Hurrying up the stairs, he arrived in the nursery at the same time as Delia.

Selena and Lady Whitton were trying to persuade the little boy to swallow his medicine. Though half

conscious, he had set his lips in a firm line and refused to open them.

"Peter, here is Uncle Hugh," said Selena gently. "Will you not take it for him? Show him how good you are."

There was no response.

"Peter, do as your aunt bids you," Iverbrook ordered.

The mouth opened.

Selena sighed with relief and poured the medicine down before she voiced her indignation.

"Well, really! I have been coaxing for quite twenty minutes."

"We gentlemen must stick together," explained the viscount, and was rewarded with a tiny smile that

faded all too soon.Lady Whitton took Peter's wrist in her fingers."His pulse is slower, but weaker," she confirmed Selena's fears. "Unless the fever breaks soon . . . The willowbark is usually so efficacious but it does not seem to have helped. I will prepare an infusion of

yarrow."

She went off, returning a quarter hour later with a new potion. "Bannister tells me Amabel Parcott is here, with her tiresome mother," she said as they roused Peter once more. "Would you not expect them to

have enough tact to leave at such a time?"

"I had quite forgotten them!" Iverbrook exclaimed. "I trust Sir Aubrey is entertaining them?"

"If he is, it will be the first time he has done anything the least bit useful in this house," said Selena. "Peter,

love, just swallow this last drop, my poor darling."

"He is too weak to resist," whispered Delia in horror. "I've never seen him take medicine without a fight."

Iverbrook led her to the fireplace and sat down beside her, talking quietly. Selena and her mother took

up their posts on either side of the bed, Lady Whitton holding one of her grandson's hands. Outside, the grey day merged into dusk. Polly came in to light the candles, draw the curtains, and build up the fire. She cast a frightened glance at the still figure under the blue counterpane, and slipped out again without speaking.

A few minutes later Lady Whitton raised her head.

"Selena, feel his forehead," she said, her voice so strange that Delia and Iverbrook started to their feet and approached the bed.

"He is still very hot, Mama. Oh, but his face is damp! He is sweating at last!"

"I was afraid I had imagined it. Thank G.o.d! The fever has broken."

Delia asked the question Iverbrook was afraid to utter.

"Does that mean he is safe, Mama? He will recover?"

"He is not yet out of danger, and at best he will be weak for some time, but the worst is past, my loves.

With care, he will recover!"

Iverbrook insisted on standing watch that night. When Selena went in early the next morning, he greeted her with the news that Peter had slept well, waking only once or twice to ask for water.

"I think he is much better," he said anxiously. "At least, he feels cooler and his pulse seems strong and

steady."

Peter opened cornflower blue eyes.

"h.e.l.lo, Aunt Sena," he said in a tiny voice. "I had a bad dream."

Selena ran to him and hugged him.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. You were very ill but now you are going to get well quickly. Cook has

made you a milk jelly for your breakfast, and Grandmama will come and help you eat it. It will make you strong again. Say goodnight to Uncle Hugh now. He has been sitting with you all night so now he is going to bed."

"'Night, Uncle Hugh." Peter's eyelids drooped and he drowsed off."There's breakfast in the dining room, Hugh, if you can stay awake long enough to eat it, and Mama ishaving water heated for a bath, should you care for one. I must advise you to take advantage of it. Areyou aware that you are still wearing your muddy clothes?"

He looked down at himself and smiled ruefully. "No, I was not aware. How very shocking! Now what can have made me forget such a thing?"

"I shall certainly never again describe you as a Bond Street beau! Sleep well, Hugh. Your presence has been a great comfort to all of us."

His lords.h.i.+p flushed, muttered something indistinct, and fled.

In the mysterious but inevitable country way, news of Peter's mishap had spread far and wide. Throughout the morning a series of grooms and maidservants arrived with enquiries, gifts, and messages of sympathy.

"Lady Anne Russell's compliments, Mr. Bannister, and how does Master Peter go on? Her la's.h.i.+p's sent this bunch of grapes from her greenhouse."

"Oh sir, Miss Pauley sent me to see if the little boy's a-goin' to live and here's some beef tea made by her own hand an' ever so strengthening, she says."

