chamber pot in her hands.
'Oh, miss!' Amelia cried in a panic. 'Mrs. Jaggers is took terr'ble sick!' Averting her face from the stinking pot, she hurried down the hallway to the stairs.
Kate went to her aunt's bedroom. The heavy velvet drapes were tightly drawn against the daylight. In the dimness, she saw Aunt Jaggers in her white cotton nightgown, doubled over in bed, clutching her heavy abdomen. Her face was contorted with a wrenching pain and her skin had a jaundiced cast that frightened Kate. The bedsheets were twisted and rank with sweat and liquid excrement. Mrs. Pratt straightened up, holding the washbasin into which Aunt Jaggers had vomited a greenish gray slime. Vomit slicked the cabbage rose carpet beside the bed. The fat terrier, ears and tail quivering nervously, cowered in the corner.
' 'Has the doctor been sent for?'' Kate put her hand on Aunt Jaggers's forehead. It was wet with perspiration and the skin felt clammy.
'Pocket's gone, miss.' Mrs. Pratt turned away to dump the contents of the basin into a half-full bucket. There was, Kate thought, a tone of grim satisfaction in the cook's voice, and her glance at the desperately ill woman huddled on the bed seemed coldly pitiless. Kate thought of Jenny. It would be no wonder if Cook derived a dour compensation from the woman's suffering.
Aunt Jaggers arched her back with a loud cry, and a convulsive shudder shook her whole body. Her eyes rolled in her head, showing yellowy whites, and she shrieked in pain. Then she flung herself over the edge of the bed and began to retch into the basin that Mrs. Pratt once more thrust forward.
Kate ran for her own room and brought back basin, water, and clean cloth, and when Aunt Jaggers was once again lying on the pillow, exhausted, she began to apply the wet cloth to her forehead. Her aunt's eyes were wide open and staring fixedly, the pupils sharply dilated. Her pulse, when Kate at last managed to find it, was slow and irregular, although she was breathing fast, in shallow gasps.
The next hour was a melee of confusion, Mrs. Pratt with the basin, Amelia with the chamber pot, and Kate intent on keeping Aunt Jaggers from flinging herself off the bed in her convulsive thrashings. Dr. Randall arrived at last, a stout, genial-looking gentleman whose heavy jowls were frosted with old-fashioned white muttonchop whiskers.
'Indigestion, is it?' he asked in a booming voice. He opened his bag and took out his stethoscope. 'Let's see, let's see.'
But when he looked up from a quick examination of Aunt Jaggers, his glance was worried.
'What is it?' Kate asked. 'What's wrong with her?'
Aunt Jaggers roused herself with an effort. 'Poison.' Her voice was a threadlike whisper. 'I've been poisoned.'
'Don't be foolish,' Dr. Randall replied with loud heartiness, as if he were speaking to a deaf person. 'Been eating oysters? There's been some trouble with taint hereabouts. Several taken ill.'
'No, no oysters,' Kate said.
Aunt Jaggers began to flail frenziedly, and a stream of wild words poured out of her.
'Hysterical,' Dr. Randall said. He took a bottle out of his bag. 'This should set matters right straightaway, I warrant.' He measured out a thick liquid into a teaspoon.
But the medicine, whatever it was, brought no quick improvement, and within five minutes Aunt Jaggers had vomited it violently into the basin. The doctor looked on, perplexed, stroking his nose with his thumb. Kate stood with Amelia at
the foot of the bed, watching apprehensively. At last Aunt Jaggers quieted, her limbs relaxed, and she seemed to pass into a deep sleep, her mouth slack, her breath hoarse and raspy, a slug's trail of saliva on her flabby chin.
'Ah,' the old doctor remarked with some relief, 'we're past the crisis, I'd say.' He put the bottle of medicine on the bedside table. 'Spoonful of this every three hours, and keep her warm and quiet. I expect to find her greatly recovered when I return this afternoon. Greatly recovered,' he added loudly, with an admonishing look at the sleeping Aunt Jaggers, as if instructing his patient in the course of her improvement.
'What do you think has made her ill?' Kate asked.
