As far as she could, Grace kept out of the overseers’ way. When she did encounter Petersen she tried to suppress the anger his grin kindled in her. If it had been up to Grace, she would have allowed things to carry on like that, hardly having any contact with him, but one day her father turned to her over supper.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to do without your lessons for a while. I need Mr. Vikrama with me throughout the day. The books need to be brought up to date and new trading deals negotiated.”
Grace looked at him in shock, but realised it was not her place to protest. The estate work was more important than her lessons—the plantation was what supported them financially.
As she no longer had anything to do in the afternoons, Grace would either go on walks or sit in front of her easel in the garden capturing the magnificent flowers of the frangipani and rhododendrons. Once, a photographer came to take portraits of the family members in turn outside their house. Unfortunately, it began to rain, so Grace was the only one photographed.
One night, when Grace was waiting as usual for Vikrama to appear, Victoria began to moan in her sleep. At first Grace thought it was a wild animal, one of the monkeys Victoria was so fond of. But when it recurred and her little sister tossed and turned on the bed, her teeth chattering, Grace left the window and hurried over to her.
“Vicky, darling, what’s wrong?”
Victoria didn’t reply. Grace felt her brow and shrank back in alarm. Her sister was glowing with fever!
She stepped back from the bed, horrified, and stood for a moment kneading her nightdress, before whirling around and running from the room. Someone had to call a doctor. There must be one in Nuwara Eliya.
Although it was not seemly to simply storm into her parents’ room, she tore open the door nevertheless. A moment later she was roughly shaking her father’s shoulder.
“Papa, can you hear me?”
Henry Tremayne grunted indignantly, then asked, “What are you doing here, Grace?”
“Victoria’s sick. She’s burning with a fever. We need a doctor.”
Claudia sat up before her husband stirred.
“Henry, send Wilkes to fetch Dr. Desmond, the one you met in the club.”
Without a word Tremayne got out of bed and threw on his dressing gown.
Grace followed him out to go back to Victoria. She had hardly gone out into the corridor when she heard her mother’s imperious voice ordering a maid, who had appeared on hearing the commotion, to heat up some water.
Grace had no idea where her father had gone; probably to wake Mr. Wilkes. Victoria was writhing on her bed in the grip of the fever. As Grace approached her she tossed her head back and forth.
“Victoria, darling,” Grace said, but neither her voice nor her touch were enough to bring her sister out of her nightmare. What was wrong with her?
“Come away from her, Grace,” her mother called from the door.
Grace, who had been about to crouch down at her sister’s bedside, looked at her inquiringly. “But, Mother, she . . .”
“A fever this serious could be contagious. We should wait for the doctor.”
“But we have no idea when he’ll come!”
“There’s nothing we can do until he does. Come away from the bed, Grace. I don’t want two daughters struck down with this illness.”
Crushed, her heart brimming with worry, Grace turned back to her own bed, refusing to go as far as to leave the room. Her mother seemed to be so afraid of the strange fever that had overcome Victoria that she didn’t even enter the room. If Grace wasn’t allowed to go near, then it should be her mother’s place to try and wake Victoria. Or at least to calm her. But nothing of the sort happened. Like a hesitant angel of death, she remained at the threshold and stared at the bed.
An eternity passed before the doctor arrived. As it turned out, Henry Tremayne had ridden out himself to fetch him.
Dr. Desmond, a kindly, red-bearded man, whose hastily thrown-on clothes attested to the nocturnal crisis, greeted Claudia and Grace briefly before turning to Victoria.
As if the presence of the doctor had enfolded her in a protective aura, Claudia also found the courage to enter the room. Behind her, in the hall, Henry was barking out orders.
A little later, two maids appeared carrying bowls of warm and cold water. Claudia indicated to them to set them down on two chairs, then the girls slipped away.
Dr. Desmond’s examination was brief. After listening to Victoria’s lungs with his stethoscope, feeling her pulse, and feeling her brow, he put a thermometer under her tongue and looked at his watch.
“It’s as I thought,” he said as he stowed the stethoscope back in his bag and went to one of the bowls to wash his hands. “I fear the girl has contracted malaria.”
Grace looked anxiously at her mother, who had turned pale and looked at least ten years older.
“What are you going to do, Doctor?” Claudia asked huskily, hugging her own shoulders.
“I’ll give you a prescription for quinine, which you’ll be able to get in Colombo. Give it to her in the stated dose. You must also take care to ensure that her temperature doesn’t rise to a dangerous level. Your daughter looks strong to me, but she’s still a child and she could easily . . .”
Grace pressed a hand to her mouth with a sob, and the doctor fell silent.
“Of course, we don’t want to assume the worst. Just see to it that the girl’s kept sufficiently cool, if necessary bathing her whole body. And you should mix quinine with your drinking water as a preventive measure.”
He went over to Grace’s desk and made out a prescription. “Here, give this to your servant and have him set off immediately. Until he gets back it’s up to you to keep the fever in check.”
Grace took the prescription and ran from the room. She met her father in the corridor. “Dr. Desmond says this must be fetched from the city immediately.”