"Mr. Brightwell, greengrocer of distinction, begs acceptance of a dozen fine lemons, brought from Spain, and how's the lad?"

"Blackcurrant cordial" . . . " a receipt for honey gruel" . . . "a tame thrush in a cage" . . . " a hop pillow to help the poor mite sleep" . . . The neighbours, great and small, rallied round to repay Lady Whitton for the care she had lavished on them for so many years.

Even Mrs. Parcott had the good sense, that day, to send a groom rather than appearing in person. If she feared a reprise of the humiliation of the previous day, she was justified. She would have found Lady Whitton occupied with her grandson, Selena out on farm business, and the viscount sound asleep.

Lord Iverbrook was woken by a ray of afternoon sun, which broke through the clouds, squeezed between the curtains, and came to rest on his face. He lay for a few minutes feeling warm and comfortable and happy, not remembering why. Then he sat up and swung his long legs out of bed. Peter was on the road to recovery and Selena had forgiven him! Was it true? He scrambled into the nearest clean clothes and ran up to the nursery.

Delia had taken her mother's place with Peter and was singing to him. Iverbrook paused in the doorway, admiring the picture they made. The sunlight on Delia's hair made it s.h.i.+ne with gold lights. It was just the same shade as Selena's, the prettiest colour hair could be.

She finished her song and noticed him.

"Peter, it's your Uncle Hugh. He's much better, sir. He just drank a whole cup of veal broth, didn't you, Peter?"

"'Lo, Uncle Hugh. Auntie Dee's singing to me till I go to sleep. She knows lots of songs.

"And sings them beautifully. How are you feeling, young man?"

"Under the weather. Jem says that means sort of wobbly and maybe sleepy and like not doing nothing. Will you stay till I go to sleep?"

"If you close your eyes right now and Auntie Dee sings a lullaby. I'm so hungry I could eat a horse."That made Peter laugh. "Don't eat Leo," he said. "He's only a pony."Weak and tired, he was soon asleep."I'll watch him," said Delia. "You go and have something to eat, but don't you dare eat Lyra!""I won't. Do you know where your sister is?""I don't know if she's come in yet; I expect not, because she would have come to see Peter. She went to choose the lambs to send to market."

"The market in Abingdon? I found myself tangled up in it the first day I came to Milford."

"Yes, it's held every Monday. It's one of the things she hates doing, d.i.c.kering with the buyers and all

that, but she can get a better price than John Peabody does."

"Not so good as I can, I'll wager! I wonder if she would let me do it for her?"

"Ask her. I wish you lived here always, to bring in the harvest and go to market and geld the bull calves.

Those are the things that throw Selena into high fidgets, though in general she is the most amiable sister in the world."

"Geld the calves! I hope Selena does not do that herself!"

"Not precisely, I believe, though she has never let me see it. In fact, she will not even tell me just what they do. Will you tell me?"

"I will not!"

Delia sighed. "Well, she has to make sure that it is properly done, and that the men do not hurt the poor little things more than is necessary."

The viscount shuddered. "I'll offer to take the lambs to market, but I make no promises about the calves!

And now I go in search of food. Take good care of our nephew."

Heading for the kitchen, Lord Iverbrook pa.s.sed the butler's pantry. He heard voices within, Bannister's and Lady Whitton's, and knocked on the door.

"Do I interrupt?" he asked. "I was going to try and coax something to eat out of Cook, but methinks

propriety demands I consult my kind hostess first."

"Nonsense, Hugh. You know you are more than welcome to raid the larder, with or without Cook's permission. Bannister has been recounting to me all the messages people have sent about Peterkin. What

delightful neighbours we have! And only look at the presents. A singing thrush from old Mrs. Garfield! I'

m sure I don't know what to do with the poor bird."

"Set it free. I will do it for you. Whoever sent the port? Peter will be drunk as a wheelbarrow for a

week!"

"It's from Mr. Liddell, my lord, the landlord at the Royal Oak in the village. There's a message for you, my lord. Mrs. Parcott sent her groom over to ask after Master Peter, and he was very particular you should be told of it."