Chapter 16
Her sleep was violently restless. Her throat was bone-dry, and her head pounded relentlessly. It felt as though she had been dragged to the bottom of a dark, suffocating ocean, completely unable to break the surface.
Knock, knock, knock.
The sharp rapping echoed through the silent bedroom.
Martha stood in the hallway, calling out gently. “Maeve, what would you like for dinner tonight? I can have the grocer deliver some fresh ingredients p>
Her question was met with absolute silence.
Leaning closer to the heavy wood, Martha tried again.
“Maeve p>
Still nothing.
Panic began to flutter in the housekeeper’s chest.
Maeve was an incredibly light sleeper. She never just ignored someone knocking on her door.
Had something terrible happened?
Forgetting all rules of propriety, Martha twisted the knob and burst into the master suite.
She found Maeve curled on her side amid the sheets. Her face was flushed with a sickly crimson heat, her forehead glistened with cold sweat, and her lips were a terrifying, ghostly white.
Martha rushed to the edge of the mattress and pressed the back of her hand against Maeve’s brow. The skin was scorching hot.
Frantically, she shook the young woman’s shoulder.
“Maeve! Maeve, please wake up p>
She couldn’t let her fall into a fever coma.
Under Martha’s persistent, panicked cries, Maeve was finally dragged back to consciousness.
Her limbs felt like cooked noodles. Her silk pajamas were plastered to her spine, drenched in a sickening layer of sweat.
Something was severely wrong with her body. She opened her mouth to speak, but her throat felt like it was lined with shattered glass. She could barely manage a raspy whisper.
“Martha… what’s wrong with me p>
Martha quickly hauled her upright, propping her against the headboard. “You’re burning up with a fever, sweetheart. Sit tight, let me go get the thermometer p>
Slumped against the pillows, Maeve felt an unbearable, fiery thirst. She sluggishly reached a hand toward the glass of water resting on the nightstand, but her arms felt impossibly heavy.
Pushing through the bone-deep exhaustion, she stretched her trembling fingers out, inch by agonizing inch.
She finally grazed the glass, but a sudden bout of severe dizziness hit her. The crystal tumbler slipped right past her fingertips.
Reflexively swiping to catch it, she knocked it over completely. Crash! The glass shattered onto the hardwood floor, and a sharp shard sliced right across her knuckle. A thick drop of crimson blood instantly welled up.
Maeve staring blankly at her bleeding finger, a tidal wave of utter, crushing defeat threatened to drown her.
She couldn’t even pick up a goddamn cup of water. How had she become so completely useless?
Was that the real reason? Was she just too pathetic?
Was that why Frederick treated her like she didn’t matter, discarding her whenever it suited him?
But the moment those toxic thoughts took root in her mind p>
No. She hadn’t done a single thing wrong.
What was sick and twisted was this marriage. Once she signed those divorce papers, it would all be over.
Once she divorced him, everything would be okay again.
Martha rushed back upstairs with the medical kit. Spotting the shattered glass littering the rug, she opened her mouth to scold her, but one look at Maeve’s tragically pale, fever-flushed face stopped her cold. Swallowing her words, she simply poured a fresh glass of warm water and pressed it gently into Maeve’s hands.
“Drink this, honey p>
Maeve took it with both hands and managed half the glass. The soothing liquid finally doused the worst of the fire in her throat.
Martha handed over the thermometer, and Maeve tucked it beneath her arm.
Five minutes later, she pulled it out.
Martha checked the reading, and all the blood drained from her face.
“A hundred and two! It’s way too high! And with you being pregnant, you can’t even take any hardcore painkillers. What are we going to do p>
Maeve licked her cracked lips. “Just grab me a cold compress p>
“Right away!” Martha bolted downstairs to fetch the supplies.
She returned moments later, slapping a cooling gel patch onto Maeve’s forehead and rigorously wiping her wrists down with rubbing alcohol.
Fearing Maeve might think she was crazy, she quickly explained the process.
“It’s an old trick from my hometown. Swabbing the pulse points with alcohol helps draw the fever out p>
“I know,” Maeve choked out, a massive lump forming in her throat.
“Whenever I got sick as a little girl and refused my medicine, my mom would do the exact same thing p>
Looking down at Maeve’s impossibly pale face, Martha’s heart shattered. The young woman’s eyes were bloodshot and brimming with tears, yet she stubbornly refused to let a single drop fall.
A housekeeper’s sympathy meant nothing. A husband was the only one who could fix this kind of pain.
So, while Maeve was distracted, Martha slipped her phone out of her apron and dialed Frederick’s number.
The line picked up almost instantly. Martha hit the speaker button and gave Maeve a frantic, encouraging nod to speak.
But the voice that rang through the speaker didn’t belong to Frederick. It was Zoe.
“Hello? Martha? Did you need something from Frederick p>