She turned and rushed back out of the room and down the stairs so fast she seemed almost to glide. The two men knocked out their pipes and followed her, through the kitchen and the dining-room back into the parlour where they found Bruce once more standing erect, though his feet were spread wide to brace himself and his shoulders weaved slowly from side to side. Amber ran to place herself before him and the two men followed, but remained at a timid distance, watching him uncertainly. He started forward, glaring menacingly from one to the other, as though to clear a path for himself. He looked like a man so drunk that he was about to pitch forward onto his face.
Amber watched him like one hypnotized, and as he came toward her she stepped aside to let him pass. Her hands went out involuntarily, for he looked as though he would fall at any moment, but she did not touch him. He went through the doorway and into the anteroom, then out onto the landing and for a moment he stood at the top of the staircase, like a colossus looking down. He took one step and then another, but suddenly he gave a groan and staggered, clutching at the railing. Amber screamed and the two men rushed past her in time to keep him from falling headlong. Supported by one on either side, he allowed himself to be half dragged back into the apartment; his head had dropped forward onto his chest and he was again in an almost unconscious stupor.
She led the way into the bedroom, throwing back the counterpane and quilts and indicating that they were to lay him there on the white silk sheets. Then immediately she pulled off his shoes and peeled down his stockings. They were, she noticed, coloured strangely yellow by his sweat which had a sharp unpleasant smell that was not natural to him. She unwound the sash from about his waist and had begun to work off the coat, when all at once she remembered Tempest and Jeremiah and glanced up swiftly to find them staring at her with white-faced horror. They had just realized, she knew, that they had been helping a man who was not drunk—but sick of the plague.
“Get out of here!” she muttered at them, furious to see the craven terror on their faces, and with their mouths still open they turned and dashed from the room, slamming the door violently behind them.
His shirt was so wet that it clung to his skin and she picked up her smock which had been left lying on the floor to wipe him dry. When she had removed all of his clothes she covered him again and took the pillow from beneath his head, for she knew that he never used one. He lay quietly on his back now, though from time to time he muttered something unintelligible beneath his breath.
She left him again and ran swiftly back to the kitchen. The water on the herbs had boiled down, but not far enough, and while she waited she searched the cupboards for what provisions might be on hand. But she had had all her meals sent in and could find only some orange-cakes, a bowl of cherries, several bottles of wine and one of brandy. While she made a mental list of the things she must get she stood and watched the bubbling mess, her ears alert for any sound he might make. And then at last she swung the crane out and filled the pewter mug she had ready. The smell was nauseating, but she wrapped the handle in a towel and went back to the bedroom.
Bruce was lying there, leaning on one elbow and looking at her as she came in. She saw that he had just vomited onto the floor. His expression was humble and contrite and as guilty as though he had just done some shameful thing, for the sickness humiliated him. He seemed to want to speak to her, but could only drop back exhausted onto the bed. Amber had heard of men who felt well in the morning and were dead of the plague by night—but until now it had not seemed possible to her that a disease could make such swift terrible progress.
The sense of her own inadequacy seemed suddenly to overpower her.
Sarah had taught her how to take care of someone sick of an ague or the small-pox, what to do for a burn or the stomachache—but the plague was a mysterious thing, strange and evil. Some thought it rose out of the ground like a poisonous exhalation, entering through the pores of the skin, and that it spread thereafter by personal contact. But no one knew or pretended to know what really caused it, why it sometimes came in a great epidemic, or how to cure it. Still, she felt that she
Kneeling, she began to mop up the vomit with his shirt. I’ll send Jeremiah for a doctor, she thought. At least he’ll know more than I do.
When she tried to get Bruce to drink some of the tea he pushed it away, muttering thickly, “Some water? Thirsty. Thirsty as hell.” He put his tongue between his lips as if to wet them, and she saw that it was swollen and the tip bright red.
