by Jess Foley
‘Well, Miss Lily Mary Clair,’ she said shortly. ‘This is a surprise and no mistake.’
‘Miss Elsie,’ Lily said, her voice sounding stiff and unused, ‘how . . . what are you doing here?’
‘I’ve come to see about you,’ Miss Elsie said. ‘Mrs Tanner’s granddaughter came to Rowanleigh last evening. Came with the message that you were ill. Bless the girl. I was so grateful to her. So Mr Shad and I – we set off from Sherrell first thing this morning. He’s downstairs right now, setting the fire and getting in some water and coal.’ She looked around at the plainly-furnished little room and gave a shudder. ‘This place is like a damned ice-house. You need a fire up here too.’
Lily groaned. ‘Oh, Miss Elsie, I’m so sorry you were dragged out like that. You shouldn’t have been. I’ll be all right.’
‘Well, if you’re looked after properly you will.’ Miss Elsie’s voice had a no-nonsense tone to it. There was a small chair by the fireplace, and she brought it over to the bed and sat down.
‘After getting your letter I was expecting you back at Rowanleigh,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t think what was keeping you. Then the young man came, Mr Goodhart, and after that, young Millie.’ She looked at Lily in silence for a few moments, then leant forward and laid a hand on Lily’s wrist. ‘She told me – she told me about the child.’ Her fingers tightened about Lily’s wrist. ‘Oh, my dear . . . my dear.’
The ever-present, ever-waiting tears sprang to Lily’s redrimmed eyes and coursed down her cheeks, and for long moments no words were spoken. Then, at last, with a finger-hold on her control, she said dully, frowning, ‘Miss Elsie – I wish you hadn’t been put to all this trouble.’
‘My dear,’ Miss Elsie said, ‘you cared for me when I was at my lowest, and when there was no one else. The least I can do is return a kindness.’
‘But – but it’s not safe for you.’
‘Don’t you worry about that,’ Miss Elsie said. ‘I’ll be all right. I’ll take whatever precautions I think necessary, and I shall be fine. I’ve had my vaccination, too. So has Mr Shad.’ She got up from the chair. ‘Now you lie down again. Mr Shad’ll come up in a minute and set a fire here, and we’ll get the place a bit warmer. While he’s doing that I’m going to get you something to eat.’
Lily remained in bed with Miss Elsie tending her. Dr Trinshaw called late in the afternoon, and Miss Elsie stayed in the room while he checked Lily’s temperature, took he pulse and looked at the vaccination wound. Lily heard their murmured exchanges as though through a fog. He did not stay long, but patted Lily’s hand and went away again.
As the hours passed, Lily slaked her thirst on sips of water, and took the drops that Miss Elsie gave her to ease the aches in her head and back. She tried to take a little food too – soup at one time, and part of a lightly scrambled egg. On neither occasion could she keep it down.
Mr Shad left to return to Sherrell later that day, and Miss Elsie made up the bed in the second bedroom with blankets that she had brought from Rowanleigh. By the light of a candle she sat up late at Lily’s bedside, and when she eventually went to her bed in the next room she left the door open so that she would hear if Lily called out in the night.
The next morning, Saturday, Miss Elsie sponged Lily’s sweat-drenched skin and dressed her in a clean nightgown. Lily was barely aware of what was happening, and submitted to the ministrations with a dull expression and hardly a word. When Miss Elsie had finished, she had Millie come into the room and set a fresh fire. Later, Miss Elsie sat in the chair at Lily’s bedside and gently dabbed at her brow with a damp flannel.
‘How are you feeling today, my dear?’
Lily’s chapped lips moved as if painfully. ‘All right,’ she murmured faintly. ‘I’m . . . all right.’
A little nod from Miss Elsie. ‘Dr Trinshaw,’ she said after a moment, her voice low, ‘he says you can win here.’ Her words sounded deliberate and measured. ‘He says you’re young and you’re strong, and you can beat this thing – and I say that too.’ She leant forward and laid her hand with the gentlest touch on Lily’s cheek. ‘Lily Clair – you’re a girl with spirit, you are. You have been ever since I met you.’ Her mouth moved in an unaccustomed smile. ‘And you’re not going to let this beat you, are you?’ She drew in her breath. ‘If you are, then you’re not the girl I knew.’
