A little after half past seven, Lord Ravensbrook knocked on the door and immediately came in. He looked worn and there was a flicker of fear in the back of his eyes, thinly masked by pride.

“How is she?” he asked. Perhaps it was a pointless question, but he knew of nothing else to say, and it was expected. He needed to say something.

“I think the crisis may be tonight,” she answered. She saw his face pinch, almost as if she had struck him. She regretted for a moment that she had been so forthright. Maybe it was brutal. But what if Enid died tonight, and she had not told him? There was nothing he could do for her, but afterwards his grief would be allied with guilt. She would have treated him as if he were a child, not able to stand the truth, not worthy to be told it. The healing would be harder, and perhaps never completed.

“I see.” He stood still in the middle of the room, with its shadows and florals, its femininity, isolated by his inability to speak, the social conventions that bound them to their separate roles. He was a peer of the realm, a man expected to have courage both physical and moral, absolute mastery of his emotions. She was a woman, the weaker vessel, expected to weep, to lean on others, and above all she was an employee. The fact that he did not actually pay her was irrelevant. He was as incapable of crossing the chasm between them as she. Very possibly it had not even occurred to him. He simply stood still and suffered.

When he turned slowly, his eyes were very dark and there was almost an opaque look in them, as if he could not focus his gaze. He took a deep breath.

“You mean would I like to be here at the end? Yes… yes, of course I would. You must send for me.” He stopped, uncertain whether to offer to remain now. He looked across the bed. It had been changed only two hours ago, but it was badly rumpled now, in spite of Hester's frequent straightening of it. He drew in his breath sharply. “Does… does she know I am here?”

“I don't know,” Hester said honestly. “Even if she doesn't seem to, she may. Please don't think it is futile. She might be much comforted.” His hands were clenched by his sides. “Should I remain?” He did not move towards the bed, but looked at Hester.

“It is not necessary,” she said with instant certainty. “Better to rest, then you will have the strength when it is needed.” He breathed out slowly. “You will call me?”

“Yes, as soon as there is any change, I promise you.” She inclined her head towards the bell rope near the bed. “As long as there is someone awake to answer, they will come to you within moments.”

“Thank you. I'm most obliged, Miss… Latterly.” He went to the door and turned again. “You… you do a very fine work.” And before she had time to respond, he was gone.

Some twenty minutes later Enid began to be more troubled. She tossed and turned in the bed, crying out in pain.

Hester touched her brow. It was burning hot, even hotter than before. Her eyes were open, although she did not seem to be aware of the room but stared beyond Hester, as if there were someone behind her.

“Gerald?” she said huskily, “… not here.” She gasped and was silent for a moment. “My dear, you really must not come-Papa will…” She gave a little gasp and then tried to smile. “You know Mama favors Alexander.”

Hester wrung out the cloth in cool water again and laid it across Enid's brow, then moved the sheet and put it gently on her throat and chest. She had tried to get her to drink, and failed. She must at least do all she could to reduce her temperature. She seemed now completely delirious. “All right,” Enid said suddenly. “Don't tell Papa… he is such a…” She tossed and pulled away, then suddenly seemed overtaken by sadness. “Poor George. But I simply couldn't! Such a bore. Don't understand that, do you?”

She was quiet for several minutes, then tried to sit up, peering at Hester.

“Milo? Don't be so angry with him. He didn't mean-”

“Hush.” Hester put her arms around Enid. “He's not angry, I promise you.

Lie down again. Rest.”

But Enid's body was rigid and she was breathing heavily, gasping with distress.

“Milo! My dear, I'm so sorry! I know it hurt you… but you really shouldn't…”

“He isn't,” Hester repeated. “He isn't upset. He only wants you to rest and get better.” She held Enid closer. Her body was burning, shivering, her clothes sodden with perspiration. Through the thin cotton she felt light, as if the flesh had already shrunken and her bones were brittle. Only days ago she had been a strong woman.

“So angry!” Enid cried, her voice now harsh with distress. “Why? Why, Milo?”

Hester held her gently. “He's not angry, my dear. He really isn't. If he was, it was a long time ago. It's all over now. Lie still and rest.” For several minutes there was peace. Enid seemed to be easy.

Hester had seen many people in delirium, and she knew that past and present became muddled in the mind. Sometimes people seemed to retreat as far as childhood. The delusions of fever were terrifying: huge faces ballooned, then retreated: features were distorted, became hideous and threatening, full of deformities.

She ached to be able to help, to relieve any of the anguish, even to avert the crises, but there was nothing she knew to do. There was no medicine, no treatment. All anyone could do was wait and hope.

The gas hissed gently in the single light that was still burning. The clock ticked on the mantel. The fire was so low in the grate the coals were hot and red, but there was no flame whickering, no sound of collapsing embers.

Enid stirred again.

“Milo?” she whispered.

“Shall I send for him?” Hester asked. “He's only a few rooms away. He'll come.”

“I know it troubles you, my dear,” Enid went on as if she had not heard Hester's question. “But you really must let it go. It was only a letter. He shouldn't have written…” There was worry in her voice, and something that could even have been pity. “I shouldn't have laughed…” She trailed off and her words were lost in a mumble, and then suddenly she gave a giggle of pure delight before she fell silent.

Hester wrung out the cloth again. It was time she pulled the bell and had it changed to new water, clean and cool. But to reach it she would have to let go of Enid.

Very gently she tried to ease herself out, but Enid suddenly clung to her, her hand weak but desperate.

“Milo! Don't go! Of course it hurts. It was shameful of him. I understand, my dear… but…” Again her words became jumbled and made no more sense. Her mind began to wander. She seemed to be a young woman again, men- tioning dancing, parties. Sometimes her words were indistinguishable, but occasionally one or two would come through clearly, a man's name, a word of endearment, a chiding or a farewell. It seemed that either in imagination or reality, Enid had had many admirers, and from the intimacy of her voice and the snatched references here and there, some had loved her very much.

Milo's name was spoken once with a cry of frustration, almost despair, and then again later two or three times in a row, as if she were fascinated by it, and it was both tenderness and exasperation to her.

Towards midnight she became quieter, and Hester feared she was slipping away. She was very weak, and the fever seemed, if anything, worse. She left her for a moment to pull the bell rope. Dingle came almost immediately, still fully dressed, her face pale with distress, eyes wide. Hester asked her to fetch Lord Ravensbrook and take away the water and bring fresh, clean towels.

“Is it…” Dingle started, then changed her mind. “Is it time to change the bed linen, do you think, before his lordship comes?”

“No, thank you,” Hester declined. “I'll not disturb her.” “I'll help you, miss.”

“It won't make any difference now.”

“Is it… the end?” Dingle forced the words between stiff lips. She looked very close to weeping. Hester wondered how long she had been with Enid… possibly all her adult life, maybe thirty years or more. If she were fortunate, Lord Ravensbrook would have allowed Enid to make provisions for her, or he would do so himself. Otherwise she would be without a position-although from her white face and brimming eyes, that was far from her thoughts now.