“What’s wrong with her?” A glance at the paper in Grace’s hand told him faster than she was capable of doing. “Malaria. In our house!”
“We’re supposed to take the medicine, too,” Grace added.
Henry nodded, then whirled around and hurried back into the hall. A few moments later a rider galloped from the courtyard.
After the doctor had taken his leave, Claudia called the maids back.
“I think it’s better if we don’t tell them what the matter is,” she murmured to Grace. “We don’t want the servants to spread panic throughout the plantation.”
All through the night, she tried to get Victoria’s temperature down a little, but as fast as she could cool the cloths, they warmed up again. Victoria began to moan in her fever, periods of calm alternating with violent shivering.
As morning began to break, Grace felt like a marionette, her movements determined only by a puppeteer pulling the strings. The cool water in the bowl shimmered dully, and the cloths looked like shrivelled creatures.
Her mother had sat down, intending to snatch a few minutes’ rest, but she had been asleep for three hours now. Grace didn’t want to wake her. When the day had fully dawned she would lie down herself for a while, but she was determined to hold out until then.
Tears sprang into her eyes as she looked at Victoria. The early daylight showed even more clearly the effects of the disease. Dark rings around her sister’s eyes gave her the appearance of a skull, but her crimson cheeks clearly showed that there was still life in her body. Life that hovered in unbearable danger.
At last her mother awoke and stretched with a painful sigh.
“I’m long past the age where I can sleep anywhere.”
She stood up, reeled a little, then approached the bed.
“How is she?” she asked, as though Grace were a doctor.
“No change, I’d say,” Grace replied. “As you can see, her skin’s still glowing and the water’s no longer cold.”
“I’ll have them bring some fresh.” With an unexpectedly gentle gesture, she stroked Grace’s
hair then carefully ran her fingers over Victoria’s brow, before turning to go.
Scarcely had Claudia left the room when Vikrama appeared at the window. Grace left her vigil at Victoria’s bedside where she had been changing the cold cloths and hurried over to him. She was a little ashamed, still dressed as she was in her night attire and her hair dishevelled, but how was someone who had been looking after a sick patient supposed to look?
“I heard your sister is ill.”
Grace nodded, then cast a worried glace at Victoria, whose face still glowed red. “Last night a doctor came from Nuwara Eliya. Our houseboy’s been sent for quinine, but he’ll be gone for a while yet. Mother’s gone to fetch some fresh cold water, but the fever keeps rising. At least she’s not shivering any more, but that could change at any moment.”
“It’s malaria, isn’t it?” Vikrama asked gravely.
“How . . . ?”
“Quinine. That’s the remedy the English use for it. They all put it in the water as a preventive measure. And if someone has a fever here, it’s often malaria.” He reached for her hand. “Please be careful.”
Grace shook her head anxiously. “Don’t worry, I won’t fall ill.”
“Let’s hope not. I’ll ride to the village immediately and ask the healer there if I can do anything to help.”
“Do you think she’ll have any quinine?”
“No, only the cinchona bark itself. I’ll hurry.”
He vanished. Grace watched him go, then turned to Victoria’s bed, where a sour smell hung in the air. Moaning, her sister was rolling her head back and forth, her lips moving as though she was trying to speak. But no sound came.
Her heart contracting and a sob rising in her breast, Grace removed the cloth yet again from Victoria’s brow and immersed it in the lukewarm water. Please, dear God, she begged silently, don’t take my sister away. If You think I’ve sinned, punish me, not her.
During the morning the fever rose so much that Victoria began to talk deliriously, rambling in confusion about parrots and monkeys. Grace and her mother finally felt they had no other choice but to have a bathtub brought and to lay Victoria in cold water.
The girl’s teeth chattered as the cold water surrounded her skin, but after a while she grew calm and the deep crimson of her cheeks paled a little. When they lifted Victoria out, her skin felt cooler, but that changed back within minutes.
“That bloody houseboy!” Claudia muttered angrily after instructing the maids to bring fresh cold water. “He’s probably taken to his heels with the money and the prescription.”
“He’ll be here soon,” Grace said, trying to pacify her mother. “You’ve seen what the terrain’s like here. I’m sure many of the tracks have become boggy after the rain we’ve had.”
Claudia was not listening. “This damned country,” she muttered. “Why didn’t he sell the plantation?”
“The plantation isn’t to blame, Mother.” Grace stroked her mother’s arm. “Anyway, Mr. Cahill should have told us to add quinine to the water like everyone does here.”
It was only then that Grace realised her mother could question how she knew that. But Claudia was so wrapped up in her anxiety and anger that she didn’t notice.
The maids struggled in with more water, and the whole process began again. It looked as though Victoria would awaken, but then they realised that, although her eyes were open, she was unseeing.
Around midday the tension became too much for Claudia. “I want someone to ride to Colombo and look for that bloody houseboy!”
Before Grace could stop her, she had left the room. The next moment, she heard a knock at the window.
Her heart thumping, Grace turned. Vikrama!
