At about half past nine in the evening there was a knock on the bedroom door, and when she went to open it, she found on the threshold a woman perhaps a year or two older than herself but with a face she knew to be far prettier than her own, with a frank and earthy openness to it which she could not but like.

“Yes?” she inquired. The woman was plainly dressed, but both the cut and fabric were excellent, and the style was more flattering than any servant would be permitted. She knew before she spoke that this must be the relative Lord Ravensbrook had promised.

“I'm Genevieve Stonefield,” the woman introduced herself. “I've come to help you nurse Aunt Enid. I hear she is dreadfully ill.”

Hester opened the doors wider. “Yes, I'm afraid she is. I'm very grateful you have come, Mrs.-Stonefield, did you say?” The name was familiar, but for the moment she could not place it.

“Yes.” She came in through the door nervously, almost immediately glancing across to the big bed where Enid lay, white-faced, her hair wet and straggling over her brow. The room was lit only by the gas bracket on the farther wall, hissing gently, casting long shadows from the bedside chair and the jug on the table. “What can I do to help?” she asked. “I-I've never nursed anyone before, except my own children, and that was only for colds and chillsnothing like this. Robert once had tonsillitis, but that is hardly the same.”

Hester could see that she was profoundly afraid, and she could not blame her. Only experience made it tolerable for her. She could well remember her first night in the wards in Scutari. She had felt so inadequate, so aware of each moan or rustle of movement. The minutes had dragged by as if daylight would never come. The next night had been even worse, because she had known in advance how long and desperate it would be. If she could have run away, she would have. Only pity for the men and shame for herself kept her there.

“There is nothing you can give her that will help, except the water from that jug.” Hester closed the door and indicated the small blue china jug on the side table. “The other is just clear water for the cloths to keep her as cool as you can. Wash her brow and hands and neck as often as you please. Every ten minutes, if it seems it may help. She has not vomited since the very beginning, but if she should seem distressed in that way, be prepared for it. There is a dish over there.” Again she pointed.

“Thank you,” Genevieve said huskily. She looked alarmed. “You're not going just yet, are you?”

“No,” Hester assured her. “And when I do, I will simply be in the next room to sleep for a few hours.” She indicated the dressing room door. “I can't remember when I last lay down, but it seems like the day before yesterday, although I don't suppose it can be.”

“I didn't know she had been ill so long!” Genevieve was aghast. “Why did Lord Ravensbrook not send for me before?”

“Oh no, she was only taken ill today. We have been down in Limehouse, with the typhoid outbreak there,” Hester replied, leading the way to the bed.

“I'm sorry, I'm not being very clear.”

Genevieve swallowed, her throat tight as if she would choke.

“Limehouse?”

“Yes. There is a very bad outbreak there at the moment. We have converted a disused warehouse into a temporary hospital.”

“Oh. That is very good of you. I believe it is not a pleasant area at all.

Not that I know it, of course,” she added hastily.

“No,” Hester agreed. She could not imagine how any relative of Lord Ravensbrook would know Limehouse, or anywhere else in the East End. “Before I go, we should change the bed linen. It will be much easier with two of us. Dingle will take the soiled sheets and attend to them.”

Together they changed the bed. Hester had said good night and was almost at the dressing room door when Genevieve's voice stopped her.

“Miss Latterly! What-what can you do for them in Limehouse? It isn't like this, is it? And won't there bewell-lots of them ill?”

“Yes. And no, it isn't like this.” Genevieve, with her charming face and well-cut gowns, could not have any conception of the makeshift fever hospital in Limehouse, the stench of it, the suffering, the stupid unnecessary dirt, the overflowing middens, the hunger and the hopelessness.

There was no point in trying to tell her, and no kindness. “We do what we can,” she said briefly. “It does help. Even someone there to try to keep you cool and clean and feed you a little gruel is better than nothing.”

“Yes. Of course.” She seemed to want to discuss the subject, but as if she regretted asking. “Good night.”

“Good night, Mrs. Stonefield.”

It was only when Hester was washing her face in the bowl of water which had been left for her that she suddenly remembered the name. Stonefield. It was the name of the man Monk was searching for in Limehouse! He had said he was a respectable man who had suddenly disappeared, for no apparent reason other than to visit his brother in the East End. And his wife feared him dead.

Surely Enid would have said something, if she had overheard Monk? But Enid had not been in the room, only Monk, Callandra and herself. She was too tired now to turn it over in her mind any further. All she wished was to wash the grit out of her eyes, feel the warm clean water on her skin, and then lie down and at last stop fighting exhaustion and allow it to overcome her.

_ She was wakened by a persistent rocking and a voice in her ear whispering her name over and over. She struggled to consciousness to find a gray light seeping into the room and Genevieve Stonefield's white and anxious face only a foot from hers.

“Yes?” the mumbled, fighting to clear her mind and free herself from the shreds of sleep. Surely it couldn't be morning already? It seemed she had just lain down.

“Miss Latterly! Aunt Enid seems-worse. I dare not leave calling you any longer. I know how tired you must be-but…”

Hester hauled herself up, reaching out blindly for her robe, then remembered she did not have one. Even her nightgown was Dingle's. Ignoring the cold-there was no fire in the dressing room, although there was a fireplaceshe went past Genevieve into the bedroom.

Enid was tossing and turning and crying out with pain in a soft, almost childlike whimpering, as if she were completely unaware of her surroundings. She seemed completely delirious. The perspiration stood out on her skin, even though the jug of water and a cloth were on the bedside table and the cloth was still cool and damp when Hester picked it up. A good deal of the sugar water was gone.

“What can we do?” Genevieve asked desperately from just behind her. There was little enough, but Hester heard the fear and the grief in her voice, and felt a quick pity for her. If she was indeed Monk's client, then she had enough tragedy to contend with, without this bereavement added to it.

“Just try to bring the fever down,” she replied. “Ring for some more water, at least two jugs of it, and cool, no more than hand heat at the most. And perhaps we'd better have clean cloths and towels as well.”

Genevieve went to obey, glad to have something specific to do. The relief was naked in her face.

When the water and towels came Hester put them on the table and pulled back the bedcovers, ready to begin. Enid's nightgown was soaked with perspiration and clung to her body.

“We'll change her into a shift, I think,” Hester suggested. “And change that lower sheet again. It's very rumpled.” She reached out her hand. “And damp.”

“I'll get the clean ones,” Genevieve said instantly, and before Hester could agree or disagree, she darted away and started opening the drawers of the linen press and searching.

She brought the shift, and then went back straightaway to find a sheet, leaving Hester holding Enid and trying alone to take off the soiled nightgown. Enid did what she could, but she was barely conscious, and it was only too apparent that every touch hurt her and every movement sent pain right through her bones and joints. Added to which, her vision was so distorted by fever she could not focus on anything and kept misjudging where her hands could grasp.