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Hester inserted the needle herself because she knew she would be gentler than Rand. His chemical knowledge was superb, his measurements precise to the minutest drop, but he had no concept of gentleness, nor did he seem to understand fear.
At least that was what she thought, until it was Charlie’s turn. This time Rand seemed to find it difficult to watch, not because he had another task, but she heard his slight indrawn breath as she touched the point of the coarse, hollow needle to the vein in Charlie’s thin arm. It was barely healed from the last time.
Hester spoke to Charlie quietly, apologising for what she was doing, but telling him what a marvellous gift he was giving to other people, to the science of medicine, and to knowledge in general. All this time she heard her own voice she was wondering if she should be telling him such a thing. She did not want him to think she liked this or thought it right, but she needed Rand to think she believed it.
She was intensely aware of Rand only a foot away from her, standing so close to make certain she did nothing whatever except exactly what he had told her to. Whatever she said or did, he would never trust her. Nor should he, except not to cause unnecessary pain.
She drew the plunger back gently and watched the scarlet liquid fill the glass tube. It revolted her that she could be part of such a procedure, but at least she would hurt Charlie less than Rand would. His smooth young face was white as he watched too.
Hester could feel the warmth of Rand’s body almost touching her, and the very slight hiss of his breath.
When she had finished she passed the vial of blood to him, and he took it without looking at Charlie, or thanking him. Either Rand was concentrating so intensely that he was already oblivious of other people, or he was in the grip of some emotions that required all the self-mastery he could call upon. For a moment Hester thought it was the latter, and then she changed her mind. Why did she think Rand even had emotions?
She smiled at Charlie and touched him gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she added, ‘Come and lie down for a while. Look after each other. There’s plenty of water, so please drink it. I’ll try to find something special for lunch.’
He gave her the best smile he could manage.
When she returned from taking Charlie back to his bed, she found Rand waiting for her impatiently.
‘Time is of the essence, Mrs Monk. I thought you knew that.’
‘So is the health of our . . . providers of blood!’ she snapped back at him. ‘If they don’t do well, neither does Mr Radnor, and more importantly, neither does the experiment.’
‘I am glad you appreciate that it is all one effort.’ He sounded slightly mollified. ‘Please help Adrienne finish preparing Mr Radnor. I will show you exactly what is necessary with the blood another time. It is good that you should understand.’
She had not said that she cared in the least about how he treated the blood. But she noted that he seemed to want her interest – or was it merely that he had noticed it already? She was annoyed with herself for feeling interested, and then for being careless enough to let him know. Morally it repelled her, and yet the possibilities of the good it could do fired her imagination. Thousands, soldiers, ghosts from the past thronged her mind.
‘Yes, Mr Rand,’ she said obediently, and turned away so he would not see her face. He saw too much, too easily, and she could not read him in return.
She found Radnor propped up on several pillows. There was definitely more colour in his face today and even a spark of interest in his eyes. Adrienne was beside him, watching every movement, listening to each word as always. Was it comforting to him, or did it irritate his patience? Could it be possible that it was both?
Radnor looked Hester up and down with a bright, assessing eye.
‘What makes you nurse, Mrs Monk?’ he said curiously. ‘Have you no family of your own to look after, no man to keep you? You’re not bad-looking but you’ve a sharp tongue and men can get very tired of that.’
Hester looked at him with surprise. He was definitely feeling better, and yet somewhere beyond the desire to provoke her, even hurt her, she saw a dark fear. He wanted to live. More than that, he resented that she, whom he considered a lesser being, was healthy where he was not.
She smiled slowly. ‘During the Crimean War it was a desire to be of use, and a deep respect for the courage of many of the men. Anger at the foolishness of others, I suppose.’ She met his eyes squarely, staring back just as hard as he. ‘Now I am filling in for a friend, temporarily. When she returns I shall go back to my usual occupation. If I survive, of course. I am here under duress, as you perfectly well know. But I admit Mr Rand’s experiments are interesting. There is much to be learned.’
Radnor nodded very slowly. ‘You like to learn. So do I. Learn all you can. Knowledge is the wealth of the world, be
auty is its joy. See the beauty in everything! Learn all you can, sit up all night under the stars and discuss everything there in all the sublime possibilities of the mind.’ He smiled as if in memory he were tasting it now. ‘Eat the fruit of life till the juice of it runs down your chin. Laugh at the absurd until your sides ache and you can’t get your breath. Grasp it! Hold on, till they have to prise your fingers off it when you’re dead. Wear colours, woman! Not that damn blue-grey.’ He looked her up and down again, his lip curling with contempt.
‘Perhaps I’ll wear scarlet, like a soldier’s uniform,’ she replied, still without looking away from him. ‘So the blood doesn’t show.’
He nodded and smiled at her slowly, but the fear was back in his eyes. ‘I’m dying, but at least I was alive. Have you ever been alive, woman? Really alive? You with your skinny body and prim dress, your back stiff as a ramrod! Ever loved a man, except from a safe distance? Eh?’
‘Yes. And I may love tomorrow, and many tomorrows after that. You won’t. When you get up, pay attention and get prepared to take more blood,’ she told him with a faint, chill smile.
‘How dare you speak to my father like that?’ Adrienne said firmly, jerking forward in her chair and rising to her feet. ‘Remember who you are, and your position here!’
Hester stared back at her. ‘I am a prisoner here because you need my skills in order to have some chance of saving your father’s life. I remember that. I think it is you who seem to have forgotten it.’
Radnor brought his hands together in a faint dry rubbing of skin, but it was intended as applause. ‘Not your match,’ he said to Adrienne. There was a smirk of malicious satisfaction on his lips. ‘In fact, you are nowhere near as much fun!’
Adrienne winced, but she remained standing. She did not look back at him, or answer. She insisted on helping Hester prepare his arm by sterilising his skin with surgical spirit, then make him as comfortable as possible so he would not find it difficult to remain perfectly still.
Rand came back. The apparatus was wheeled into place and the procedure began. The needle was inserted into Radnor’s arm. Hester knew that it hurt, but he refused to register it, even in his eyes. Only his breathing altered for a moment, then returned to normal. She respected his courage, though little else. His will to live was almost tangible in the room, like the energy in the air when a storm is building. She understood how Adrienne would be desolate if he died, and yet guilty because part of her would also be relieved. Like a great tree, he sheltered those close to him at the same time as he took the sunlight, and also sucked the soil dry of its goodness.
