She had never been weak, or dizzy that I remember. In fact, she seemed to be full of energy when with child.

When I entered the apothecary, the little bell at the top of the door jingled to announce my arrival. Mr. Smythe-Edwards came from the back room and stopped dead still as he gaped at me. Maybe I was a little pale from this sudden shakiness in my legs, but he'd seen me at least four times in the past fortnight, so I found his stare most troubling.

"Yes, Mr. Smythe-Edwards, it is I, Druscilla Burnham. Close your mouth, please. I have an order to fill." I dug down into my purse and drew out the note and thrust it into his leering face. "And hurry."

"Of cour...yes...mum...Your Ladysh--"

"Very amusing, I'm sure," I cried at him. I wanted to sit. I wanted a drink of water. No, I wanted to lie down in my own bed and close my eyes and feel a cool, damp cloth draped across my forehead.

The chemist looked, furtively, over my head, then to the right and the left. He paced back and forth while examining me and the slip of paper held in his hand. He seemed at a loss, as though bewildered for some reason.

Then he turned from me and walked to the open door leading to the back of the shop. But I caught him. "Where are you going? The Lady of the Manor needs this brew immediately. I'd appreciate it if you'd comply. No more dawdling, sir, if you please."

"Yes madam...uhm...right away." The shriveled, bent old chemist was shaking. Why, I didn't care, I just wanted him to bloody well get the chemicals mixed, bottled, and in my hand forthwith. I tapped my toe on the wooden plank floor.

The chemist worked hurriedly measuring and stirring everything together, then used a funnel to fill a bottle. The cork tight and the glass wiped with a clean cloth, he shoved it into a paper sack. He was trembling as he handed it to me.

I pushed the bag down into my reticule, drew the strings tight, and left the shop. I stood a minute, just outside the door and let the glorious sunshine warm my face. I became hot then cold then hot again. My heart was racing.

What should have been a pleasant journey to the chemist had developed into a torturous ordeal. I should have been back in the Manorhouse and at my Lady's side by now.

I saw Jenkins, the Manor's house-man, across the street at the butcher's shop and made my way, gingerly, over the bumpy stone street and waited by the open cart. Leaning heavily against the wooden frame of the wagon, I pulled a handkerchief from my cape pocket and wiped the perspiration from my face. It finally came to me that I was ill in some way. Maybe with the same malady that had struck down our beloved Lady Jocelyn these six weeks past.

Jenkins finally came out of the store, arms laden with packages wrapped in white paper and tied with twine. When he saw me, he dropped his parcels and ran to my aid. He kindly helped me onto the cart, then quickly retrieved his packages, threw them into the back, and climbed in to sit beside me.

Putting the reins in his left hand, he held me close to him with his right arm. His tenderness was touching and most certainly appreciated. Then, I felt myself slip away. I must have fainted or dozed because we were quickly at the front doors of Harrington Manor. Jenkins yelled, "Giles! Archibald! Come help me. Her Ladyship has wandered into town and fell ill on the way."

I sat up too abruptly, I'm sure, for my head reeled and my hands and feet tingled with tiny needle-pricks. I pushed away from Jenkins and turned in the seat so that my feet hung over the side and slowly slid to the ground. I was frightened and moving much like an old sod too deeply in his cups as I