She quickly laid the partially cooled cloth on her sister’s brow, then ran to the window.
Vikrama produced a small fabric pouch from beneath his clothing. As she opened the window, he handed it to her. “This is from Kisah. She says you should mix it with water.”
“Is this the cinchona bark?”
“Yes, but it also contains other herbs against fever. She says her condition may worsen slightly at first, but she’ll improve quickly after that.”
“Could the medicine be dangerous for her?”
Vikrama shook his head. “In our village people use it as a preventive measure against malaria. I should have told your father, but I’d assumed that you put quinine in your water like all the English here.”
“Don’t worry. You couldn’t have known. Even we didn’t know.”
Vikrama gave her a worried look. “Maybe you should take some yourself. Not that you . . .”
“I still feel perfectly healthy,” Grace replied, realising as she spoke that she was pleased by his concern. “But thank you. I will take some.”
Their eyes met briefly, then Vikrama hurried away.
“Thank you very much!” she called after him. He turned and waved.
Once he was gone, she opened the little pouch. The blend of herbs looked a little like manure, but the smell was much more pleasant. How could she mix it with water without her mother noticing? What would she say if Grace gave her sister medicine the natives used? She would be shocked and immediately throw the medicine away.
Doubt began to creep in. Would this medicine really be any use? Listen to your heart, an inner voice whispered.
Then she recalled how the healer had got Naala back on her feet. Slowly, yes, but the tea picker was now working again.
Since Claudia was probably still hounding her father about sending someone after the messenger, Grace went to the sideboard, poured out two glasses of water and quickly added some of the herb mixture. She gulped down the content of one glass, then went over to Victoria with the other.
Would she drink it? If it were poisonous, Grace would have felt the effects herself. But she could feel no ill effects, so she was hopeful. At worst it would do nothing, but at least it wouldn’t kill her sister.
“Victoria, darling,” she said softly as she raised her sister’s fever-hot body a little. “I have some medicine here. You’ve got to drink it.”
Victoria replied with an absent moan, and Grace shook her gently. “Come on, darling, open your eyes. Just drink a little, that’s all.”
Nothing but a moan. Grace looked in panic towards the door and listened. She couldn’t hear footsteps, but her mother wouldn’t be gone for long. And the maids could appear at any time with more water.
“Victoria, please.”
The girl’s sticky eyes opened a little. Grace doubted that Victoria knew what was going on around her, but this small movement encouraged her to hold the glass up to her lips.
Despite her fears that Victoria could choke, Grace managed to make her sister drink the brownish solution. The bitter taste woke her a little, and as Grace spoke soothingly to her, Victoria finally drank half a glass before falling back into a deep sleep.
After laying her back down on the bed, Grace went over to the window and poured the rest away. She tucked the pouch inside her dress, silently praying that it would work.
The healer’s warning proved true—after drinking the concoction, Victoria’s condition got worse. The shivering gave way to delirium, before the girl fell back motionless, as if dead. Grace’s stomach clenched. What if she had killed her sister?
She looked at her mother, who was pacing the room, nervously wringing her hands. Grace kept hoping that the herbs would soon take effect. Her father appeared briefly and asked about Victoria’s condition, but didn’t venture close to his daughter’s sickbed.
Late in the afternoon, without anyone having had to ride out after him, the houseboy appeared. Grace, who had just gone to the dining room to fetch some fruit, spotted him first and saw as he came to a halt that the horse was at the end of its strength. Unthinking, she put the fruit bowl down without noticing it was right by the sacred picture, where fewer floral offerings had been left recently.
The messenger, a young tea worker, was exhausted and had to drag himse
lf up the front steps. Similarly, the horse swayed a little behind him.
Grace opened the door.
Sweating profusely, the boy said he had returned from the pharmacy and handed her a box wrapped in brown paper.
“Nanri,” Grace thanked him in Tamil, then sent him to the kitchen, while she ran with the package back to her room.
As Grace rushed through the door, Claudia jumped up.
“He’s brought it!” Grace cried out in excitement before she could ask. “He’s just arrived. He almost rode the horse into the ground. But we’ve got it!”
Claudia breathed a sigh of relief. Her hands were shaking so much that she left the preparation of the medicine to Grace. When at last she crouched down beside Victoria to give her the quinine water, she noticed that the sweat on her brow had dried a little.
She lifted her gently and once again spoke to her softly. Victoria opened her eyes, and this time she seemed to look at her. Her eyes were still glazed, and it took a while for her to open her mouth, but this time she was better able to swallow.
Maybe she was deceiving herself, maybe she was imagining things, but she had a feeling that Victoria was a little more aware.
After giving her the quinine water, she laid her back down on the sweat-soaked pillow and arranged her hair around her face.
During the hours that followed, Grace did not let her out of her sight. Her stomach rebelled, but although she was hungry she couldn’t bring herself to eat anything. Together with her mother she replaced the cold compresses, and although the cloths still warmed up quickly, Victoria remained a little calmer and her delirium passed into proper sleep.
Butterfly Island Page 31