Only once Aurora was settled in her favorite armchair, did anybody dare to speak. Mr. Washam piped up first, his voice thick with nerves. "It hasn't been this bad since Aurora was little," he said quietly, "I always thought that these coughs were caused by stress, but today has shown me otherwise."
To their left, Aurora sighed. She ran a hand through her thick curls and stared out of the window, as if she would have rather been anywhere but here. Yet she already looked much healthier than she had outside, her face returning to its usual fair complexion.
"I am sorry, Aurora, but this needs to be discussed." Mr. Washam frowned in a way that made Elmore's stomach flip. The concern for Aurora was clear ineverythingthat Mr. Washam did; from the gentleness in which he spoke to her, to the worry barely concealed behind his gaze.
"Perhaps," the Duke announced with a raised brow, "we should allow you to discuss this in private. After today, I will have to reevaluate my stance on this project of yours."
Elmore's stomach dropped, but already the Duke and Duchess were readying to leave. He winced, but tried to remind himself that not everything was lost. Give him time, and surely the Duke would understand that this had nothing to do with the angel's trumpet.
Elmore stayed with Aurora as the Duke left. He tried not to listen to the quiet conversation between him and Mr. Washam from the doorway, quiet whispers about the fate of their beloved plant. The Duke was still interested, at least, in letting it continue. He even wished Aurora a quick recovery.
Then he was gone, and so was the Duchess, leaving the three of them alone again.
Mr. Washam returned, settling quietly back into his seat. With no fire lit today, the living room was too quiet without the crackle of flames and wood.
"Aurora's mother died almost twenty-five years ago," Mr. Washam said softly. It was sudden enough to make Elmore wince, but Mr. Washam continued, "the coughing started the first time I tried to talk to Aurora about it, when she was five. That when it was the worst. Except, now I fear Aurora's health is declining; she hasneverpassed out before, and the coughing has become more frequent than ever."
Elmore watched Aurora from the corner of his eyes. Although she appeared to not be listening, he saw her cheeks turn pink not from illness, but embarrassment. Otherwise, she was curled up in her armchair, eyes closed as if in sleep.
He understood why she didn't wish to be involved in this difficult conversation, and so let her be.
"Mr. Washam, maybe you could describe Aurora's cough to me? I've heard it myself before, but it would be helpful to have your opinion as you know more than I do."
Truth be told, Elmore was already putting the pieces together in his mind. Aurora's coughing fits did indeed seem to be linked to stress, more frequent during times of unease. Yet there was much more to it than that; stress was not thecause.
Mr. Washam stole a nervous glance at Aurora. She was still pretending to sleep though, and so Mr. Washam sighed. "It's always a dry cough, as if it's a struggle to get through her lungs. Bergamot and other soothing herbs seem to help, but not by much; when the coughing was worst, I used to give her concentrated tinctures that did the job, because tea wasn't always enough. The coughing has always come on suddenly, often when she's outside, and fades away after a while on its own. Aurora is weak after, sometimes, but pretends to be fine each time."
That sounded like Aurora, didn't it? Elmore almost smiled at how predictable it was, Aurora acting fine when she was still uncomfortable. If she had it her way, Elmore doubted she would have allowed anybody to know that she was ill at all.
Her symptoms sounded so very familiar though; a dry cough and red face, struggling for breath...passing out was extreme, but if Aurora had been under extreme stress, then it wasn't entirely unbelievable to think it was connected to the same sickness as her cough.
The truth was, Elmore didn't wish to jump to conclusions in case that he was wrong; but it all made so muchsense,and it was as if he'd been struck by sudden clarity. For Aurora's entire life almost, she and Mr. Washam had only known it as a cough with no known cause; but Elmore knew better.
When he was in Italy studying the angel's trumpet, Mr. Russo had talked a little of his son. He was an adult now, only a few years younger than Aurora, but as a child he had suffered from difficulty breathing brought on by heavy coughing much like Aurora's own symptoms.
Which was why, when Elmore spoke, it was with the utmost confidence. "I think I know what ails Aurora," he stated, "and why it has become worse recently."
Even Aurora stirred, although she still didn't admit to being awake. She was listening though, he knew it.
"Go on," Mr. Washam urged. He was perched on the edge of his seat, hands clasped anxiously. "Please, tell me we can help her?"
Elmore grinned, because they absolutelycould."I believe that Aurora has acatarrhous cough. You were right that it is made worse by stress, Mr. Washam, but notentirely."
Mr. Washam's eyes shot wide in recognition, lips parted in a silentoh.He must have heard of what Elmore had said, because he looked like a man who was encountering the realization of his lifetime.
"Acatarrhous cough?" he repeated, as if not quite able to understand the words. "I think I knew a boy with the same illness when I was young, although he wasn't nearly as poorly as Aurora. To think that the answer has bene right here this entire time."
Elmore offered a sympathetic smile. "How were you to know? Any of us? Coughs have so many causes, it could have been a number of things; but I think that the stress has caused Aurora to get worse. That and the pollen, spending long days outside in the garden can't have helped; too much going on at once has brought Aurora's cough back."
Mr. Washam winced. "So it has been my fault, then, for doing this to Aurora?"
Elmore couldn't help but wince, a sudden rush of guilt overtaking him. It wasn't Mr. Washam's fault at all — or anybody's, for that matter. It was only unfortunate that the thing Aurora loved, the outdoors, was making her illness worse.
"Nobody is to blame for Aurora's illness," he stated firmly. There was no room for doubt here. "And besides, Aurora is a strong woman who would never give up what she loves. Nor should she have to; you said that wild bergamot helped with her coughing, yes? Well, what if the angel's trumpet could cure her?"
Now, Aurora roused from her 'sleep' with a wide-eyed look, hope flickering in her tired gaze. She glanced from Elmore to Mr. Washam, unable to believe what she was hearing.
"Do you really think that the angel's trumpet could cure me?" she asked, and her voice was thick with disbelief.