She brought a pewter pitcher of cool water from the kitchen and he drank three glassfuls, swallowing avidly as though he could not get enough; and then with a deep sigh he dropped back onto the bed. When he had lain quietly for a few moments Amber ran up to the garret once more and pounded at the door. She waited impatiently for a few seconds but when she got no answer flung it open.
No one was there. A few soiled articles of clothing were strewn about the floor but an old wooden chest which stood open was completely empty, as were the pulled-out drawers of a dresser. They had packed and gone.
“Scoured!” muttered Amber. “Damn them for a pair of ungrateful pimps!” But she turned that instant and ran back down the stairs, for she was afraid to leave him alone even a minute.
He was lying as she had left him—moving about restlessly and muttering beneath his breath, but it was no longer possible to understand him and he seemed in a low delirium. She wrung out a cloth in cold water and laid it across his forehead, smoothed the sheets and blankets which were already disordered, and wiped away the sweat which continued to pour from him. Then she began to clean up the room. She picked up her own clothes and put them away, spread his over some chairs to dry, brought a basin to use next time he vomited, and a silver urinal. She did not dare stop working or let herself begin to think.
It was now almost ten and the streets had grown quiet but for the occasional rumble of a passing coach or the sound of a link-boy singing as he walked along. And after a while she heard the watchman go by, ringing his bell and crying: “Past ten o’clock of a fine summer’s night—and all’s well!”
Once or twice Bruce began to retch and each time she ran to hold the basin and help him sit up, covering his chest with a clean white linen towel, and at last he vomited again. When he tried to get out of bed she forced him back and brought the urinal, and now she saw that there was a tender-looking red swelling in his right groin—the beginning of the plague-boil. The last of her hopes died quietly.
THE NIGHT PASSED with incredible slowness.
When she had cleaned the room and brought fresh water from the big jug which stood in the kitchen she washed her face and scrubbed her teeth, brushed her hair vigorously, and finally wheeled the trundle out from under the bed. But, though she lay down, a sense of guiltiness followed her—and each time she began to slide off to sleep she woke up with a sudden start and the terrible feeling that something had happened to Bruce.
But when she got up and held the candle down close so that she could look at him he was always lying as he had been, moving constantly, muttering from time to time beneath his breath, his face twisted into an expression of angry anxiety. She could not tell whether he was conscious or not, for though his eyes were partly opened he did not seem to hear her when she spoke to him or to be in any way aware of her. Sometime in the middle of the night the sweating stopped and his skin became hot and dry and his face and neck violently flushed. His pulse beat rapidly and his breath came in quick shallow gasps, and sometimes he gave a slight cough.
About four it began to grow light and Amber decided to stay up, though her eyeballs ached and she was dizzy with tiredness. She put on her smock and one petticoat, stuck her bare feet into a pair of high-heeled shoes, and got into the dress she had been wearing the day before which, without her busk, she could not fasten all the way up the front. She pulled a comb hastily through her hair and rinsed her face, but she did not powder it or stick on a patch. For once it made no difference how she looked.
The room stank, for all the windows were closed. She was not afraid of the night air herself but she shared the common belief that it was fatal to a sick man. And she clung superstitiously to the country belief that if there was serious illness in the house death would not come if all doors and windows were kept tight shut and bolted. The smells were thick and heavy. She did not realize how overpowering they had become until she opened the door into the parlour and took a breath of clean air. Then she lighted the fire in the bed-chamber and flung on a handful of dried herbs.
She made up the trundle and shoved it back out of sight and then, while he seemed to be somewhat quieter than usual, she took the slop-pans and went down to empty them into the courtyard privy and rinse them out. She made two more trips to bring up pails of fresh water. It had been a long while since she had remembered how tedious and how inconvenient were the simplest tasks of keeping house.
