Chapter 23: Pneumonia

London and Berkshire, Winter 1866/67

Colleen MacAllister was an astounding character and so was Melissa Martin. The latter was not en vogue anymore as a painter but that did not change the fact that her name was a household word. MacAllister on the other hand enjoyed a still growing popularity as writer of adventure and travel novels. She had also recently published a biography, For the Sake of Love: The Life and Times of Admiral Sir Anthony Carter, which Rose had seen heralded in the newspapers as an outstanding effort.

The petite writer and her wholesome friend – Rose understood their relationship within seconds – were sitting opposite Jim and Rose while the also invited Burtons sat next to Rose. Miss MacAllister and Raven were an instant match while Rose found herself in a lively conversation with the painter. Rose learned that Miss Martin was in fact a native of Boston, and over the first courses, the charming woman entertained Rose and Jim with her stories from the Bavarian court and her travels through Italy, France, and Greece. Colleen MacAllister had been her constant companion in those travels, a fact that benefitted the travel tales greatly, as the writer had firsthand knowledge of most locations she described. The two women had led a rich and unconventional life.

When Rose mentioned that she owned a canvas painted by Albert Bierstadt, Miss Martin became quite excited; so excited that Rose invited her to visit Heyworth House where the painting adorned the dinner room. Melissa Martin promised to visit explaining that Mr. Bierstadt's fame was spreading to Europe.

While the gentlemen retired to the smoking room for their cigars, the ladies sat in Lady Lambert's tea room enjoying tea or sherry depending on their tastes and habits. Here, Colleen MacAllister was able to corner Rose.

"You have a most intriguing friend, Mrs. Tremayne," she opened the conversation.

"To me she is a dear friend first and foremost," Rose answered cautiously.

"Yes, she mentioned the hardships you had to endure. I would love to weave a tale around Mrs. Burton's life but there are many points where her path intersects with your fate. I would need your approval."

"That would depend on many factors," Rose hedged. "I would not like to be known as the mould for a literary figure."

"Yes, Ellen said that you are not comfortable with public exposure. Could I perhaps present you with an outline at some point and then ask you for your opinion? I would only use snippets of Mrs. Burton's life and combine them with fictitious events, but I have so little knowledge of the American West and I would appreciate your advice and input. Mrs. Burton's views are unique, given her background, and I would like to see things from your vantage as well."

"I would have no problems with that. I just do not want to have people confusing me with any of the characters in your book."

"That will not happen, I assure you. Ellen told me that you are a special friend to her and I will never compromise you. Believe me when I tell you that I can appreciate the need to keep parts of my life confidential."

Here, Rose had to smile. "The way you and Mrs. Martin feel for each other is hard to hide, I'm afraid."

Colleen MacAllister raised an eyebrow. "Oh. You are perceptive. Then again, you being able to see through our pretences rather indicates that you are not unfamiliar with ... err ... unusual arrangements?"

"I prefer not to comment on this, but I will stipulate that I had not a sheltered youth."

"That much is obvious. You remind me of Ellen when I first met her, and in more than one respect. I always saw her as somebody tempered by adversity, and you strike a similar chord in me. You have nothing of the silliness and the penchant for inconsequential issues that seem to be the hallmark for most young women your age."

"Doing hard work will do that to you," Rose returned. "Starving and freezing will tell you the value of simple things such as food and firewood."

Colleen MacAllister nodded. "That is what I meant. I hope that we can get to know each other better. Melissa told me that you invited her?"

"Indeed. It would seem that she is very interested in a painting that I bought in New York by chance. Of course we would be happy to welcome you as well."

"That is kind of you. Melissa does nothing but boring portraits these days, and even that is dwindling away with those infernal daguerrotypes being produced in just hours."

"We found those photographic portraits a very useful invention," Rose protested. "We were able to send a print to my husband's parents, all the way from the Western Territories to England, and we still had prints to keep."