Lily lay silent for some moments, then she said, her voice faint, hardly more than a whisper, ‘My boy and I – we went to the aquarium.’
Miss Elsie leant closer. ‘What did you say, dear?’ Above the frill of Lily’s nightgown she could see the rash that had come up on her throat.
Lily’s decline was so rapid as the sickness advanced. It was like a tide that caught her up and swept her on as if she were nothing more than a piece of flotsam. By noon on Sunday, the rash on her body had spread so much further, the flat, dark lesions growing, taking on a blackish hue beneath the skin. Towards evening she became delirious and lay gasping for breath, her limbs twitching, muttering incomprehensible words through dry lips while the sweat poured from her body and plastered her hair to her scalp. After a time even her mutterings fell silent. Miss Elsie sat at her bedside all night long, and when she leant over her in the cold dawn light, she saw that the lesions had spread and joined together, making of her face a blackened mask that ran down to disappear beneath the neck of her nightgown.
Chapter Forty
It had rained in the night, quite heavily, adding to the water in the butt in the yard, and filling up the broken earthenware dish that stood on the coal bunker. Now, though, the clouds had gone and the skies were clear, though it remained very cold. The doctor had come to the house just after eleven, and at any moment the mortuary attendants would be calling. When the knock came at the door, however, Miss Elsie answered it to find Joel on the doorstep.
‘Mr Goodhart . . .’ Her spirit sank anew at the sight of him.
‘Miss Balfour . . .’ He was smiling at her, and surprised to see her there. He had just come from Bath, he said, and had come to see Lily. She was expecting him.
Miss Elsie noticed that he carried in his hand a leather briefcase and a small white flower. She looked sorrowfully at him. His face was full of hope and expectation. In halting words she told him then of Lily’s passing. She had died that morning, she said, taken by the smallpox.
For a moment he stood there deeply frowning, as if he had misheard. Then he said quickly, ‘But – no. No, this – this can’t be. Not Lily. I was here with her – just on Wednesday. This can’t be.’
‘There was nothing anyone could do,’ Miss Elsie said.
‘No,’ he said, still frowning. ‘No.’
Miss Elsie did not speak at this, and after a moment he put his head a little on one side, and in anguish drew his lips back over his teeth. Tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks. He gave a sob, and then said, when he could get his breath, ‘But – she was so young, so – so alive. She – she was strong.’
Miss Elsie gave a little nod. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Strong, yes – but she would not fight.’
As she spoke, a horse-drawn wagon came into view, and as it slowed at the gate she realised that it must be from the mortuary. She watched as it came to a halt, and two men climbed down. They were dressed in black and came up the path bearing a stretcher.
Joel did not seem to be aware of them until they stopped just behind him. As they did so, the man leading said to Miss Elsie, briefly raising his hat: ‘If you please, ma’am – we’ve come for Miss Clair? Miss Lily Mary Clair . . .?’
Miss Elsie nodded. ‘Yes – indeed.’ She stepped back. ‘I’ll show you upstairs.’ Turning to Joel, she added quickly: ‘Please – Mr Goodhart – excuse me, just for a moment. I must attend to this – business. But please – do come inside for a minute, will you . . .?’
He said nothing, but gave a little nod, and remained standing there, as if in a trance. Then as the men came forward he stepped aside to allow them past. Miss Elsie gazed at him for a seco
nd longer, at his stricken face, and said, ‘I’ll be back directly.’ Then to the two men she added, turning back into the house, ‘Come this way, please.’
She led the way along the passage and up the stairs. At the top, she opened the door to the bedroom but remained outside on the small landing. As the two men came up behind her she gestured into the room. ‘Just in here,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you to your work. I’ll be downstairs if you need me.’
She stood aside then as they went past her into the bedroom, and then briefly hovered there, hearing their voices as they spoke to one another in hushed tones. Then she turned and went back down the stairs and along the passage. When she came to the open front door she found that Joel was no longer there.
Standing on the narrow front step, she looked along the street in both directions. He was nowhere in sight. As she turned to step back into the hall she saw a scrap of white down on the flags near the step, and dully realised that it was the flower he had been holding.
She stood there for a moment longer, then closed the door against the cold and went back into the kitchen to wait for the men to come downstairs. Out in the yard the woodpecker flew down and alighted on the rim of the broken pot, dipped his scarlet-capped head and delicately drank.