Bruce was increasingly restless and violent, which Spong informed her was most likely the effect of the rising carbuncle. Two of her patients, she said placidly, had been unable to stand the pain and had gone mad and killed themselves.
To watch him suffer and to be unable to help or ease his pain was an agony. She hung over him constantly, trying to anticipate his every need. She replaced the blankets each time he flung them off and put the mustard-plaster back again and again—once, as she bent above him, he struck out violently at her with his clenched fist, and if she had not moved quickly the blow would have knocked her down. The plague-boil had risen steadily out of his groin until now it was the full size of a tennis-ball and the taut-stretched skin over it had thickened and turned dark.
Spong sat humming or chanting to herself, softly beating her thigh with an empty wine-bottle. Most of the time Amber was so busy, or so haunted with worry over Bruce, she forgot that she was there—and otherwise she ignored her.
But at eleven o’clock, when she had everything clean for the night and was herself undressed and washed, she turned to the old woman. “I only got about three hours sleep last night, Mrs. Spong, and I’m tired as a dog. If you’ll watch his Lordship for three or four hours you can call me and then I will. We’ll have to take turns, because someone’s got to be with him every moment. Will you cover him again if he throws the blankets off?”
“Aye, mam,” agreed Mrs. Spong, and as she nodded her head the wig slipped, showing some of her own thin dirty grey hair. “Ye can count on me, mam. I warrant you.”
Amber pulled out the trundle on the opposite side of the bed and lay down on her stomach, wearing her dressing-gown but otherwise uncovered, for the room was still hot and close. She did not want to sleep—she was afraid to leave him—but she knew that she must, and she could not help herself. In only a few seconds she had lost consciousness.
Sometime later she was wakened by a sudden stunning blow across the face and weight of a heavy body falling over her. Involuntarily she screamed, a wild terrible sound that filled the night; and then she realized what had happened and began to struggle fiercely to free herself. Bruce, in his restless agony, had gotten out of bed again and stumbled across her; he lay there now, a massive, inert weight.
She shouted for Spong but got no answer. And as she pulled herself out and saw the old woman just lifting her head and opening one eye something seemed to swell and explode inside her. Swiftly she rushed around the bed, slapped her furiously across the face, and grabbed hold of one flabby arm.
“Get up!” she yelled at her. “Get up! you miserable old slut and help me!”
Shocked wide awake, Spong hoisted herself out of the chair much faster than she usually did. It took them several minutes, but at last they got him back into the bed and he lay stretched out, perfectly quiet, collapsed. Amber bent anxiously over him, putting her hand to his heart, pressing her fingers against his wrist—the pulse beat there, faintly.
And then she heard a whine from Spong. “Oh, Lord!
Amber whirled around furiously. “What’ve you done!” she cried. “You pot-bellied old bawd! You fell asleep and let him get out of bed! You may’ve killed him! But by Jesus, if he dies you’ll
Spong started back, quivering. “Oh, Lord, mam! I’d but dozed off that instant. I vow and swear! Please, for God’s sake, mam, don’t hit me—”
Amber’s clenched fists dropped and she turned away in disgust. “You’re no damned good. I’m going to get another nurse tomorrow.”
“Ye can’t do it, mam. Ye can’t turn out a nurse. The parish-clerk sent me here and he said to stay till all of you was dead.”
Amber blew out her cheeks in a sigh of utter exhaustion, throwing the hair from her face with the back of one hand. “Very well. Go to sleep. I’ll watch him. There’s a bed in there.” She pointed toward the nursery.
Through the rest of the long night she stayed beside him. He was quieter than he had been and she did not want to disturb him to make him eat, but she prepared some black coffee to keep herself awake and now and then she took a swallow of cherry-brandy, but she was so tired that it made her dizzy and she dared not drink much. In the next room Spong lay spewing and hawking; an occasional late coach rattled by, the horses’ hoofs clopping rhythmically on the pavement; and the night guard stamped wearily up and down. Somewhere a cat squalled in nocturnal ecstasy. The passing-bell tolled three separate times and the watchman went by with his musical call:
“Take heed to your clock, beware your lock,
Your fire and your light, and God give you good-night.
One o’clock!”