"Yet, for painters it is a loss of livelihood, wouldn't you agree?"

Rose wagged her head. "I should think that most new inventions cause changes for people. Look at the railroad! Wagoners are cursing it, yet for the average person the transport is infinitely more comfortable. Sitting for a portrait takes days for the person to be portrayed, whilst a session with a daguerrotypist takes but a few minutes, at a fraction of the cost. I hear they can even apply coloration to the photographic prints."

"You are seeing things from the viewpoint of a client, Mrs. Tremayne," Miss MacAllister remarked, slightly piqued.

"And why shouldn't I?" Rose retorted. "Even for an artist, the invention offers opportunities as well as threats. I should think that an artist with his – or her – eye for proportions and settings may produce superior images with photographic equipment when compared to the chemists who ply that trade right know."

Their arguing had caused a halt in the conversation around them. Melissa Martin in particular had listened to Rose with her head tilted and with a smile of understanding, and now she joined the discussion.

"I believe I see what you are trying to say, Mrs. Tremayne. Rather than complain about the new way to create images and portraits an artist should strive to master those new techniques." With a smile she turned to her petite friend. "Colleen, dearest, do you recall my greatest successes? I thought you did. Mrs. Tremayne, my claims to fame on the continent are due to the etchings in which I began to dabble while living at King Louis' court. My plates from that time are still being printed, and they provide me with a steady income. Using a photographic apparatus should yield similar results."

Colleen MacAllister stared at her friend. "You consider taking up daguerrotypes?"

Melissa Martin smiled. "Let us see how my artist's eye will benefit me."

"But needn't you be a chemist of sorts for that?" MacAllister asked dubiously.

"Some knowledge is needed, I suppose," Martin shrugged. "Just think of Mr. Worthingham, the chemist on Kensington Road. Does he strike you as a genius?"

Colleen MacAllister giggled. "No, I believe he has to take off his shoes to count past ten."

"There you are!" Melissa Martin nodded. "Why then, my dearest, would you think I may lack the faculties to master a craft that this man could learn?"

At this point, Lord Lambert raised his hand. "I, for my part, have the highest opinion of your talents, Melissa. I shall endeavour to procure the necessary implements so you may experiment with daguerrotypes."

"Would you, Richard? I shall of course reimburse you."

"I shall leave that to you, my dear," Lord Lambert smiled easily, and Rose could tell that His Lordship regarded the odd couple of Melissa Martin and Colleen MacAllister much like a pair of kid sisters or favourite cousins.

Colleen MacAllister shook her head and regarded Rose with a tilted head. "This is not how I envisioned our conversation to proceed."

Rose had to laugh. "My dear Miss MacAllister, I did not envision anything. I learned however, and my husband encourages me in it, to think and to speak my mind. I had long formed an opinion on the subject of our discussion, and you provided me with an opening. How could I resist?"

Colleen MacAllister sighed and smiled. "I should not complain. I constantly join the clamour for self-sufficient women. Yet, when I meet one I find myself defensive. Forgive me. Could we perhaps talk more when we visit? I admit that I am intrigued by you, and in more than one way."

"I enjoy our discussion and I should welcome a continuation. Perhaps you could give us some of your insight into life on the Continent in return?"

"I'd be glad to. You will return after the season?"

"That is our plan. It may be difficult to pry my adopted daughter away from London but I suppose young Mr. Donovan will find opportunities for visits."

"He is only a half-year away from becoming a full fellow," Lady Lambert threw in. "You may as well start with the wedding preparations."

Rose had to giggle. "I may become a grandmother at age thirty. Young people these days!"

Christmas was approaching, and the Tremaynes prepared to leave London for Thornfield Abbey. Old Lady Wilkes was set to spend the holidays with her daughter on High Matcham, leaving Priscilla somewhat stranded. Conscious of her isolated social position, Priscilla was hesitant to accept Lady Lambert's offer to stay with them. Too many visitors would call, and many of those scorned the unwilling widow. Jim and Rose talked at length about the issue, and in the end Rose offered Priscilla the use of one of the quarters in the old abbey building. Priscilla accepted, but only after Jim accepted rent payments. Tongues would wag nonetheless, but the well being of her friend was too important for Rose.

