William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

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.
    Hester was intent upon causing her as little additional distress as possible.
    “Genevieve!” she called. “Please help me here. Never mind the sheet yet.”
    Genevieve turned around from the drawers where she was standing. Her face was white, her hair straggling out of its pins. She looked desperately tired.
    “Please?” Hester said again.
    Genevieve hesitated. The silence hung between them as if she had not heard, or not understood what was said. Then as if with a great effort, she came over and stood at the far side of the bed, leaned forward, her head down, and took Enid’s limp body in her arms.
    “Thank you,” Hester acknowledged, and pulled the nightgown off and put it away. Quickly and as gently as she could, she bathed Enid all over with cool water. Genevieve stood back again, taking the used cloths from her and rinsing them out and wringing them, then passing them back.
    Over and over she washed her own hands, once or twice right up to the elbows.
    “I’ll get the clean sheet,” she offered as soon as the task was completed.
    “Help me put the shift on her first, will you?” Hester asked.
    Genevieve took a deep breath, gulping awkwardly, but she did as she was bid. She stretched out her arms, and Hester saw the muscles tense, and saw that her hands were shaking. It was only then that she realized how terrified Genevieve was of catching the disease herself. She was trembling and almost sick with the sheer fear of it.
    Hester was not sure how she felt. A tangle of emotions rose in her. She could understand it easily! She had felt the same overwhelming horror in her own early experiences. Now time had taught her a more philosophical view. She had seen hundreds of cases, by far the majority of them dying of it, and yet she had never been touched by it herself. She had suffered the occasional chest fever or chill, but nothing worse, although they could certainly make one feel badly enough at the time.
    “You are not likely to get it,” she said aloud. “I never have.”
    The color burned hot up Genevieve’s face.
    “I—I’m ashamed to be so afraid,” she said haltingly. “It’s not for myself—it’s my children. There is no one to care for them if anything happened to me.”
    “You are a widow?” Hester asked more gently. Perhaps in her place she would have felt the same. It was more than natural, it would be hard to understand any other feeling.
    “I …” Genevieve took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I know that sounds absurd, but I am not sure. My husband is missing.…”
    “I’m sorry.” Hester meant it profoundly. “That must be dreadful for you—the uncertainty and the loneliness.”
    “Yes.” Genevieve took a deep breath and steadied herself. Very deliberately she slid the clean cotton shift overEnid’s body, watching every movement in her attempt not to jolt or bump her.
    “How long?” Hester asked as they took off the old sheet.
    “Twelve days,” Genevieve replied. “I—I know this sounds as if I have given up all faith, but I believe he is dead, because I know where he went, and he would have been back long ago if he were able.”
    Hester went over to the linen press and fetched the clean sheet. Together they put it on the bed, moving Enid gently as they did so.
    “Where did he go?” Hester asked.
    “To Limehouse, to see his brother,” Genevieve answered.
    “Caleb Stone …” Hester said slowly. “I’ve heard of him.”
    Genevieve’s eyes widened. “Then you know I am not foolish in my fear.”
    “No,” Hester agreed honestly. “From the little I have learned, he is a violent man. Are you sure that is where he went?”
    “Yes.”