William Monk 06 - Cain His Brother

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 itgo. 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, mentioning 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