Chapter Twenty-One
Anna woke up about 3am feeling incredibly hot. She was only in a chemise and covered by a sheet and light blanket, but she felt like she was boiling.
Anna sat up and pulled the covers off only to realize the heat wasn't coming from her own body, it wasn't even coming from the air. It was coming from John. She always made a joke that John was like a living fireplace, but this was different.
Anna stood up and moved to their ensuite. She turned the light on in there as to get a better look at her husband without waking him. Her heart fell to her stomach when she saw him.
John's face was incredibly flushed. Pale except for the redness in his full cheeks. He looked sweaty with his unruly hair pasted to his forehead. She had never seen him look so ill.
"John?" Anna reached out and brushed her hand across John's forehead. It was hot, so very hot. "John!" Anna spoke louder and gave him a little shove. This time she got a reaction, but only a small cry, then silence.
She looked at his chest. It was moving so fast, up and down, up and down with a pace of a man who had just run miles at his top speed. Anna reached out to touch one of John's hands. It was resting on the blanket, palm up, very slack.
"John!" Anna tried a third time to get him to stir. "Can you hear me, my darling? It's Anna."
John gave a little sigh and moved his head side to side. "Anna," he moaned.
"Yes, I'm here. Tell me what's wrong, love. What hurts?" Anna thought she knew. She moved to pull back the towels that were covering John's bad leg. She gasped.
The knee, lower thigh, and upper calf were masses of swollen, red and purple flesh. She leaned down and placed her hand on the knee cap, eliciting a sharp cry from John.
Anna knew now this was something very serious. Anna lay John's hand back down on the bed and hurried to his office to grab the phone. It was late, but there was no time to lose. The night operator came on the line.
"Hello, yes, Mrs. Timmons, this is Anna Bates. I need Dr. Clarkson right away, it's urgent," Anna told her with barely controlled emotion.
"Mrs. Bates, is one of the children ill?" Mrs. Timmons asked, in her well meaning but intrusive way.
"No," Anna replied. "No, no. It's Mr. Bates. He's burning with fever and I can't rouse him. Please just get Dr. Clarkson."
The call was connected moments later. Dr. Clarkson's sleepy Scottish brogue broke through the phone. "Hello."
For an older man, Dr. Clarkson could still mobilize himself with the speed of lightning, though it seemed to Anna that he took ages to appear at the door of their cottage. While Anna waited, she filled a basin with cold water and chipped off a few bits of ice from the ice box to cool it even more, before settling down at John's side and laying cold cloths on his forehead, wrists, and of course, over his knee. John moaned at the coolness, and shivered at the sharp change in temperature. "Ssh," Anna soothed. "I'm here, don't worry. It's going to be alright. Do you hear me, love?"
John replied to her words, but nothing he said made sense. He went on about shipments, procurements, and lists in a slurred burr that terrified Anna to no end. He was, as Lord Grantham had been, when ill with his own fever almost six years ago, back in the war, back in a time when he had suffered unspeakable pain, fear, and horror. It was bad enough having to live it once, and Anna knew John revisited that place in his dreams.
Anna held a cup of powder and water to John's lips. He wouldn't drink it. When the water touched him, he would turn his head away and sputter on the bitterness of the powder. Finally, Anna heard the back door open. She had told the doctor she would leave it unlatched, as she had no plans to leave her husband's bedside.
"Anna," Dr. Clarkson greeted quickly, his eyes already beginning to assess his patient. "Tell me about the last few days. How has Mr. Bates been behaving?"
As Anna told the doctor of John's fatigue, short temper, and now that she thought about it, lack of appetite, the doctor did a physical exam. One with readings he didn't particularly like. John's temperature was close to 104, his pulse and respiration rates were too high, and his blood pressure too low. "Mr. Bates?" Dr. Clarkson tried to rouse John. He manipulated his head, his neck, and arms, getting little response, a groan or disgruntled sigh, but when the doctor manipulate his bad knee, the cry that came out was one Anna had never heard from her husband in almost 20 years of knowing him.
"What is it?" Anna asked, cursing to herself as she heard the sound of Elizabeth waking and little feet on the boards above. "Is it contagious?"
"No," Dr. Clarkson replied. "At least, I don't believe it is. We will have an ambulance come at first light to bring Mr. Bates to hospital for tests, but I suspect the arthritis he's been suffering the last few months has become infectious."
Anna scooped Elizabeth up for a cuddle and bit her lip as she heard Johnny calling out to them. "I can't let him see Mr. Bates this way. I can't, please just give me a moment."
Dr. Clarkson nodded, "I"m going to give him something for the fever, but I can't give him much for pain until we can isolate it."
Anna understood, though her mind was focused on keeping Johnny out of the bedroom. She exited the first floor room and met her son in the hall. He stood in his small dressing gown, with his little torch, eyes flung wide. "Mummy, I heard a noise. Where's Daddy?"
Anna closed the gap between herself and her son. "Daddy's sleeping, baby. He's sleeping right now,you must go back to bed. Mummy is only awake to feed Elizabeth, now you must go back up to bed."
With Elizabeth cradled to her chest, Anna climbed the stairs to see Johnny back to his room. "I thought I heard a scream," Johnny told her.
"Likely," Anna replied. "Your sister is a bear when she wants a bottle. Now, get under the blankets and go to sleep. Mummy loves you very much."
Anna gave her little boy a kiss and waited until Johnny lay down again and shut his eyes.
