‘I know but—’
Uncle Bertram burst through the door in his human aspect. He was red-cheeked and panting, and he flapped his cravat at everyone.
‘Helloooo, I was just wondering what was happening,’ he said, smiling nervously, twitching all the while. He looked at Jem and Tom. ‘Ooh, do we have visitors? Where did they come from?’
An exasperated Mirabelle rubbed her palm across her forehead at Bertram’s terrible acting.
‘We found them on the Path of Flowers,’ she sighed.
‘We?’ Bertram squealed.
‘I meant me and . . .’
‘And your pet bear,’ said Tom.
‘Pet bear?’ squealed Bertram, this time looking rather offended.
Tom was coughing again. It sounded as if wet stones were rattling around in his chest. Mirabelle saw the concerned look on Jem’s face.
Tom waved his hand at Enoch and Bertram. ‘Look, we don’t want to cause too much—’ he coughed again. ‘Too much trouble,’ said Tom, now almost doubling over as the coughing fit took hold.
Mirabelle wasn’t totally surprised when Tom’s eyes rolled up in his head and he hit the floor. What did surprise her was how gracefully and slowly he did it, like a ballerina at the end of a performance.
Jem ran to him, shouting his name. She tried to raise him up, but his head lolled back at an alarming angle. She turned to the others, tears rolling down her cheeks. ‘Help him, please.’
No one moved. Both Bertram and Enoch look shocked.
‘Please!’ Jem shouted with a sudden fierceness.
Mirabelle went to Jem and helped her hold Tom’s head. His skin felt clammy and feverish, and his eyes were rolling behind his eyelids. She saw the terror on Jem’s face as she held her brother, the way she looked at him, as if fearing he might vanish at any moment. That’s what made her decision for her. She nodded at Bertram.
‘Uncle, take him upstairs, please.’
Bertram looked at Enoch.
Enoch looked at Mirabelle. ‘But he’s a stranger! He shouldn’t be . . .’ he spluttered.
Mirabelle shook her head and turned back to Bertram. She could see the confusion on his face as he seemed to wrestle with some inner turmoil, the slight glimmer of pity in his eyes even while he looked on fearfully. ‘Please, Uncle. He’s very ill. We can’t leave him like this.’
Bertram looked at Enoch again. ‘It can’t hurt, can it? I mean . . .’ He gestured at Tom. ‘Look at the poor boy.’
Enoch looked at Tom. Mirabelle saw her uncle’s jaw clench tight, and a strange look pass across his face. She couldn’t read it, but she could see he too was struggling with something, as if he were in pain. Caught between her anger and Bertram’s gentle pleading, he suddenly seemed uncharacteristically indecisive. He was about to speak, but as he hesitated Mirabelle took advantage of the moment to nod at Bertram, who scurried over and lifted Tom into his arms.
Mirabelle directed him towards the stairs and told him which bedroom to use. She nodded at Jem to follow, and was just about to step after them herself when Enoch laid a hand on her arm and looked down at her.
‘But they’re strangers, Mirabelle. From outside.’
There was that look again. Mirabelle sensed Enoch’s earlier conviction seemed to be faltering. He almost seemed to be beseeching her.
Mirabelle shook her head. ‘They need our help, Uncle.’
And she followed them upstairs.
Jem
The blind panic that took hold of Jem as soon as Tom fainted was the worst she’d ever felt. It was even worse than the white-hot nerve-shredding agony of hearing her parents had died. She couldn’t lose him too. He was all she had left. She started to tremble uncontrollably and didn’t think she’d be able to make it up the stairs behind the man called Bertram, who was carrying her brother.
Then she felt a hand on her arm, and she looked into the calm grey eyes of the girl, Mirabelle. Mirabelle smiled.
‘He’ll be all right.’
The trembling started to recede, and Jem clenched her fists in an effort to ward off its possible return.
Tom was carried into a bedroom containing a large four-poster bed, a couch, a table and some chairs that looked as if they had all seen better days. There were heavy velvet drapes drawn across the windows, which reached almost from the ceiling to the floor.
Bertram placed Tom gently on the bed, then stood back, looking nervously at Enoch as he entered the room.
Jem found Enoch, with his dark clothes and cold demeanour, an intimidating presence. From the way Bertram treated him it was clear that he was in charge, but he didn’t react to Bertram now. He just stood rooted to the spot, staring at Tom, and even in her anxious state it was clear to Jem that he was perturbed in some way.
‘We need to call Dr Ellenby,’ said Mirabelle.
A warm sense of relief washed over Jem when she heard the word ‘doctor’. This at least was something she understood. Enoch gestured for Bertram to come closer to him and he spoke to him in hissing whispers. Bertram nodded and left the room. Enoch’s eyes alighted on Jem, and she tried to hold his gaze without flinching, knowing that was what Tom would expect of her.
Another gentle pressure on her elbow, and she found Mirabelle guiding her towards a chair, which she’d put by the side of the bed. Jem nodded in gratitude and pulled the chair closer to the bed, then reached out and took one of Tom’s clammy hands.
She waited with her eyes fixed on Tom and the rise and fall of his chest. She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but she could sense Mirabelle nearby, while Enoch waited by the door. At one point two girls dressed in checked blue-and-white pinafores came into the room. They looked like twins, but Jem paid them little heed, preferring instead to keep her eyes on Tom. She heard them address each other as Dotty and Daisy, and she could feel their eyes on her as they whispered to one another.
