No Wings to Fly (18 page)

‘You didn’t come down for breakfast, ma’am, and I wondered about you,’ Lily said.

‘No.’ Miss Balfour’s voice was little more than a croak. Her grey hair was held tight to her head with a close-fitting cap. ‘I don’t want anything.’ She coughed. ‘I ache all over, and I’ve got this awful catarrh and cough. I think I must have that dratted flu.’ She coughed again, partly raising herself up off the pillow, then sank back down.

‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like just a little something? I could get you a lightly scrambled egg, or some porridge.’

‘No, I don’t want anything.’ She paused. ‘I keep shivering. I can’t seem to keep warm.’

‘I’ll get you another blanket,’ Lily said, ‘and light the fire.’

Miss Balfour thanked her. ‘I don’t think I shall be getting up today,’ she said.

Two days passed, and Miss Balfour remained in bed, uncomplaining but showing no inclination to move, and telling Lily and Mary all the while, ‘Don’t fuss, don’t fuss.’ On Sunday morning, however, under Lily’s tentative persuasion, she agreed to have the doctor, and Mr Shad went off to summon him. Dr Hanbury, a slight man with spectacles and a thin beard and a thin voice to match, called just before three that afternoon. After seeing Miss Balfour he said to Lily, who waited in the hall, that he would send his boy round with some medicine. ‘This influenza,’ he added, ‘it’s a most virulent strain, and we don’t want it to turn to pneumonia.’ Taking in Lily’s obvious condition, he gazed at her for a moment then said, ‘What about you? Are you feeling all right?’

‘Yes, thank you, sir.’

‘We don’t want you coming down with it as well. When is your baby due?’

‘In May, sir.’

‘Well – you must look after yourself.’

A while later the doctor’s boy came to the back door with a little package of medicine. Mary took it in and handed it
to Lily. There was a bottle of quinine and some phenacetin powder, both of which had to be mixed with water. Lily did what was required and carried the medicines upstairs and stood by while Miss Balfour swallowed them. Later, she made some cabbage soup and tried to tempt Miss Balfour with a little, but she wanted nothing of it.

In spite of extra blankets and the fire being well banked, Miss Balfour shivered. Dr Hanbury, calling again the next day, recommended to Lily that a goose grease or mustard poultice on the chest might help, as well as camphorated oil applied to the neck. After he had gone, Lily asked Mr Shad to ride to the butcher and the chemist, and when he had returned with the goods, she warmed up the grease in a basin, and carried it upstairs along with the oil and some pieces of flannel. Informed of the doctor’s recommendations, Miss Balfour at first would have none of it, but after a little persuasion she reluctantly agreed to the camphorated oil. When it came to the goose grease poultice, however, she refused point blank.

Gently, Lily massaged into the woman’s neck a little of the camphorated oil, and then laid around it a piece of flannel. When she had finished she went down to the kitchen and heated the soup, then, back upstairs again, held the bowl while Miss Balfour took a few spoonfuls. Afterwards, as Lily settled her back, and straightened her pillows, Miss Balfour said haltingly through her dry lips, ‘You shouldn’t . . . be doing this. It’s not your job.’

‘It’s all right, ma’am,’ Lily said. ‘It’s no trouble.’

‘Trouble or not . . .’ Miss Balfour panted for breath, ‘you should be keeping well away. You don’t want to catch it in your condition, and you could, so easily.’

‘I’m all right. I’m strong.’

‘It isn’t a matter of being strong. Mary can help me.’

‘Mary’s got other things to do. Especially with Mrs Nessant being away.’

*

The next morning Miss Balfour’s condition was even more alarming. Bending at her bedside Lily saw the perspiration standing out on her brow and saturating the hair at her temples. She would have nothing to eat, and would take only a few sips of water.

Dr Hanbury came again that afternoon, and at his request Lily went with him to Miss Balfour’s room. With his stethoscope he sounded Miss Balfour’s chest and remarked that it was still heavily congested. ‘You must keep giving her the quinine,’ he said to Lily, ‘and applying the goose grease poultices.’

‘She won’t have the poultice, sir,’ Lily said.

‘Not have the poultice? But she must.’ He looked down at Miss Balfour as she lay with her cracked lips parted, breathing heavily. ‘You hear that, Miss Balfour? You must have the poultice. This is no time for being shy. You’re very sick, and if you won’t let this young lady do it, then I’ll have to send round a nurse – and heaven knows they’ve got enough to do already.’