Anna returned to the bedroom as quickly as she could. She still cradled Elizabeth to her breast, rocking the baby back and forth to soothe her. Dr. Clarkson had gathered several more pillows from the sitting room and even some old, thick books to prop up John's legs. "We need to get his blood pressure up and his heart rate and temperature down. Once we do, he'll be able to breathe easier and have a better chance at recovery."
"Better chance?" Anna asked in a hushed whisper. She knew this was serious, but the doctor was talking like this could take John's life.
"Yes, if what I expect is correct, Mr. Bates has a severe infection in the knee joint of his bad leg. Probably from internal damage due to the shrapnel injury he sustained in the war," Dr. Clarkson explained. "There isn't much we can do to treat the infection. We'll have to drain the infection out of the joint and keep it immobilized for at least a few weeks while it heals. In the meantime, his body will have to fight off illness. All we can do is treat the symptoms, the rest is up to Mr. Bates."
Anna took a breath and moved to place Elizabeth back on her cot. She sat down on her side of the bed and took John's hand in hers. "Then he'll be fine. Mr. Bates is strong and he has everything to live for now his greatest dream is coming true up the road. He'll be fine."
Dr. Clarkson studied Mr. Bates' younger wife. Whenever there was this large a gap between partners, he knew to brace himself for the day when he'd have to nurse the younger one through the loss of their spouse usually with a good deal of time left on their own life. He hoped that it was too soon to have to do that with Mrs. Bates, but Mr. Bates was gravely ill. There wasn't a doubt in Dr. Clarkson's mind that Mr. Bates had begun feeling worse not long after Anna had been discharged from the hospital. He likely ignored the warning signs.
Anna had turned her attention back to John. She changed out the flannels on his forehead and arms. "Should we send to the ice house and pack him in ice to drop his fever?"
Dr. Clarkson shook his head, "No, the cloth is enough for now. We don't want to shock him with too much of a chill. Try to get him to drink as much water as he'll take. Even without a powder, just the water will be sufficient."
Anna reached for the cup of water on her side of the table. The one on John's side had the powder in it he'd rejected. "John, come now, take a sip. Just one little sip. Please, love."
John was in Hell. At least that's what it felt like. His own private Hell. His body ached from head to foot. It was hard to breathe, and he was so hot. Through all of that, though, there was a little beacon of light. A voice. A soft, kind, gentle voice that he had heard in his dreams, even as a younger man. It was so close and brought with it a cool, blessed relief from the scorching temperature. It wanted him to do something, but what didn't make sense. It was tender, but insistent.
"Enough of this, Mr. Bates," Anna said firmly. "Come and drink this for me now. Come on."
John gave a soft moan, but started to sip at the water as Anna held the cup to his lips. Some of it ended up in him and some of it on him, but it was a start. "That's good. That's so good, thank you. Now a little bit more."
Anna looked over to Dr. Clarkson, "What time will you have the ambulance come for him, Doctor?"
"I'll call them around eight o'clock," he replied. "We'll get him to X-ray and confirm the diagnosis. Then we can get him into the operating theater and drain the infection. He could be in hospital a good while, an illness this advanced will take his strength."
Anna lifted John's head again and offered more water, which he took, even as he hovered in a suspended state of consciousness. "No it won't," Anna said with a strong and determined tone as ever. 'And even if it does, he can use mine."
Dr. Clarkson had observed, especially during Elizabeth's birth and Anna's recovery, that Mr. Bates deeply loved his wife. He knew that if something had happened and they lost Anna, Mr. Bates wouldn't recover. He'd have fought on for the children, but he'd never have been the same. It almost pleased Dr. Clarkson to see that the reverse was also true. Anna was as in love with Mr. Bates as he was with her. Perhaps, she was right. Perhaps, having something to fight for, something to live for would be the key in aiding Mr. Bates recovery. "I'll just set up in the sitting room if you don't mind, Anna," Dr Clarkson said. He wanted to give the couple some privacy. "Call me if there's a change."
Anna only nodded her consent, all of her energy focused on John and being what he needed as he battled for his life.
Time seemed to crawl as Anna nursed John. When she wasn't running cloths over his forehead,arms, and chest, she was giving small sips of water or changing the cold flannels on his swollen, firey leg. The entire time Anna was talking. She paused only to sip her own water then resumed again. She learned over the years that when John had nightmares either counting or reciting their life facts helped to let his mind hold on to something and not get lost in the darkness of the past.
"Johnny is going to start school, I cannot believe it. I think you are right though, that we should stop at three. I'm not sure you could take another labor and delivery, and I know his lordship's chess game can't."
Anna studied John's breathing. It seemed to have slowed a bit, but was still shallow and faster than she wanted it to be. "I know you can hear me, John. I know you're afraid right now, I know that you feel sick and I am sorry, John. I am so sorry I didn't realize it sooner, that I didn't support you. I'm here now, and I am not leaving. Not ever."
Anna lifted John's hand and kissed it. "I love you so much. So much."
Anna laid her head down on the edge of the bed and inhaled. She wanted to memorize his scent, his presence, everything. She was scared of his becoming injured or ill at the best of times, now, she was terrified.
Anna kept changing the flannels, chatting on, feeding John sips of water as she went. She didn't know how much time passed before, while wiping John's chest with cool water, she heard him finally make a sound. "Mmm, Anna…"
A/N: So, first mystery solved, John's sick, not drunk. This is step one on a long journey for them.
I did my best in researching the medical facts and historical treatments etc for this condition and for Elizabeth's situation.
During this time in history, children that were behind their peers were automatically thought to be stupid or slow and teased and called names. John is sensitive to name calling and the thought of his precious baby girl being hurt is overwhelming for him.