The Twisted Root

calling abandoned such cases.
    What was there she could find in the meantime? Even hot tea alone might soothe, as soon as he could master himself enough to drink it. Then she saw a small jar of clear honey.
    She poured a cup of tea for him, added the honey and sufficent cold water to make it drinkable, and carried it over, waiting for a moment’s ease in his coughing. Then she stepped in front of Michael and held the cup to the old man’s lips.
    "Take a sip," she told him. "It will help."
    Fumblingly he obeyed, and perhaps the honey soothed the spasms of his throat, because his body eased and he began to relax, sipping again, and then again. It seemed as if, for the moment at least, the attack was over.
    She took the cup away and set it down, then went back to the sink and found a bowl that would serve for washing, poured the rest of the water from the kettle into it and automatically put more on to heat. She added a little cold, tested it with her hand, and with a cloth and a towel returned to the old man’s chair.
    He was exhausted and very pale, but far calmer. The fact that he had been, for a while, unable to control himself was obviously an embarrassment to him.
    Michael stood anxiously, aware of the older man’s emotions, angry and protective. This should have been private, and Hester was an intruder.
    Hester wrung out the cloth in the hot water and gently bathed the old man’s face, then his neck, then, as he did not protest, unfastened his shirt and took it off, very aware of Michael’s eyes on her. Wringing out the cloth every few moments, she bathed the old man’s arms and body. All the time she did not speak, and neither did they.
    Once Michael had ascertained what she was doing, and that his grandfather was eased by it rather than further discomforted, he went to find a clean shirt and returned carrying it. It was rough-dried, but it smelled fresh and was quite soft to the touch. Hester helped the old man into it, then took away the bowl of water and emptied it outside down the drain.
    She came back into the room to find John Robb smiling at her, the hectic color fading from his cheeks, and Michael still guarded but less aggressive.
    "Thank you, miss," Robb said a little anxiously. "I’m real sorry to have put you out."
    "You didn’t." She smiled. "I still hope in time we may talk, and you will tell me tales of things I’ve only imagined."
    "I can that," he agreed with a return of enthusiasm.
    "Another day," Michael said sharply. "You’re tired—"
    "I’m all right," Robb insisted. "Don’t you worry yourself, Michael. I told you, this lady here’s one o’ them Crimean nurses, so I reckon she knows all she needs to about the sick. You go back to your watch, lad. I know there’s important things only you can do." He looked at him steadily, his voice getting stronger, a touch of old authority back again. "Don’t you be worrying."
    Michael looked at Hester, frowning a little, his lips drawn tight.
    "I appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Monk." He hesitated, the battle within him clear in his face. "And I’m sure my grandfather will enjoy your company."
    "And I his," Hester replied. "I shall look forward to coming by whenever I am able to. I am frequently at the hospital, not far away. It is no journey at all."
    "Thank you." He must be sensitive to what a relief it would be to the old man to have company and assistance he could look forward to without the anxiety of knowing that he was keeping Michael from his job, and that every minute spent there was in some essence a risk for Michael. But the young policeman was still angry beneath the gratitude, for all its sincerity.
    "It is not a trouble," Hester repeated.
    Michael moved towards the door, indicating that she should go with him.
    "Good-bye, Grandpa," he said gently. "I’ll try not to be late."
    "Don’t worry," Robb assured him. "I’ll be all right." They were brave words, and he said them as if they could be true, although they all knew they might not be.
    Just outside on the step Michael lowered his voice and fixed Hester with an intense stare.
    "You’re a good nurse, Mrs. Monk, and I surely appreciate the way you look after him, better than I can. And you didn’t make him feel like it’s charity. You’ve got a way with you. I suppose that comes from being out at the war, and all that."
    "It also comes from liking him," she replied honestly.
    There was no indication in his eyes as to whether he believed her.
    "But don’t be thinking