'Hard to say,' Doctor Randall replied. 'You are certain about the oysters?' As Kate nodded, he snapped his bag shut. 'What did she eat for breakfast?'
Kate shook her head. 'I don't know.'
'No one ate, 'cept fer th' young miss, sir,' Mrs. Pratt offered. 'According t' Mudd, that is.'
'Dinner was about eight last night,' Kate said.
'Not likely food poisoning, then,' the doctor remarked with an air of authority. 'Symptoms would have been felt within four or five hours.' He looked at Kate. 'You seem healthy enough. Any symptoms?'
Kate was about to answer when Nettie rushed into the room, her eyes big, her thin face pale. 'It's Miss Ardleigh,' she gasped. 'I went t' do her bed an' found her on th' floor. She's bad sick!'
Leaving Amelia to watch over the sleeping Aunt Jaggers, Kate and the doctor ran to Aunt Sabrina's room, Mrs. Pratt, and Nettie at their heels. The scene there was much like Aunt Jaggers's room: bed clothing rank and disarranged, the basin overflowing with vomit, the chamber pot brimming. Aunt Sa-brina was sprawled on the floor by the door, her nightgown drenched with cold sweat, the bellrope clutched in one hand.
'Pore lady,' Nettie whispered. 'She musta pulled an' pulled an' pulled it straight off th' wall.'
'Weren't nobody t' hear belowstairs,' Mrs. Pratt said sadly. Her voice hardened. 'We all bin tendin' t'other one.'
Kate summoned Mudd, who was hovering in the hallway. He and the doctor managed to lift Aunt Sabrina onto the bed. Her breathing was so shallow that Kate thought at first she was dead, but once in the bed her eyelids flickered.
'Mother,' she moaned. Her breath was foul with the smell of vomit, and her nightdress reeked with her waste. 'Don't be angry, Mother. I did not mean to soil myself.'
'Out o' her head,' Mrs. Pratt said judiciously.
Dr. Randall dispatched Nettie for the medicine he had left with Aunt Jaggers and began his examination. Kate stepped to the other side of the bed and took Aunt Sabrina's cold, clammy hand.
'It will be all right, Aunt,' she said quietly.
Aunt Sabrina's eyes flew open, the whites yellowed and sickly looking. An expression of confusion came over her face. 'Who-?'
'It's Kathryn.' Kate smoothed her aunt's matted hair away from her face. 'Your niece.'
Aunt Sabrina stared at her wonderingly for a moment, and then the confusion seemed to clear.
'Kathryn,' she whispered. Saliva trickled out of one corner of her mouth and she spoke with what seemed like intense effort. 'I… must see… the vicar.'
Dr. Randall straightened up. 'Things haven't arrived at that state yet, my dear Miss Ardleigh. You'll be up and around in no time, 1 promise it.' His face belied the assurance of his words.
Aunt Sabrina leaned over the bed to retch into the basin Mrs. Pratt held. When she finished, Kate gently pulled her back and began to wipe her forehead. She reached up to clutch Kate's hand.
'I… must see the vicar,' she whispered thickly. 'Must tell him…' Her eyes closed and her voice trailed off in an incoherent string of muttered syllables.
Kate leaned closer. 'Tell him what, Aunt?'
'Tell him… to tell Jocelyn…'
'Jocelyn?'
Aunt Sabrina's eyes opened wide and a spasm of pain
twisted her face. 'My… child,' she grated between clenched teeth.
Dr. Randall straightened up, shaking his head. 'Delirious.'
'She does not have a-?'
'Absolutely not. Known her all her life. Splendid woman, but never had a husband, never had children. Can vouch for that.' He frowned, looking around. 'Where the devil is that girl with the medicine?'
Nettie rushed back into the room, her eyes open and staring, her face ashen. 'She's dead!' she cried hysterically. 'Mrs. Jaggers is dead!'
'Dead!' Mrs. Pratt gasped, and tripped the basin, spilling vomit on her skirts.
'I swear it,' Nettie cried in a wild voice. 'Her eyes is open, but Mudd says 'tis true.'