When the doctor had gone, Lily heated the goose grease in a basin and then took it upstairs along with some pieces of flannel. This time, Miss Balfour ceased to object and, though with obvious misgivings and no little embarrassment, gave herself up to Lily’s ministrations. By the light of the lamp Lily drew back the bedcovers and pushed Miss Balfour’s nightdress up to her shoulders, exposing her pale, large-boned body and small breasts. All the while Miss Balfour kept her eyes closed and never spoke a word. Lily got the basin of warm grease and, scooping some up into her hand, gently spread it over Miss Balfour’s chest, above and between her breasts. Once it had been smoothed in, she took pieces of flannel and laid them over the grease, gently pressing them in place. When she had finished, she pulled Miss Balfour’s nightdress
down and drew up the bedcovers. Still Miss Balfour spoke no word.

When Mary arrived the next morning it was apparent at once to Lily that the girl was sick. In between coughs, the maid told her that she had a fever and had hardly slept the previous night. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Lily told her. ‘You should be in bed.’

‘Oh, but how’ll you manage without me, miss?’ Mary said. ‘What with the missus being ill and Mrs Nessant bein’ away.’

Lily looked at her with a shake of her head. ‘Go on home, Mary,’ she said. ‘I’ll manage. Go on home and don’t come back till you’re well. The cleaning and washing will have to go hang, and if I need anything from the shops Mr Shad will get it. Go on – put your bonnet and cape back on and go home.’

When the maid had gone, Lily gave Miss Balfour her medicine, and then prepared for her a little dish of eggs and milk, of which Miss Balfour took a few spoonfuls. Afterwards, Lily applied a fresh poultice and then helped Miss Balfour – now so weak – to get out of bed to use the commode. ‘I never dreamt,’ Miss Balfour said hoarsely as Lily helped her back into bed, ‘that I’d rely on another for such needs.’

On the evening of the next day, Lily went upstairs to give Miss Balfour her medicine and found her tossing and turning in the bed while muttering disjointed phrases in her dry, cracked voice. After Lily had calmed her and persuaded her to take her medicine, she sponged her brow and neck. ‘You’re so good to me, Aggie,’ Miss Balfour murmured brokenly, her head resting against Lily’s arm. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

*

Miss Balfour’s delirium only subsided when she lapsed into a coma.

Lily found her unconscious when she went upstairs to give her her medicine the next morning. She spoke to her but there was no response, and there was no flicker of animation in the still face. When Lily took up the woman’s hand it remained seemingly lifeless. Downstairs, heedless of the cold, she ran out into the yard, calling for Mr Shad. Minutes later he had saddled up the cob and was riding off for the doctor.

Dr Hanbury arrived just after three and at once went up to the bedroom where Miss Balfour lay, moving not a muscle in her stupor. He lifted her eyelid, sounded her chest, and gave an unhappy sigh. With this form of the disease, he said, the influenza poison sometimes affected the brain. He pushed his spectacles up on his thin nose. ‘We can only hope,’ he said, ‘that she’ll come out of it in a few days.’

In the morning Lily saw no change in Miss Balfour. It was pointless to prepare food for her; she could not even take her medicine.

Lily herself was running out of energy. Nevertheless she had to look after Miss Balfour and keep the fires banked and burning. She also had to give a thought to Mr Shad. He, who was usually fed by Mrs Nessant or Mary or Miss Balfour, was in danger of missing his meals, and Lily was obliged to provide for him. So she prepared food and set it out on the kitchen table. At other times, she supplied him with a basket of bread and pickles and cheese to take back to his room over the stable and make a meal for himself.

In the late afternoon of that Saturday, when the skies darkened with threatened rain, Dr Hanbury called again, and shook his head over his patient’s prostrate form. The rain, a cold icy rain, began an hour after his departure, and
set in, falling steadily. Up in Miss Balfour’s room Lily closed the casement and built up the fire. Later in the evening Mr Shad came with fresh supplies of firewood and kindling, and Lily gave him some soup and a plate of cold cuts for his supper, along with a jug of beer. When he had eaten and gone, she locked the door against the cold, wet night. Remaining in the kitchen she set out for herself a little of the food left over after providing for Mr Shad. She had no appetite, but she knew she must eat to keep up her strength, and keep illness at bay.

