After crossing herself Leah opened her eyes. She had asked the help of the Almighty; now she must use it.
With a deep breath to steady her mind she took a handful of dried leaves from the pot-bellied jar, crumbling them into smaller pieces before adding a small amount of water from the kettle. Covering the basin with a cloth she set it aside. The herbs would take several minutes for their essence to seep into the water; that time would allow for the making of a poultice.
Pouring a generous measure of apple cider vinegar into a pan, setting it above the fire, she reached for the bottle labelled Arnica. The contents gleamed pale gold in the soft glow of lamplight. She had picked the bright yellow flowers during long lonely summer evenings, had lightly bruised the silky petals, covering them with her own home-made apple vinegar, and once every day for two weeks had gently stirred the pot. Then once the beneficial properties of the petals were drawn out she had carefully sieved the mixture before bottling the resulting liquid.
While she stood in the small living room with the gentle hiss of the pan above the fire the only sound in the silence, Leah seemed to see again a patch of heath. Not yet fallen victim to the spread of factories it blazed with a carpet of vivid yellow.
Leah pushed the picture to its place in the past. Daydreams were pleasant but they could not help her now.
She glanced once more at the bottle then poured a small amount of the pale translucent liquid into a separate basin. Arnica made for a powerful tincture; those few tiny drops would be sufficient for her needs. Quickly she re-corked the bottle and lifted the pan from the fire, pouring the bubbling contents into the basin, stirring once before turning her attention to the leaves left soaking in water; pray God they had steeped a sufficient length of time.
She took one of the several pieces of clean white cloth gathered in readiness then spooned the mush of leaves on to it, folding it to form a pad which she dropped into the arnica mixture. Essence of fenugreek still present in the leaves would seep through the cloth to mix with the arnica adding to the potency of the poultice. But there was still the fever remedy to complete.
Leah frowned as her fingers brushed momentarily against the pocket of her apron.
She had forgotten a most valuable aid to reducing the effects of shock!
Chiding herself mentally she transferred the fenugreek-infused water to the pan adding honey, one cup of apple cider vinegar and finally from the small box a barest pinch of her prized cayenne.
It needs to simmer gently . . . the herb needs time to mix with the honey and vinegar.
Leah used the minutes to collect all that was needed on to a wooden tray then once the potion was ready she carried it upstairs.
Please let Leah return, let her be home before the process has to be gone through again. Leah had to be back . . . she had to!
Glancing at the boy, his eyes shut, his hand limp in hers, Ann strained to hear the sound of footsteps but heard only the tick of the tin clock Leah had brought into the room. Why could the woman not have permitted her to go fetch the doctor?
‘
Where be the sense in that? You don’t yet be knowin’ the town so well darkness won’t ’ave you take of a wrong turn; best I goes, a body who has walked these streets so many years needs no light of day to show the way.
’
Leah’s dismissal had been brusque as had that other given on bringing her mixtures upstairs.
‘
Ain’t no time for blartin’, you can sit an’ cry later if you must but right now you needs ’ave clear eyes as well as a clear mind!
?’
It had not been intended as a reprimand. Ann acknow-ledged the anxiety behind the sharpness, which had been due to her worries for Alec.
‘
Watch well what be done.
’
Leah’s voice had softened yet the instruction accompanying each ministration had been firm and precise.
‘The poultice needs be squeezed but not so tight it takes out all of the moisture. Wrap the pad quickly in another piece of cloth so it keeps in the heat then use a strip of cloth to bandage it to the leg.
’
Lowering the bedcovers into place Leah had smiled down at Alec, taking a moment to press his shoulder gently. She had returned the basin, standing it beside the fire lit the moment Alec had been put to bed.
‘
Remember, wench, that poultice needs be kept moist. Touch it every ’alf hour or so, if it be dry against the fingers then soak the pad again but take care the lotion be warm, settin’ it stone cold against the skin can only add more shock to the system so be sure you sets that bowl along of the hearth, that way will ’ave it ready for the next usin’.
’
Ready for the next using! Glancing at the clock Ann’s nerves tripped. It had been almost thirty minutes since Leah went for the doctor. She had not strictly stipulated the time of reapplying the poultice, the ‘or so’ could allow a little extra . . . a few minutes and the doctor would be here to . . .
A spasm of the fingers held in hers swept the rest of the thought away. Ann felt fear bite at her throat. Alec was trying hard not to voice his pain but it was only too visible in his eyes.
‘
That poultice needs be kept moist . . .
’
‘I can’t, I can’t . . . if I should cause more pain . . .’
‘Ann.’ It was a whisper answering that which had slipped from her own lips. ‘Ann, you would not willingly cause me pain, we are friends and friends trust each other so please . . .’
Alec grimaced with pain and his words trailed off, leaving the plea only in his eyes.
Glancing at him, his eyes closed against a further spasm, Ann felt the answer swell in her heart. Alec was saying he trusted her, he was asking she attend to his injured leg.
‘
Watch well what be done.
’
Ann brought the bowl from the hearth, her fingers shaking. Had she watched well enough!
He had not cried out, he had not jerked away from the pad being replaced nor the bandage being wrapped. Afterwards Ann’s mind seemed suddenly empty. Beside her on the shelf above the small fireplace the tin clock murmured its rhythm.
Tick . . . tick . . .
It sang softly, unobtrusively.
Tick, tick, one two.
Tick, three . . . tick, four . . . tick, five.
Why stop there? Why did the song not pass five?
Five! For a moment it hung meaningless, then recognition dawned.
Leah had emphasised the number while carefully measuring from a cup kept apart from the bowl in the hearth. ‘
Five drops, no more’n that; give it to drink in a spot o’ water an’ it’ll help bring fever down.
