Corridors of the Night (16 page)

Next she followed him to collect Maggie and bring her back to the room upstairs where they would draw three-quarters of a pint of her blood.

Hester inserted the needle herself because she knew she would be gentler than Rand. His chemical knowledge was superb, his measurements precise to the minutest drop, but he had no concept of gentleness, nor did he seem to understand fear.

At least that was what she thought, until it was Charlie’s turn. This time Rand seemed to find it difficult to watch, not because he had another task, but she heard his slight indrawn breath as she touched the point of the coarse, hollow needle to the vein in Charlie’s thin arm. It was barely healed from the last time.

Hester spoke to Charlie quietly, apologising for what she was doing, but telling him what a marvellous gift he was giving to other people, to the science of medicine, and to knowledge in general. All this time she heard her own voice she was wondering if she should be telling him such a thing. She did not want him to think she liked this or thought it right, but she needed Rand to think she believed it.

She was intensely aware of Rand only a foot away from her, standing so close to make certain she did nothing whatever except exactly what he had told her to. Whatever she said or did, he would never trust her. Nor should he, except not to cause unnecessary pain.

She drew the plunger back gently and watched the scarlet liquid fill the glass tube. It revolted her that she could be part of such a procedure, but at least she would hurt Charlie less than Rand would. His smooth young face was white as he watched too.

Hester could feel the warmth of Rand’s body almost touching her, and the very slight hiss of his breath.

When she had finished she passed the vial of blood to him, and he took it without looking at Charlie, or thanking him. Either Rand was concentrating so intensely that he was already oblivious of other people, or he was in the grip of some emotions that required all the self-mastery he could call upon. For a moment Hester thought it was the latter, and then she changed her mind. Why did she think Rand even had emotions?

She smiled at Charlie and touched him gently. ‘Thank you,’ she said. Then she added, ‘Come and lie down for a while. Look after each other. There’s plenty of water, so please drink it. I’ll try to find something special for lunch.’

He gave her the best smile he could manage.

When she returned from taking Charlie back to his bed, she found Rand waiting for her impatiently.

‘Time is of the essence, Mrs Monk. I thought you knew that.’

‘So is the health of our . . . providers of blood!’ she snapped back at him. ‘If they don’t do well, neither does Mr Radnor, and more importantly, neither does the experiment.’

‘I am glad you appreciate that it is all one effort.’ He sounded slightly mollified. ‘Please help Adrienne finish preparing Mr Radnor. I will show you exactly what is necessary with the blood another time. It is good that you should understand.’

She had not said that she cared in the least about how he treated the blood. But she noted that he seemed to want her interest – or was it merely that he had noticed it already? She was annoyed with herself for feeling interested, and then for being careless enough to let him know. Morally it repelled her, and yet the possibilities of the good it could do fired her imagination. Thousands, soldiers, ghosts from the past thronged her mind.

‘Yes, Mr Rand,’ she said obediently, and turned away so he would not see her face. He saw too much, too easily, and she could not read him in return.

She found Radnor propped up on several pillows. There was definitely more colour in his face today and even a spark of interest in his eyes. Adrienne was beside him, watching every movement, listening to each word as always. Was it comforting to him, or did it irritate his patience? Could it be possible that it was both?

Radnor looked Hester up and down with a bright, assessing eye.

‘What makes you nurse, Mrs Monk?’ he said curiously. ‘Have you no family of your own to look after, no man to keep you? You’re not bad-looking but you’ve a sharp tongue and men can get very tired of that.’

Hester looked at him with surprise. He was definitely feeling better, and yet somewhere beyond the desire to provoke her, even hurt her, she saw a dark fear. He wanted to live. More than that, he resented that she, whom he considered a lesser being, was healthy where he was not.

She smiled slowly. ‘During the Crimean War it was a desire to be of use, and a deep respect for the courage of many of the men. Anger at the foolishness of others, I suppose.’ She met his eyes squarely, staring back just as hard as he. ‘Now I am filling in for a friend, temporarily. When she returns I shall go back to my usual occupation. If I survive, of course. I am here under duress, as you perfectly well know. But I admit Mr Rand’s experiments are interesting. There is much to be learned.’

