stopped, uncertain whether to offer to remain now. He looked across the bed. It had been changed only two hours ago, but it was badly rumpled now, in spite of Hester's frequent straightening of it. He drew in his breath sharply. “Does… does she know I am here?”
“I don't know,” Hester said honestly. “Even if she doesn't seem to, she may. Please don't think it is futile. She might be much comforted.” His hands were clenched by his sides. “Should I remain?” He did not move towards the bed, but looked at Hester.
“It is not necessary,” she said with instant certainty. “Better to rest, then you will have the strength when it is needed.” He breathed out slowly. “You will call me?”
“Yes, as soon as there is any change, I promise you.” She inclined her head towards the bell rope near the bed. “As long as there is someone awake to answer, they will come to you within moments.”
“Thank you. I'm most obliged, Miss… Latterly.” He went to the door and turned again. “You… you do a very fine work.” And before she had time to respond, he was gone.
Some twenty minutes later Enid began to be more troubled. She tossed and turned in the bed, crying out in pain.
Hester touched her brow. It was burning hot, even hotter than before. Her eyes were open, although she did not seem to be aware of the room but stared beyond Hester, as if there were someone behind her.
“Gerald?” she said huskily, “… not here.” She gasped and was silent for a moment. “My dear, you really must not come-Papa will…” She gave a little gasp and then tried to smile. “You know Mama favors Alexander.”
Hester wrung out the cloth in cool water again and laid it across Enid's brow, then moved the sheet and put it gently on her throat and chest. She had tried to get her to drink, and failed. She must at least do all she could to reduce her temperature. She seemed now completely delirious. “All right,” Enid said suddenly. “Don't tell Papa… he is such a…” She tossed and pulled away, then suddenly seemed overtaken by sadness. “Poor George. But I simply couldn't! Such a bore. Don't understand that, do you?”
She was quiet for several minutes, then tried to sit up, peering at Hester.
“Milo? Don't be so angry with him. He didn't mean-”
“Hush.” Hester put her arms around Enid. “He's not angry, I promise you.
Lie down again. Rest.”
But Enid's body was rigid and she was breathing heavily, gasping with distress.
“Milo! My dear, I'm so sorry! I know it hurt you… but you really shouldn't…”
“He isn't,” Hester repeated. “He isn't upset. He only wants you to rest and get better.” She held Enid closer. Her body was burning, shivering, her clothes sodden with perspiration. Through the thin cotton she felt light, as if the flesh had already shrunken and her bones were brittle. Only days ago she had been a strong woman.
“So angry!” Enid cried, her voice now harsh with distress. “Why? Why, Milo?”
Hester held her gently. “He's not angry, my dear. He really isn't. If he was, it was a long time ago. It's all over now. Lie still and rest.” For several minutes there was peace. Enid seemed to be easy.
Hester had seen many people in delirium, and she knew that past and present became muddled in the mind. Sometimes people seemed to retreat as far as childhood. The delusions of fever were terrifying: huge faces ballooned, then retreated: features were distorted, became hideous and threatening, full of deformities.
She ached to be able to help, to relieve any of the anguish, even to avert the crises, but there was nothing she knew to do. There was no medicine, no treatment. All anyone could do was wait and hope.
The gas hissed gently in the single light that was still burning. The clock ticked on the mantel. The fire was so low in the grate the coals were hot and red, but there was no flame whickering, no sound of collapsing embers.
Enid stirred again.
“Milo?” she whispered.
“Shall I send for him?” Hester asked. “He's only a few rooms away. He'll come.”
“I know it troubles you, my dear,” Enid went on as if she had not heard Hester's question. “But you really must let it go. It was only a letter. He shouldn't have written…” There was worry in her voice, and something that could even have been pity. “I shouldn't have laughed…” She trailed off and her words were lost in a mumble, and then suddenly she gave a giggle of pure delight before she fell silent.
Hester wrung out the cloth again. It was time she pulled the bell and had it changed to new water, clean and cool. But to reach it she would have to let go of Enid.
Very gently she tried to ease herself out, but Enid suddenly clung to her, her hand weak but desperate.
“Milo! Don't go! Of course it hurts. It was shameful of him. I understand, my dear… but…” Again her words became jumbled and made no more sense. Her mind began to wander. She seemed to be a young woman again, men- tioning dancing, parties. Sometimes her words were indistinguishable, but occasionally one or two would come through clearly, a man's name, a word of endearment, a chiding or a farewell. It seemed that either in imagination or reality, Enid had had many admirers, and from the intimacy of her voice and the snatched references here and there, some had loved her very much.
Milo's name was spoken once with a cry of frustration, almost despair, and then again later two or three times in a row, as if she were fascinated by it, and it was both tenderness and exasperation to her.
Towards midnight she became quieter, and Hester feared she was slipping away. She was very weak, and the fever seemed, if anything, worse. She left her for a moment to pull the bell rope. Dingle came almost immediately, still fully dressed, her face pale with distress, eyes wide. Hester asked her to fetch Lord Ravensbrook and take away the water and bring fresh, clean towels.
“Is it…” Dingle started, then changed her mind. “Is it time to change the bed linen, do you think, before his lordship comes?”
“No, thank you,” Hester declined. “I'll not disturb her.” “I'll help you, miss.”
“It won't make any difference now.”
“Is it… the end?” Dingle forced the words between stiff lips. She looked very close to weeping. Hester wondered how long she had been with Enid… possibly all her adult life, maybe thirty years or more. If she were fortunate, Lord Ravensbrook would have allowed Enid to make provisions for her, or he would do so himself. Otherwise she would be without a position-although from her white face and brimming eyes, that was far from her thoughts now.
“I think it is the crisis,” Hester answered. “But she is a strong woman, and she has courage. It may not be the end.”
“'Course she has,” Dingle said with intensity. “Never know'd anybody like her for spirit. But typhoid's a terrible illness. It's took so many.” On the bed Enid gave a little moan, then lay perfectly still.
Dingle gasped.
“It's all right,” Hester said quickly, seeing the faint rise and fall of Enid's breast. “But you had better fetch his lordship without delay. Then don't forget the water-and cool, not hot. Just take the chill off it, that's all.”
Dingle hesitated. “I know you done all the nursing, but I'll lay her out, if you please.”
“Of course,” Hester agreed. “If it's necessary. But the battle isn't lost yet. Now please send for the water. It may make a difference.”
Dingle whirled around and almost ran to the door. Perhaps she had thought it simply cosmetic. Now her feet flew along the passage and she returned in less than five minutes with a great ewer full of water barely off the chill, and a clean towel over her arm.
“Thank you.” Hester took the ewer with the briefest smile and immediately dipped the towel. Then she laid it, still wet, across Enid's brow and her throat, then sponged her hands and lower arms.
“Help me hold her up a little,” she asked. “And I'll place it on the back of her neck for a moment or two.”
Dingle obliged instantly.
“Lord Ravensbrook is taking a long time,” Hester murmured, laying Enid back again. “Was he very deeply asleep?”
“Oh!” Dingle stared at her, aghast. “I forgot 'im! Oh dear-I'd better go and fetch him now!” She did not ask Hester to keep silent about the omission, but her eyes made the plea for her.
“The water was more important,” Hester said by way of agreement.
“I'll get 'im now.” Dingle was already on her way to the door. “An' I'd better tell Miss Genevieve…”
Milo Ravensbrook came in within moments. He had dressed, but little more.
His hair was uncombed and lay in thick, untidy curls most women would have envied with a passion. His eyes
