Chapter 1296: Chapter 1296: Spit Out a Few Mouthfuls of Blood
Butler Santana was tidying up the house downstairs when, at the beginning, he could occasionally hear coughing from the study.
The Cheney Residence was so spacious and empty that even the faintest sound could be amplified countless tis, sotis even echoing.
However, it wasn’t long before all sounds ceased, and there was a complete silence.
Butler Santana paused in confusion, then quickly went upstairs.
“Knock knock”—
No response.
“Mr. Cheney, Mr. Cheney!” Butler Santana called out urgently twice.
Still no response.
Butler Santana didn’t dare to barge in rashly, so he knocked on the door again with force.
“Knock knock”—
Yet again, no reply.
Frightened, Butler Santana pushed the door open!
Upon opening the door, Butler Santana saw Sylvan Cheney leaning against the chair, his face etched with fatigue and signs of haggardness.
Sylvan’s eyes were tightly shut, not making a sound, his complexion extrely pale.
Sylvan did not react to Butler Santana’s entry.
“Mr. Cheney!” Butler Santana called out again anxiously.
Sylvan still did not respond, as if he had heard yet hadn’t.
Butler Santana stepped closer and then noticed that the waste basket beside the desk contained several spits of blood.
Butler Santana was truly terrified, her face turning pale, and she hurriedly called Charles Mcintosh.
The servants at the Cheney Residence had all been sent away; she was the only one who could take care of Mr. Cheney now.
If she hadn’t stayed either, who would have taken care of Mr. Cheney right now?
This thought made Butler Santana’s heart ache.
“Mr. Mcintosh!”
“What’s wrong?”
“Mr. Cheney isn’t feeling well, can you call a doctor to the Cheney Residence?”
“I’ll be there imdiately,” Charles Mcintosh said in a hurry.
“Okay, okay, I’ll wait for you.”
Butler Santana found a blanket to cover Sylvan with and only then did she realize that Sylvan’s entire body was burning up, as if he had a fever.
His right hand was clenched tightly, holding sothing unknown in his palm.
Sylvan had been very idle since the new year.
Where had Butler Santana ever seen such an idle Mr. Cheney, to know that he was always so busy!
She had felt that sothing was wrong, but she didn’t dare to ask too much.
At this mont, Butler Santana wanted to scold Joe Heath, who had co over in the evening and she didn’t know what he had told Mr. Cheney. Mr. Cheney had not been in good health, and such a provocation had made him spit blood.
But inevitably, Butler Santana guessed that what Joe Heath said must have had sothing to do with Jasmine Yale.
Only matters concerning Miss Yale could make Mr. Cheney care so much.
Fifteen minutes later.
Charles Mcintosh arrived at the Cheney Residence with a doctor, looking haggard.
“Is he okay?” Charles Mcintosh asked imdiately.
The doctor entered the study, while Charles and Butler Santana stood aside.
Butler Santana shook her head: “I’m not very clear, he seems to have a fever, these past few days Mr. Cheney hasn’t been well, and he refuses to take dicine.”
“Caught a cold?”
“It doesn’t seem to be just a simple cold.”
“Alright, let’s wait for the doctor to finish the examination,” Charles Mcintosh nodded.
In the study, everyone held their breath and kept silent.
Charles Mcintosh frowned deeply.
He rarely saw a sick Sylvan Cheney. Even sick, this man could quickly recover; he did not allow himself to be seen in such a sorry state.
It was as if Charles Mcintosh knew sothing.
As the doctor conducted the examination, Butler Santana whispered to Charles Mcintosh at the side.
“Mr. Mcintosh, Mr. Heath ca by in the evening,” Butler Santana reported truthfully.
“What did he co for?” Charles Mcintosh’s brow furrowed deeply.
“I don’t know. Before he arrived, Mr. Cheney was busy working in the living room. After he had been there for a while, Mr. Cheney’s complexion changed. During that ti, Mr. Cheney and Mr. Heath had an argunt.”
“Joe Heath never brings any good news.”
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