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She was surprised only for a moment. He knew where he had picked up his fare, and seeing the address to which he brought her, and the liveried footman, he had guessed the truth. He did not want her close enough to touch, or to take anything, even money, from her hand.
Hester sighed and followed the footman, closing the door behind her.
He was standing in the center of the hall helplessly, Enid in his arms as lifeless as a rag doll.
Hester looked for a bell rope to pull.
“Bell?” she asked sharply.
He indicated with his head to where the ornamental rope hung. No other staff had come because presumably they knew it was his duty to answer the door. She strode over and yanked the rope more roughly than she had intended.
Almost immediately a parlormaid appeared, saw the footman, then Enid, and her face went white.
“An accident?” she said with a slight stammer.
“Fever,” Hester answered, going towards her. “She should go straight to bed. I am a nurse. If Lord Ravensbrook is willing, I shall stay and look after her. Is he at home?”
“No ma’am.”
“I think you should send for him. She is very ill.”
“You should have brought her sooner,” the footman said critically. “You had no right to leave her till she was in this state.”
“It came on very suddenly.” Hester held her tongue with difficulty. She was too tired and too distressed for Enid to have patience to argue with anyone, least of all a footman. “For heaven’s sake, don’t stand there, take her upst
airs, and show me where I can find clean water, a nightgown for her, and plenty of towels and cloths, and a basin—in fact, two basins. Get on with it, man!”
“I’ll get Dingle,” the parlormaid said hastily. And without explaining who that was, she turned on her heel and left, going back through the green baize door and leaving it swinging. Hester followed the footman up the broad, curved staircase and across the landing to the door of Enid’s bedroom. She opened it for him and he went inside and laid Enid on the bed. It was a beautiful room, full of pinks and greens, and with several Chinese paintings of flowers on the walls.
But there was no time to observe anything but the necessities, the ewer of water on the dresser, the china bowl and two towels.
“Fill it with tepid water,” Hester ordered.
“We have hot—”
“I don’t want hot! I’m trying to bring her fever down, not send it up. And another bowl. Any sort will do. And please hurry up.”
With a flash of irritation at her manner, he took the ewer and left with the door ajar behind him.
He had been gone only long enough for Hester to sit on the bed beside Enid and regard her anxiously as she began to toss and turn, when the door swung wide again and a woman of about forty came in. She was plain and dowdy, and wore a gray stuff dress of rigid design, but extremely well cut to show an upright and well-shaped figure. At the present she looked in a state of considerable distress.
“I am Dingle, Lady Ravensbrook’s maid,” she announced, staring not at Hester but at Enid. “What has happened to her? Is it the typhoid?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. Can you help me to undress her and make her as comfortable as possible?”
They worked together, but it was not an easy task. Enid now ached all over, her bones, her joints, even her skin was painful to the touch, and she had such a headache she could not bear to open her eyes. She seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness, suffocatingly hot one moment and shivering the next.
There was nothing to be done for her except bathe her in cool water at regular intervals to moderate the fever at least to some degree. There were moments when she was aware of them, but much of the time she was not, as if the room swayed, ballooned, and disappeared like some ghastly vision in mirrors, distorted beyond reality.
It was nearly two hours before there was a knock at the door and a small and very frightened maid, standing well back, informed Hester that his lordship was home, and would miss please attend on him in the library straightaway.
Leaving Dingle with Enid until she returned, when it would be necessary to do the first laundry, Hester followed the maid as she was bid. The library was downstairs and at the far side of the hall, around a corner. It was a quiet room, comfortably furnished, lined with oak bookcases and with a large fire burning in the hearth. It took barely a glance to notice the polished wood, the warmth, the faint smell of lavender, beeswax and leather, to know its luxury.
Milo Ravensbrook was standing by the window, but he turned the moment he heard Hester’s step.
“Close the door, Miss …”
“Latterly.”
