The Lost Souls of Angelkov by Linda Holeman Page B

doctor wraps fresh gauze around Konstantin’s darkening hand.
    “We?” Antonina repeats. “What do you mean? What can’t we say?” Does it take a very long time for these short phrases to come out, or is it just her drowsiness that makes her voice sound so dull and slow?
    The doctor again looks up at her. “Countess Mitlovskiya, it’s too soon to predict. But should the fever continue …” He stops, tying the strip of gauze. “Has he been taking liquids? Has he been passing his water?”
    Antonina sees that Konstantin has two spots of hectic colour on his unshaven cheeks. “I don’t know.”
    “Neither,” Pavel says from the foot of the bed.
    “Why not? Why have you not been giving him fluids?” the doctor asks the servant.
    “I have tried, sir, many times. But he won’t drink.”
    “Won’t? Come now,” the doctor says sharply. “Are you so incapable of a simple task?”
    At the annoyed tone of his voice, Antonina’s head clears a little. She knows how devoted Pavel is to Konstantin; he’s been his manservant for over twenty years, long before she came to Angelkov. He has not left Konstantin’s side the last few nights. And now this doctor is speaking to the elderly man as though he were a child, rebuking him for his lack of duty.
    She would like a cup of hot sweet tea. “You attempt, then, Dr. Molov,” she says. “You try to force open his lips and make him swallow.”
    The doctor frowns at her. “Countess, I only stress how important it is, in the case of blood poisoning, to—”
    “Blood poisoning?” Antonina rubs her forehead. “You didn’t say this.”
    “I’ve done what I can for now.” He stands. “I have commitments today, but will return tomorrow. It’s most important that Count Mitlovsky have fluids. This will flush out the poison, countess.”
    Antonina nods.
    The doctor closes his bag and then says, in a kinder voice, “Surely your son will be returned. It’s a time of great instability: the Emancipation Manifesto has thrown the country into chaos. Nobody understands what it will mean. The serfs … the newly freed people, haven’t yet been told how they’ll be affected, or how to deal with their freedom. There’s fear, confusion and too many rumours. There have even been some minor uprisings on other estates. The thugs who kidnapped your son will soon realize …” He stops.
    Antonina waits. Although more focused now, she still feels as though she’s stepping out of a strange twilight. “Will realize what?” she finally asks.
    The doctor opens his bag again, taking out a small squarebottle. “Laudanum, countess. It will help you cope for the moment. It’s better than—I believe it will help you.” He turns to Pavel. “Force fluids into him as best you can, and keep bathing him in cool water to bring down the fever.” He picks up his bag, nods to Antonina and is gone.
    Antonina lowers herself into the wide leather chair. She closes her eyes and puts her head back, exhausted, although she has done nothing more than walk down the hall and listen to the doctor.

    As the doctor closes the bedroom door behind him, Grisha steps forward. “Will he recover?” When the doctor doesn’t immediately answer, Grisha says, “I am the steward, Dr. Molov. I must know what to expect, for the sake of the estate.”
    The doctor nods, then reaches for Grisha’s arm to guide him away from the door. “I’ll speak the truth with you—I can see that she’s of little use.”
    “What do you mean?” Grisha asks, looking down at the short, huffing man.
    “The countess. Is it a muted form of hysteria? Last night, and now this morning … she doesn’t appear fully in charge of her senses.” He nods at Grisha. “I’m glad there’s someone in charge here.”
    “Countess Mitlovskiya has had a great deal of distress,” Grisha says. “But what of the count?”
    “It’s not good at all. Because the wound wasn’t cared for properly, it’s become infected. There is