’
The uncertainty she had felt had transmitted itself to Leah and now the woman’s answer calmed as it had then.
‘
Should y’be unsure wi’ the drops then a teaspoon o’ the mixture be their equal.
’
After following the instructions Leah had given, Ann returned to sit at the bedside.
Only then did she let the tears of nervous exhaustion slide down her cheeks.
Chapter 12
‘
They trusted me as they would no other man.
’
The lad drifted into sleep. Ann, holding his hand, let her mind wander slowly into the past.
‘
They asked I take into my keeping their most treasured possession . . .
‘
Do it for me, child.
’
Behind closed eyes Ann saw the figure of her father buckle and slide to the floor of a drab soulless room, saw the framed photograph clutched in one hand, the entreaty in eyes already glazing, heard those last dying words.
‘
Keep my promise for me.
’
Across the room half-burned coals settled deeper into their cast-iron bed but no sound penetrated the depths of Ann’s mind.
What was your promise, Father? How could I keep it when I didn’t know what it was? I tried . . .
I searched the house not once but several times for the precious possession you spoke of, and when I found nothing I enquired at the embassy but the official I spoke with said nothing of yours remained; there was nothing more I could do, yet even as I went to the port to take ship for England I felt I should try again but . . .
Drawn deep into bygone horror Ann lived it again. In her head echoed the screams of terrified women, the shouts of angry men, shouts suddenly subdued by the drum of galloping hoofbeats. With them came mental images, flashing, rolling, tumbling together, picture upon picture rapidly sweeping one from the path of another: uniformed men, swords glinting silver streaks as they struck out at others running away. A man clutching her sleeve . . . a boy, his face drawn with disbelief . . . a shot . . . a man falling dead at her feet . . . now a room . . . an unhappy soulless room . . . a figure slumping to the floor, a figure clutching a silver-framed photograph. Relentlessly, as if on some macabre carousel, her inner vision returned the picture of her dying father, his lips stilling on the murmur: ‘
Do it for me, child.
’
‘I couldn’t!’
Ann bent her head to the hand clutched in her own.
‘I couldn’t do it . . . I failed you as I failed Alec.’
‘
I failed Alec!
’
The words drifted across the room and held Leah in stunned embrace. The girl had said she couldn’t deal with the dressing of the lad’s leg; her hands had trembled when passing the wrappings, her mouth had quivered at being told the care which must be taken to keep the fever mixture distant from the bruise potion.
Leah’s nerves jolted sickeningly as she stared at the figure bent across the boy lying motionless in the bed.
Weakened by shock and fever, he would not have been able to fight against the effect of arnica, a herb so potent in its natural form it must never be given internally as a medicine nor used on cuts and open wounds.
Was that what had happened? Had Ann been so flummoxed, so feared of what she had been left to do, she had mistakenly dosed the lad, wrongly given him arnica to drink instead of honey and fenugreek?
Had it already proved too much? Blame could only lie with Leah Marshall; it was her had disagreed with the wench’s fetching of the doctor, Leah Marshall who had gone herself leaving a wench with no knowledge of herbal medicine to treat a lad ill of fever.
Leah crossed to the bed. She alone would do what must be done. Hesitating for the briefest time she touched Ann’s shoulder.
‘Be no fault o’ your’n,’ she said quietly. ‘Come you away wench, I’ll see to the lad.’
‘Leah!’ Ann looked up. ‘Oh thank goodness you are back, the doctor—’
‘Doctor won’t be comin’,’ Leah interrupted, ‘we won’t be seein’ of him for some hours, not if Leah Marshall be any judge.’
Ann took a second before asking, ‘But why? He must surely know you wouldn’t go for him in the middle of the night unless it was serious?’
‘Ar, he would’ve knowed,’ Leah nodded, ‘and he would’ve come along of me ’cept he were called to Clara Jeavons not five minutes afore I reached his ’ouse. Clara don’t birth none of her kids easy, last one took nigh on a full day afore it come an’ I reckons this one could be doin’ of the same. That be why I says it’s like to be a few hours of the doctor comin’ here.’
Hours! Ann lowered the hand she was holding back on to the bed. Hours in which Alec could grow worse.
‘Leave me with the lad, I’ll do what need be.’
Ann looked at the boy who had come to mean so much to her, then rising to her feet turned to the woman who had befriended them both.
‘No.’ She smiled palely. ‘We will do it together.’
She had glanced at the clock, told herself the time then fetched the bowl from the hearth! Inside of herself Leah felt the strong pull of pity. The wench thought to carry on with the dressin’ of the lad’s leg, her thought him to be still living.
A soft sound from the bed arrested the thought. Leah glanced at the slight figure, at the eyes opening, at the smile touching the mouth. Her own eyes reflected relief as she scolded herself internally. You be a daft old fool Leah Marshall, a daft old fool to go a thinkin’ as you did.
Ann heard Leah sigh and looked up from the bowl she had uncovered.
‘Alec, is . . . is he? Have I done something wrong?’
‘No wench.’ Leah smiled, placing a light hand to the boy’s brow. ‘You’ve done all the way as should be, the fever be broke, though there’ll be need of poultice and mixture for a while longer.’
‘
You’ve done all the way as should be . . .
’
Wanting to cry, wanting to smile, not knowing which emotion was the stronger, Ann carried the bowl across to the tiny table beside the bed.
‘I thought maybe you would be needing a bit of help so I’ve seen to the girls and let them out to play.’
‘A man’s hands a touchin’ of ’em will have that lot frisky for days . . . mind you,’ Leah looked at the man sitting at the table of her small living room, ‘I can’t go a blamin’ of them for that, nor do I reckon there be a wench in Wednesbury wouldn’t feel the same should it be Edward Langley come a courtin’.’