Radnor nodded very slowly. ‘You like to learn. So do I. Learn all you can. Knowledge is the wealth of the world, beauty is its joy. See the beauty in everything! Learn all you can, sit up all night under the stars and discuss everything there in all the sublime possibilities of the mind.’ He smiled as if in memory he were tasting it now. ‘Eat the fruit of life till the juice of it runs down your chin. Laugh at the absurd until your sides ache and you can’t get your breath. Grasp it! Hold on, till they have to prise your fingers off it when you’re dead. Wear colours, woman! Not that damn blue-grey.’ He looked her up and down again, his lip curling with contempt.

‘Perhaps I’ll wear scarlet, like a soldier’s uniform,’ she replied, still without looking away from him. ‘So the blood doesn’t show.’

He nodded and smiled at her slowly, but the fear was back in his eyes. ‘I’m dying, but at least I was alive. Have you ever been alive, woman? Really alive? You with your skinny body and prim dress, your back stiff as a ramrod! Ever loved a man, except from a safe distance? Eh?’

‘Yes. And I may love tomorrow, and many tomorrows after that. You won’t. When you get up, pay attention and get prepared to take more blood,’ she told him with a faint, chill smile.

‘How dare you speak to my father like that?’ Adrienne said firmly, jerking forward in her chair and rising to her feet. ‘Remember who you are, and your position here!’

Hester stared back at her. ‘I am a prisoner here because you need my skills in order to have some chance of saving your father’s life. I remember that. I think it is you who seem to have forgotten it.’

Radnor brought his hands together in a faint dry rubbing of skin, but it was intended as applause. ‘Not your match,’ he said to Adrienne. There was a smirk of malicious satisfaction on his lips. ‘In fact, you are nowhere near as much fun!’

Adrienne winced, but she remained standing. She did not look back at him, or answer. She insisted on helping Hester prepare his arm by sterilising his skin with surgical spirit, then make him as comfortable as possible so he would not find it difficult to remain perfectly still.

Rand came back. The apparatus was wheeled into place and the procedure began. The needle was inserted into Radnor’s arm. Hester knew that it hurt, but he refused to register it, even in his eyes. Only his breathing altered for a moment, then returned to normal. She respected his courage, though little else. His will to live was almost tangible in the room, like the energy in the air when a storm is building. She understood how Adrienne would be desolate if he died, and yet guilty because part of her would also be relieved. Like a great tree, he sheltered those close to him at the same time as he took the sunlight, and also sucked the soil dry of its goodness.

Adrienne stood a little back from his side, but never took her eyes from him. Did she really imagine that she might do something to help? Or was it only a mixture of habit and fear, and of possession of him, her ownership as his daughter?

As the moments ticked by, Hester checked that the blood was flowing easily and that Radnor’s temperature and pulse remained steady. His eyes were closed, but she knew he was awake, feeling the life in his veins strengthening with Charlie’s fresh, bright red blood inside him.

What was it in the blood of these children that gave life, yet of so many others brought illness and then death? Rand was a chemist; did he know? She would ask him some time, when they were alone. Why was their blood different? Was there some tiny thing in the procedure that was different, a timing, a balance of ingredients, something about the patient receiving it?

Adrienne’s face was tense. She was ignoring Hester as if she were part of the apparatus, with its tubes and bottles, its frame, clamps and wires to hold everything in place.

The colour was returning to Radnor’s face. Hester knew that Adrienne saw it too. She leaned forward a little. The muscles in her neck were rigid with tension, her eyes wide. What was she seeing – life returning to the old pattern, her father with his vigour and all his old energy? Hester could not tell whether the passion in her face was love or dread. She had not heard Adrienne speak of her own life, except in terms of her father’s dependency on her. Was she as much a captive as Hester was in this house? Except that while Mr Radnor lived, there was no end in sight.

But if he died, then the end for Hester was very much in sight. Rand could not afford to let her leave here with the knowledge of what had happened. She would testify against him; she would have no moral choice. And – a thought that was even uglier to her – Charlie, Maggie and Mike would be killed as well. The older two at least would speak up. Rand would not risk that.

