the hell was Conn going to say when she turned up at his house in Australia out of the blue? He only hoped his friend didn’t blame it on him.
Something had changed between Conn and Maia, Xanthe was sure of it, but couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was. Her sister wasn’t sleeping with him, she was fairly sure of that. She caught Mrs Largan watching them, too, with her forehead furrowed in thought.
In the end she could stand it no longer. ‘What’s happened between you and Conn?’ she asked her sister as they lay in the bed they shared each night.
‘Nothing. What should be going on?’
‘Exactly that – nothing. But I can sense something and you won’t persuade me otherwise.’
Maia rolled over to stare at her sister. ‘What’s between Conn and me is nothing to do with you or anyone else.’
‘But surely you’re not—’
‘Sharing his bed?’ Maia sighed. ‘I wish I was.’
‘He’ll never marry you.’
‘I know that. But I’d go to him anyway, if he’d take me. Only he won’t.’
Xanthe gasped in shock. ‘You can’t mean that?’
‘I do.’
‘You offered yourself to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘That isn’t love; it’s insanity.’
‘You’ve never really loved anyone, so you don’t understand. And I’m not discussing this again. You’re going off travelling, so grant me the right to do what I choose with my own life.’
Xanthe knew her decision to leave and her insistence on going alone had hurt her twin badly, but she couldn’t bear to waste her life like this, not when she had the resources to do other things. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this tangle. If Conn really loved Maia, he’d marry her and be damned to what people said. After all, he was a convict and that would place restrictions on who would associate with his wife, however well-born she was. And it wasn’t as if they met many people here in the middle of nowhere.
Oh, why hadn’t her home-loving sister met someone else? Anyone but a gentleman who clearly didn’t think of her as a potential wife.
A few days before the ship reached Alexandria, Fenella woke in the night with a pain so great she couldn’t help moaning. She tried to stifle the sound in the pillow but it got worse and worse, till she found herself screaming helplessly.
She could sense Kathleen trying to speak to her, but she couldn’t listen let alone answer, couldn’t think of anything but the pain that was surely tearing her belly apart.
Someone else came into the cabin and she heard Ronan’s voice, felt him lift her and clung to him for a brief intermission when the pain had abated enough not to take away her senses.
‘I love you, son,’ she gasped.
‘I love you too, Mother. We’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll be here in a minute.’
It took the man five minutes to get there and Ronan realised in horror that he was drunk.
The doctor asked questions, palpated Fenella’s abdomen then sat with bowed head next to her, seeming impervious to her screams and writhing.
‘For heaven’s sake, can you do nothing to help her?’ Ronan asked.
The doctor looked at him sadly. ‘No. There are doctors in America who advocate a laparotomy, cutting open the abdomen to remove the corrupted portion of the intestines. Hancock did this in 1848. And it worked.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I enjoy reading about such advances. When I was younger I used to think I’d be like those doctors.’
‘Can you not try the same thing, then?’
‘No. This is a bold treatment, still controversial, and only to be assayed by surgeons of considerably more expertise than myself.’
‘Maybe if you were sober you might make the attempt,’ Ronan flung at him.
‘Not even if I were stone cold sober would I attempt this. I do not have the skill and I do not have the equipment. All I can offer is to stupefy her with laudanum and let her die peacefully.’
‘ Die? ’ Ronan stared at him in horror. ‘You’d let my mother die?’
‘I can’t
Something had changed between Conn and Maia, Xanthe was sure of it, but couldn’t put her finger on what exactly it was. Her sister wasn’t sleeping with him, she was fairly sure of that. She caught Mrs Largan watching them, too, with her forehead furrowed in thought.
In the end she could stand it no longer. ‘What’s happened between you and Conn?’ she asked her sister as they lay in the bed they shared each night.
‘Nothing. What should be going on?’
‘Exactly that – nothing. But I can sense something and you won’t persuade me otherwise.’
Maia rolled over to stare at her sister. ‘What’s between Conn and me is nothing to do with you or anyone else.’
‘But surely you’re not—’
‘Sharing his bed?’ Maia sighed. ‘I wish I was.’
‘He’ll never marry you.’
‘I know that. But I’d go to him anyway, if he’d take me. Only he won’t.’
Xanthe gasped in shock. ‘You can’t mean that?’
‘I do.’
‘You offered yourself to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘That isn’t love; it’s insanity.’
‘You’ve never really loved anyone, so you don’t understand. And I’m not discussing this again. You’re going off travelling, so grant me the right to do what I choose with my own life.’
Xanthe knew her decision to leave and her insistence on going alone had hurt her twin badly, but she couldn’t bear to waste her life like this, not when she had the resources to do other things. There didn’t seem to be any way out of this tangle. If Conn really loved Maia, he’d marry her and be damned to what people said. After all, he was a convict and that would place restrictions on who would associate with his wife, however well-born she was. And it wasn’t as if they met many people here in the middle of nowhere.
Oh, why hadn’t her home-loving sister met someone else? Anyone but a gentleman who clearly didn’t think of her as a potential wife.
A few days before the ship reached Alexandria, Fenella woke in the night with a pain so great she couldn’t help moaning. She tried to stifle the sound in the pillow but it got worse and worse, till she found herself screaming helplessly.
She could sense Kathleen trying to speak to her, but she couldn’t listen let alone answer, couldn’t think of anything but the pain that was surely tearing her belly apart.
Someone else came into the cabin and she heard Ronan’s voice, felt him lift her and clung to him for a brief intermission when the pain had abated enough not to take away her senses.
‘I love you, son,’ she gasped.
‘I love you too, Mother. We’ve sent for the doctor. He’ll be here in a minute.’
It took the man five minutes to get there and Ronan realised in horror that he was drunk.
The doctor asked questions, palpated Fenella’s abdomen then sat with bowed head next to her, seeming impervious to her screams and writhing.
‘For heaven’s sake, can you do nothing to help her?’ Ronan asked.
The doctor looked at him sadly. ‘No. There are doctors in America who advocate a laparotomy, cutting open the abdomen to remove the corrupted portion of the intestines. Hancock did this in 1848. And it worked.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I enjoy reading about such advances. When I was younger I used to think I’d be like those doctors.’
‘Can you not try the same thing, then?’
‘No. This is a bold treatment, still controversial, and only to be assayed by surgeons of considerably more expertise than myself.’
‘Maybe if you were sober you might make the attempt,’ Ronan flung at him.
‘Not even if I were stone cold sober would I attempt this. I do not have the skill and I do not have the equipment. All I can offer is to stupefy her with laudanum and let her die peacefully.’
‘ Die? ’ Ronan stared at him in horror. ‘You’d let my mother die?’
‘I can’t
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