When she had eaten what she could, she washed the dishes and cutlery. Standing at the sink she leant back, stretching. She felt exhausted. Her back ached and her feet ached and her breasts ached, and all she wanted to do was rest. Against the window the rain fell, the rivulets that ran down the panes reflecting, fractured, the glare of the gaslight. She put the kettle on the range and sat down again at the table. When the water had come to the boil she made a pot of tea, and while it was brewing went upstairs to look in on Miss Balfour. There was no change.

Back in the kitchen she poured a mug of tea, added a little milk, and sat sipping it, her left hand resting on the swell of her belly. As she sat on the hard kitchen chair she felt the child inside her give a kick. It was not the first time, nevertheless it filled her with a sense of wonder. Moving her hand on her swollen form, she felt a kick again, now moving against her palm. ‘It’s all right,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t have to tell me; I know you’re there.’ It would not be so much longer, she thought, and the child would be born and she would be free again. Free to get on with her life, to make a fresh start.

An image of Joel came into her mind, and she saw him, smiling, sitting beside her on the bench beside the water, while the music of the band drifted across the grass. The maverick thought came that when the baby was born and
gone from her, she might see Joel once more. The wild thought lingered in her mind. He knew nothing of the child, and was there any reason that he should ever know? Once the baby had gone from her she would be as if it had never been born.

A sudden flurry of rain, driven by the wind, threw itself at the pane, breaking into her thoughts and bringing her back to the here and now. No, she told herself angrily. Joel had gone out of her life, and she would never see him again.

There was a clock on the dresser, and Lily’s eyes moved to it and took in the time. It was almost eleven. She would look in on Miss Balfour and then go to bed. She straightened on the chair, arching her spine, hands to the small of her back, caressing the ache there. As she relaxed she caught a movement at the window. She stiffened, alert. She had seen a figure there, a shadowy form, moving across beyond the rain-streaked pane.

She rose and moved to stand at the window. Beyond the dark gardens the stables were black against the sky. Not even the window of Mr Shad’s room was lighted.

Then, suddenly, with an abrupt movement that made her start, made her heart leap and begin to thud in her chest, a dark form lurched up from below the window sill. She gave a little cry, her hand leaping to her mouth, and jumped back. The figure moved closer to the window, and as he came to within the circle of light thrown by the flaring gaslight she saw who it was.

‘Tom!’ she gasped. ‘Tom, is that you?’

She had brought him in from the rain and closed the door against the wild night. On the kitchen flags she embraced him and kissed him, her lips against his wet, cold cheek. Standing before her he took off his saturated hat and put it on a chair. The rain had soaked into his shirt and jacket, and his sodden boots left wet prints on the floor. She took his hand in hers and felt the coldness of his flesh. ‘You’re wet through and you’re shrammed,’ she said. ‘Come and sit by the stove.’

She pulled a chair up and he sat down and leaned towards the heat, stretching out his hands to it. She got him a towel. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘dry yourself off a bit.’

He rubbed at his face and neck, shivering, and as he did so he took in the shape of her body. ‘I had no idea,’ he said as he handed the towel back. ‘You’re gunna ’ave a baby. Why didn’t you tell me, Lil?’

She shook her head. ‘Oh – Tom, let’s not go into that now.’

‘Is that why you left home? Because of that?’

‘Yes, it is, but we’ll talk of it later. Have you eaten today?’

‘Nothing ‘cept a piece of bread.’

‘God, you must be so hungry. I’ll get you something.’

She put some soup on the hob and while it was warming fetched a blanket. ‘Get your clothes off,’ she told him, ‘and put this round you.’

She turned away then while he stripped down to his drawers and wrapped the warm woollen blanket about
him. His boots she stuffed with newspaper and put in the hearth, while his clothes she hung on a clothes-horse in front of the range. In addition to being wet through, his trousers and coat were stained and torn and his stockings were full of holes. When the soup was hot she poured some into a bowl and he sat at the table and ate voraciously. When the bowl was empty, she put before him a plate of ham and cheese and cold potatoes with mayonnaise. ‘I’m sorry it’s nothing more exciting,’ she said. ‘We need to get to the shops.’

‘It’s just fine, it’s excellent. It’ll keep me goin’ for a while.’ He briefly put down his fork to pull the blanket more closely about his lean shoulders. ‘I’m feeling better already,’ he said.