She must do better. She must find a way to get all of them out.

There was only one person who might help. How long did she have before she was not necessary to Rand? If the treatment succeeded, by the time he was sure, it would be too late for Hester to act.

Rand knew that. He would be watching Radnor’s progress, every rally, every setback, and he knew that she would too. Would he act first to kill her? Or would he miss the moment, and she would escape? Or fail, and be caught, making it all infinitely worse? She was cold at the thought, the small hairs standing up on her arms, as if someone had let in an icy draught. One mistake would be one too many.

She looked across and found Adrienne watching her. Their eyes met in a moment when they seemed to have a complete understanding of each other. And then it was gone again, and they were the strangers they had been before.

THE NEW blood made a conspicuous difference to Radnor’s recovery. The day after the procedure he was sitting up in bed and welcomed a good breakfast. Hester brought it to him with conflicting emotions. Her profession and her will were to heal. She was trained to disregard the personality of an invalid; and the oath and promise of all healers was always to do their best, without judgement. All patients must receive the best effort you could call up, regardless of whether you are tired, discouraged, frightened or ill yourself.

The treatment was working. That was a victory, a new and major one.

On the other hand the closer Radnor was to complete recovery, the less purchase did Hester have on her own life – less time to think.

He was watching her now.

She set the tray in front of him and saw with both pleasure and revulsion how he picked up the knife and fork and began on two soft-poached eggs on crisp, brown toast. She had baked it herself, as it was a skill Adrienne did not have. He ate slowly, with relish, savouring every mouthful, quite aware that she was seeing and noting. In fact, it appeared to amuse him, as if her awareness gave an extra dimension to his enjoyment.

She took away the empty tray and set it on the landing, then returned to check his pulse and temperature again. She took his wrist and held it, counting. The blood beat strongly, as if she could touch the life in him.

‘Well?’ he asked when she had completed the count. ‘Satisfied, Mrs Monk?’

‘You are progressing, Mr Radnor,’ she replied, letting go of his hand as soon as she could. ‘And your temperature is almost normal.’

He smiled. ‘Have you ever had fun, woman? Ever laughed at something ridiculous, seen the hilarious absurdity of life? Do you always do what you’re told to, or do you look in your masters’ eyes and tell them to go to hell? Perhaps you have less red blood in you than I have.’ He gave a jerky little laugh. ‘What does Mr Monk do that he chose a woman like you, eh?’ His expression was curious, almost prurient, as he looked her body up and down.

‘He is Commander of the Thames River Police, Mr Radnor,’ she replied with a smile just as hard as his. She saw the look in his eyes, and he knew that she had seen it. It annoyed him. ‘And yes, I have done all the things you say,’ she continued. ‘Especially telling them to go to hell, which is not easy in the army. And I have done them with good people. Has anybody ever loved you that you didn’t buy first, Mr Radnor?’ The minute the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. She had allowed him to provoke her, and that was a tactical error as well as one of morality between patient and nurse. His moment of surprise before he recovered his composure was her only reward.

His smile widened, showing his teeth again. He was satisfied that he had provoked her, and she had not resisted.

She spent the middle of the day with Maggie, Charlie and Mike. For a while she cleaned and tidied the room. That was important. They would be highly vulnerable to infection.

Mike seemed to be as well as before, but he was frightened, and very young to be without either of his parents. Usually Maggie took care of him, but today she was listless. She looked very pale, and every so often she fell asleep. Mike went to her and stood beside the chair where she was curled up. He wanted to talk to her, but she was too sleepy to pay attention.

He went over to Charlie, who was staring out of the window. There was nothing to see except the wind in the trees and the cloud shadows over the hills in the distance.

Mike leaned up against him. Charlie put his arm around him, but he did not say anything.

Hester went to the small pantry and came back with a tray of glasses and a jug of milk. Mike ran over to her and threw his arms around her hips. She thought at first that he was thirsty for the milk, but after she had poured it and persuaded Maggie to have a small amount, she realised Mike was frightened. He just did not have the words to say so.