Lizzie stared at the fading fire, and wondered what to do. She thought Charles would have come back, but maybe something had happened to her brother. Something always happened to Charles if he went off on his own. He tended to make impulsive decisions, and something always seemed to go wrong for him.
The fire was dying, bit by bit, and the firewood was not going to last long. She didn't want to think about William, lying in the makeshift bed under all the blankets they could gather. If he was still in his right mind, he would have insisted on them sharing them out. She couldn't help it, she had to check on him. Maggie slept in her little corner at the foot of the bed, snuggled and warm. That was something to be thankful for, in this muddle of uncertainty.
Lizzie made her way up to her father's friend. Uncle William wasn't a real uncle, but her father's closest friend. He was so pale, so still. He had always been the fun friend, full of life and adventure, he had never been still as long as she had known him. He had taught her to ride, and to jump obstacles, much to her parent's dismay. Being the eldest, her parents were more anxious for a proper upbringing for her. Being who Uncle William was, he was always going to encourage the wildest in her to the forefront. He had taught her to shoot and a few self defence moves, with the caution to not mention it to her parents. The daughter of a baronet should not have to know such things, but as Sir Matthew's daughter she should, as Uncle William used to say.
He was the last link to her parents, and he looked like death. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was so quiet. He had saved their lives, she was sure of it. How had he gotten so ill, so quickly? She placed a hand on his shoulder, to shake him awake to drink some of the broth she had made. Her hand was damp, and she removed it was a gasp.
It was covered with blood, and she controlled her urge to faint or scream. These days were going from bad to worse. She ripped his sleeve and investigated the wound carefully. She wasn't sure what to do, but the wound must have been causing the fevers and delirium.
They had kept him warm, fed him when he did take broth, and kept him comfortable. He had made no mention of the wound, although he had taken the time to bandage it securely. Lizzie sighed, she knew enough to be sure to keep wounds clean and watch for changes - but she hadn't known he was injured. It wasn't seemly for her to remove clothes of a man old enough to be her father. Especially when he had insisted he was fine.
"Elizabeth," he murmured, green eyes flickering open, but not seeing her. "I tried to save him, but he was gone. I was too late. Please forgive me."
"I forgive you," Lizzie said, knowing that she was answering for her dead mother. "What happened, William?"
His eyes grew even more distant. "The men seemed like bandits but they weren't. They weren't there to steal - all the money was there, with the safe door open. The drawers had been rifled through, they were looking for a document."
"Matthew tried to stop them…"
"Damn well he tried. Half of those documents are from surveillance from the last year. Anyone wanting to steal them did not mean well."
Lizzie smiled slightly. She had never heard William swear before.
"Elizabeth, no. No no no." William was lost to deeper delirium and his forehead was heating up again. "Please no. Not you."
Lizzie sighed, and grabbed the cloth and the container of water. She mopped his forehead patiently, whispering words of comfort and encouragement. She supposed he would die soon, leaving them completely alone and vulnerable. She could hold on a little longer, and make his last hours as comfortable as possible. The fear and panic could be held back for a few more hours. For William's sake. For Maggie's.
She was the oldest, she could keep going.