They moved their household on December 17 and found the manor house well prepared for their stay. The cottage-sized quarters in the old abbey were also ready for any guests that might show, and Priscilla moved her meagre belongings into one of them.

Whatever the outward pretences were, Rose did not allow her friend to spend a single day alone, and Priscilla mostly entered her rented rooms only after supper in the manor house. Jim had become completely relaxed around her, accepting her to be a fixture in his wife's life and even in his own. Seeing her former fiancé interact with Rose gave Priscilla a taste of what she had lost, but she was grateful nonetheless for the acceptance and the comfort she was allowed to share. The Christmas spent with her friends was her most peaceful in recent memory.

A few days after Christmas, Jim had to travel to London and then further to Manchester to look into an investment opportunity. He would be accompanied by Sir Anthony Carter in his capacity as vice-president of Lambert & Norton. Jim expected to be gone for at least a week. Samantha accompanied him as far as London where she would be a guest of the Donovans. Millicent Donovan was at least as much in love with Samantha as her son, and she promised to supervise the girl closely to avoid all possible scandal. Samantha would attend a New Years Ball with young Mr. Donovan and his parents.

For Rose, Jim's absence was the first in more than a year. She had even contemplated accompanying her husband, but she felt unwell suffering from a cold and a sore throat since Christmas. The cold would not go away and seemed to aggravate, but Rose scorned Priscilla's suggestion to consult Dr. Claxton.

"It's just a cold. It will go away by itself," she said.

Five days after Jim had left, Priscilla came to pay her daily visit when the maidservant informed her that Mrs. Tremayne felt unable to welcome her due to a fever she had developed over night. Priscilla felt concern immediately. A fever coming after a stubborn cold could be the first sign of pneumonia. Against the insistence of the maid, Priscilla visited Rose's bedroom.

"Forgive me for not..." a coughing interrupted Rose... "for not welcoming you. I'm not feeling well."

"So I see, my dear," Priscilla answered. "Will you allow me to call Dr. Claxton? Or better yet, ask Lady Wilkes for advice?"

"Please, do..." another racking cough interrupted Rose. "Please, do not trouble the old lady. It's just a cold."

Priscilla had her hand on Rose's forehead.

"Just as I thought, Rose. You have a raging fever. You really need help. What is it?"

The latter sentence was directed at Lydia Bennett who was holding a cup in her hands.

"I have prepared warm milk sweetened with honey for Mrs. Tremayne. It's an old remedy against the coughs."

An alarm bell rang in Priscilla's head. She had not kept Lady Wilkes' correspondence without learning something, and right now she remembered the letters by the French Drs. Roux and Pasteur.

"Did you heat the milk?" she therefore asked sharply.

"No, of course not," came the indignant answer. "It's fresh from the cow and still warm."

Priscilla controlled her upwelling anger. The young woman could not know what even learned doctors in England would not accept, but Lady Wilkes had opined that the germ theory as proposed by the French doctors was in good agreement with her own lifelong observations.

"Miss Bennett, I must insist that you not give Mrs. Tremayne cow's milk without heating it first. I learned from Lady Wilkes that unheated cow's milk may cause the wasting."

Bennett snorted disbelievingly. "Then we should all be wasting away. My aunt always gave me fresh milk."

Patiently, Priscilla answered. "Yet, you never had the pneumonia, had you?"

"No?"

"That is when fresh milk may cause wasting. Listen, I'm not saying that I know this for sure. Let us call for Lady Wilkes or Dr. Claxton. They can settle our little dispute. You would not want to be the one causing harm to Mr. Tremayne's wife?"