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‘Can you imagine how Claudine will feel if something happens to him?’ she added quietly.
Suddenly his face softened. ‘We’ll keep him busy,’ he promised. ‘Now get out of my office.’
Hester smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter Three
JUST BEFORE she began her evening duty Hester called in at Magnus Rand’s office to ask about Charlie. It was barely dusk outside and the room st
ill held the glow of sunset as if the light were trapped in the covers of the books where the leather was polished with use.
Magnus looked worried. The lines were deep between his fair brows and he stared at Hester for a moment before he could recall her name.
‘Yes, Mrs Monk? What is it?’
‘Charlie,’ she answered. ‘The boy in the wing with the other children. How is he?’ She kept her voice light, but there was insistence in it. She intended to have an answer.
His expression cleared. ‘Ah . . . yes. He is much improved. I have recommended beef tea and as much bread and butter as he will take. Thank you for helping him.’ He smiled as if that were the conclusion of the interview.
‘And Maggie?’ she pressed.
‘Who?’ His frown returned.
‘The little girl, his sister.’
‘Oh, yes. There is nothing wrong with her. A bit sickly, but she has probably never had enough to eat in her life. Don’t worry about her, Mrs Monk. Please return to your regular duties.’ He looked down at the page he had been writing on. Hester turned to leave, not satisfied but aware that he would tell her no more. She would have to catch up on individual patients from Sherryl O’Neill.
As she reached the hallway she came almost face to face with a very elegantly dressed young woman of about her own height, but several years younger, perhaps just into her thirties. She was handsome. Her hair was thick and a rich, unusual shade of auburn. Her features were regular, but currently marred by an extreme anxiety.
She made a little exclamation of surprise and gasped an apology.
Hester smiled at her. ‘Can I help you?’ she offered.
The woman looked at Hester’s plain blue-grey dress and the white apron around her waist with its bib extending up to where it was pinned just above her bosom.
‘You are a nurse?’ she asked, although she had clearly reached her own conclusion.
‘Did you wish to speak to Dr Rand?’ Hester enquired gently.
‘Yes, if you would be so kind,’ the woman accepted. ‘My name is Adrienne Radnor. It is most urgent that I speak with him.’ Her voice cracked under the pressure of her emotion.
‘I will take you,’ Hester responded. ‘Come with me. Is he expecting you?’
‘No, but I have to see him.’
‘Come,’ Hester said again. ‘Please . . .’
The woman kept step with her, almost crowding her in her urgency. In a few yards they reached Magnus Rand’s door, which was now closed.
Hester knocked on it firmly. When she heard Magnus’s voice, even though she did not hear what he said, she turned the handle and went in, ushering Adrienne Radnor to come in beside her.
At the intrusion Magnus Rand looked up from his desk, a flush of anger darkening his face. Then he saw Adrienne Radnor and instinctively recognised her desperation.
‘Dr Rand?’ she said shakily. Her voice was husky, uncertain, but there was a quality of hysteria in it that impelled her forward, regardless of what he would say. She took a step towards his desk, ignoring Hester. ‘Dr Rand, my father, Bryson Radnor, is terribly ill. Indeed he is dying.’ Her voice trembled and it took all her self-mastery to continue. ‘He has the “white blood disease” you have written about. You are our last hope . . .’
Hester looked from Magnus to Adrienne and back again. She saw an extraordinary change come over him. The irritation was smoothed away like creases under a hot iron. It was replaced by an intense pity; then that too vanished as a sudden energy filled him.
‘Tell me more, Miss Radnor. When did you first recognise the illness in him? Be as precise as you can. I’m sorry, please sit down.’ He rose hastily from his chair and hurried around the desk to pull forward a seat for her, completely ignoring Hester.
