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The first to her mind was King Alfred and the Viking invasion. At least she could describe the great Norse ships, and how Alfred was beaten, and then began to fight back.
‘Shall I tell you a story?’ Hester asked, sitting down in the other chair. ‘A true story, of how a brave king gathered all his men together and fought a great battle?’
Charlie looked at her gravely. ‘Did he win?’
‘Oh, yes, in the end,’ she assured him. ‘He was very brave, and he neve
r gave up, no matter how bad it was. In fact we still call him Alfred the Great!’
‘Yes . . . please,’ Charlie agreed.
Mike looked at her steadily for a long moment, then he took a handful of her skirt in his grasp and slowly climbed up on to her lap. He settled himself and waited.
‘A very long time ago,’ she began, ‘not so very far from here, there was a man called Alfred. He wasn’t specially big, or strong, but he was very specially brave . . .’
An hour later Mike was asleep, still on her lap, and she was surprised how heavy he was. He seemed to be all elbows and knees and she had to move him gently in order to be at all comfortable herself. Maggie was curled up in the chair. Charlie was still listening, and every time she stopped he prompted her to go on.
In the late afternoon Rand came in. He stood near the doorway, watching for several moments before he demanded her attention.
She stood up, carrying Mike over to place him near Maggie, and then followed Rand out of the room. She was acutely aware of Charlie’s eyes in her back as she closed the door.
Rand’s bland, scholarly face was marred with irritation.
‘You are losing your professionalism, Mrs Monk,’ he said coldly. ‘You are not here to entertain those children. You are a part of this experiment. You would be very foolish to forget that.’
This time caution controlled the response that rose to her lips. ‘Only a part,’ she agreed. ‘I am replaceable, but not easily or conveniently at the moment. The same is true of them. Their blood works. You have no one else’s that does. It is practical that we keep them as well and as calm as possible. Is that not true, Mr Rand?’
He met her gaze for a long, silent moment. He was disconcerted by her remarks, and yet oddly pleased that she understood not just calmly, but with passion. He turned and led the way down the stairs, across the hallway and into the room where he did most of his work of measuring and refining. It was here that he examined things under the beautifully wrought microscope on its stand near the window.
He turned to face her as he closed the door, so there was no chance Adrienne would overhear them.
‘What person of honour would refuse to give a little of his own blood to save another’s life?’ he demanded.
‘None,’ she answered. ‘I have never doubted the purpose, Mr Rand, only the means you use to attain it.’
‘And what means would you have me use, Mrs Monk?’ he asked. ‘How long do I wait? Until I find another family of children whose blood heals everyone? As you have pointed out, I don’t even know where to look, or how to recognise it if I do – except by trial and error.’
Was that emotion in his voice, or did she imagine it?
‘How many more people lose limbs and die of shock and blood loss?’ His voice grew rough-edged, as if something in his memory all but choked him. ‘How many men waste away with the white blood disease?’ He moved so that she could not see his face except in profile. ‘Sometimes the many are saved by the sacrifice of the few. It is not my way, it is nature’s.’ He stopped abruptly and stood in silence. Then he straightened up and reached for a small square of glass that he used to smear blood upon to look at it under the microscope.
‘I need your assistance,’ he said sharply. ‘We cannot waste time in emotional indulgence.’
‘Seeing that the children survive is not an emotional indulgence, Mr Rand,’ Hester said bitterly. ‘When you save someone completely, you need to know why their blood – and no one else’s so far – is good. There are surely many things that could be the cause, aren’t there? Is it something in their parents? Their lives, their heritage, their environment? Is it something they eat, or even that they do not eat and others do?’
She stared at his stiff body, his square, rigid shoulders.
‘Finding that it works, and Bryson Radnor will live, is only the beginning,’ she continued. ‘Do you want to announce to the world, “Yes I did it, but I don’t know how, so I can’t do it again”?’
He turned to face her very slowly. He seemed pale, but his eyes were suddenly bright.
‘How perceptive of you, Mrs Monk. I was wrong to be disappointed in you. Of course I must know what it is that heals so remarkably in this particular blood, and that is different from other people’s. But if I succeed with Radnor, then there will be more money available to fund research. People will be clamouring to have a part in it.’ His very slight smile was bleak. ‘I will have many new “friends” among those who now have no interest at all.’
Hester caught the grief under the bitterness. She had not thought him capable of personal hurt, but perhaps she was wrong. It was more than a tactic towards her own survival and the children’s that pushed her to ask him. She knew not to be devious; he would sense it immediately, and resent it.
‘It is personal for you, isn’t it? You really are not after glory.’
‘Glory!’ he said the word as if it were an obscenity. ‘Is that what you think medical science is? A pursuit of self-aggrandisement?’ Her face was pinched with disappointment, and a sort of disgust with himself for having hoped far more.
