The yellow bounder rattled into Bath just before noon and pulled up outside Aunt Dottie’s house. She almost fell from the carriage in her haste to get down, but George caught her in time. They were both exhausted. Aunt Dottie had been restless and anxious the entire time. She’d barely eaten a mouthful of the very good dinner the landlady had provided, and though they’d gone to bed straight after dinner, the old lady had barely slept a wink—she’d jumped out of bed a dozen times through the night, peering out of the window into the darkness and wondering aloud how much longer it would be until the dawn. And since George and she had shared a room, George hadn’t slept much either.

Aunt Dottie hurried up the front steps and rang the doorbell.

The jangling of the bell echoed within. They waited.

Aunt Dottie choked off a sob. “Logan always opens the door for me. Always.”

Not knowing what to say, George rubbed her arm in a comforting manner. Eventually light footsteps came running. The door opened and Betty, Aunt Dottie’s maidservant, opened the door. Normally neat and trim, she looked bone weary. Her hair was a mess and her face was stained with drying tears. “Oh, m’lady, I’m—”

“Nooo!” Aunt Dottie wailed, clutching the doorjamb.

“No, no,” Betty said hurriedly. “He’s alive. The fever broke in the early hours of this morning. Mr. Logan is out of danger.”

“He’s alive?”

Betty nodded. “He’s upstairs in his bed, m’lady, sleeping peaceful as a baby. He—”

But Aunt Dottie was gone, puffing up the stairs as fast as her short legs could carry her. George followed. To her surprise, instead of the servants’ rooms, on the upper floor, Aunt Dottie went straight to her own bedchamber.

George knew Aunt Dottie’s bedchamber. George, Rose and Lily had lived with Aunt Dottie in the weeks leading up to Cal’s marriage to Emm. But the old lady went through her bedchamber, directly into her dressing room and opened a door George had never noticed.

It led to a small chamber containing a large bed, and in that bed lay Logan, sound asleep. Aunt Dottie gazed at him, tears rolling down her face, and smoothed his silvery hair back from his brow.

“You’re sure the doctor said he’d be all right?” she whispered.

“Yes’m, he left not an hour ago,” Betty whispered from the other doorway that led to the servants’ stairs. “He says Mr. Logan is to sleep as much as possible and that when he wakes he’s to be given soup and a little bread. Nothing heavy.”

“Soup? He hates soup.”

Betty smiled. “Cook is making chicken soup now. Smells lovely, it does.”

Aunt Dottie glanced around. “Is there only you and Cook here?”