full strength when she was struck down, that it might take her longer to recover."
"But she will wake,"
"If she does not relapse, then she will almost certainly wake. Hers was a fever born from being cold, not one that has infected her through the blood. It should not affect her brain, nor her heart and she should recover fully."
He looked to the door, "Make sure she is kept warm, especially her hands and feet. When she wakes, try get her to eat or drink something. Call me back then, night or day and I will come a check on her. Once she has woken you will need to start building her strength up again."
"We can do that sir, thank you," Margaret Harville said to him. He gathered his bag then and left the house, making them promise to send for him when she woke.
"Frederick," came Harville's voice from the door once the surgeon had gone.
"I know Harry, I know." He looked up at his friend. "Will you give me a moment?"
Harville nodded, placing a arm around his wife and steering her away from the doorway. "We'll be down stairs."
They left him alone then.
He did not know what to say, what to do so he settled watching her for a few moments more. Memorising the contours of her face again, though they where long engrained in his mind. He sat on the edge of the bed and took both her hands in his, rubbing at them and encouraging them to warm. He leant forward a place a single kiss upon her brow.
He felt his heart skip a beat when her eye lids fluttered, and he thought for a moment that she might wake. She did nothing more than turn her head though and he felt himself slightly disappointed; a silly childish belief had come into his head that true loves kiss might wake her like it did in the fairytales.
It took a long time for him to finally let go of her hands. Tucking them beneath the blankets, he walked backwards out of the room, determined to keep her in his line of vision for as long as possible. The hardest bit he found, was stepping away from the doorway and having her out of sight. He did it quickly, but it still hurt. He felt, very clearly, the tug at his heart as he made his way down the stairs.
He did not stay long in the house after, but bade his farewells (after renewed promises) and left a purse full of money on the table for her care. He was back at the inn in no time and settling his bill, and having his horse brought round.
As he reached the outskirts of the town, he turned the horse around and looked back over the town and the sea that lay beyond it. Looking aback round he spotted the signpost and took a long time to study it, rolling over an idea in his head.
He suddenly made a decision and kicked his horse into action, though instead of heading off in a northerly direction towards the county of Shropshire, he headed south; to Plymouth.