At the butcher’s stall she bought a good-sized chunk of beef, taking the meat from the hooks on which he extended it to her and dropping the money into a jar of vinegar. She put the meat, wrapped in a towel, into her market-basket and on the way back she stopped to buy a couple of pounds of candles, three bottles of brandy and some coffee. Coffee was so expensive that it was not hawked on the streets and while Amber did not drink it often she hoped that it would help her get through the day.
She found Bruce just as she had left him, and though Spong protested that she had not so much as taken an eye off him Amber strongly suspected that she had been foraging, at least in the bedroom, for money or jewels. But it was all locked up behind a secret panel, where neither Spong nor anyone else was likely to find it without a long search.
Spong would have followed her to the kitchen to find out what she had bought, but Amber sent her back to stay with Bruce. She locked the brandy away, for she knew that otherwise it would disappear, but first she took a good swallow herself. Then she tied back her hair, pushed up her sleeves and went to work. Into a great blackened kettle full of hot water went the meat, cut up in cubes, and some of the bacon she had bought the day before. She split the bones with a heavy cleaver and added them with the marrow and when the vegetables were ready they went in too: a quartered cabbage, leeks, carrots, peas and a handful of crumbled herbs, and she ground in some rock-salt and peppercorns.
The soup had to be cooked for several hours until it was boiled down and thickened, and meanwhile she prepared a caudle of sack, spices, sugar and eggs for him to drink. She crushed each egg-shell to tiny bits, remembering the old country belief that otherwise a witch would write your name on it. She had trouble enough now, without inviting more.
She found, as she poured the drink down his throat, that the fur on his tongue was beginning to peel, leaving raw red patches, and that his teeth had made deep indentations in it. His pulse had quickened, his breathing was more rapid and sometimes he coughed slightly. He lay in a deep coma, not sleeping but wholly unconscious, and it was no longer possible to rouse him at all. Even when she touched the plague-boil, now a soft doughy mass, he gave no indication of awareness. It did not seem possible, even to her, that a man could be so sick and live very long.
But she refused to think about it. She was, in fact, so tired that it was almost impossible to think at all.
She went back to the kitchen to finish the cleaning there. Then she swept the other rooms and dusted the furniture, put the towels to soak in hot soapy water and vinegar, brought up some more water and finally—when she felt that she could not make another move—she went into the bedroom and dragged out the trundle. Her lids felt rough and seemed to scratch against the eyeballs and there were muddy circles around her eyes.
It was about noon when she lay down and though the draperies were pulled the hot sun beat into the room. She woke up several hours later, wet and with a heavy aching head, feeling as though the house was rocking. It was Spong shaking her shoulder.
“Get up, mam! The doctor’s below a-knockin’.”
“For God’s sake,” muttered Amber, “can’t you do anything without being told? Go let ’im in.”
Spong was offended. “Ye told me not to leave his Lordship—no matter what happened!”
Amber got up wearily. She felt as though she had been drugged, her mouth had a vile taste, and days seemed to have gone by since she had lain down. But it was only five o’clock and though the room was darker the fire kept it as hot as ever. She pushed back the curtains and bent to look at Bruce, but he seemed not to have changed, either for better or worse.
Dr. Barton came into the room, looking tired and sick himself, and once more he merely looked at Bruce from a distance of several feet. Amber knew with despair that he had seen so many sick and dying men he could no longer distinguish one from another.
“What do you think?” she asked him. “Will he live?” But her own face showed no hope or expectation.
“He may; but to be truthful, I doubt it. Has the carbuncle burst?”
“No. It’s soft now but it feels hard deep inside. He doesn’t seem to even know when I touch it. Isn’t there anything we can do? There must be some way to save him.”
“Trust in God, madame. We can do no more. If the carbuncle breaks, dress it—but take care to get no blood or pus on yourself. I’ll come tomorrow and if it hasn’t opened by then I’ll have to cut it open. That’s all I can tell you. Good-day, madame.”
He bowed slightly and started out but Amber went along with him. “Isn’t there someway I can get another nurse?” she asked, her voice soft and urgent. “That old woman is useless. She doesn’t do a thing but eat and drink up my supplies. I could get along as well alone.”
“I’m sorry, madame, but the parish-clerk is too busy now to consider the problems of each individual. The nurses are all incompetent and most of them old—if they could get a living any other way they wouldn’t be doing this. The parish sends them out to nurse to avoid the charge of keeping them on charity. Still, madame, as you must know, you may fall sick yourself at any time—it’s better not to be alone.”
He left and Amber, shrugging and deciding that since she could not get rid of Spong she would find some use for her, went into the kitchen. The soup was ready now, a rich heavy pottage with the fat swimming in hot oily circles on top of it, and she ladled out a bowlful to eat herself. It made her feel better. Her headache disappeared and she felt almost optimistic again. She was sure once more that she could keep him alive by sheer force of will-power.
I love him so much, she thought, he can’t die. God won’t let him die.
When she was ready to go to bed she decided to try bribing Spong. “If you’ll stay awake till three and then call me I’ll give you a bottle of brandy.” If the old woman would watch and let her sleep at night she was willing to have her drunk all day.
The arrangement satisfied Spong who vowed again that she would not so much as close an eye. Once Amber woke suddenly and sat bolt upright, glaring accusingly at her—it was light in the room for the fire was kept burning all night. But the nurse was sitting there beside him, arms folded on her belly, and she grinned across at Amber.
“Fooled ye, mam, eh?”
Amber flopped back down and instantly fell asleep again. She was wakened by a gurgling scream that brought her to her feet at a leap, her heart pounding sickeningly. Bruce, kneeling on the edge of the bed, had grabbed Spong by the throat and she was lashing and flailing about, helpless as a flounder. With his face contorted, teeth bared savagely, shoulders hunched, he was forcing all the strength of his arms into his fingers and they were crushing out the old woman’s life.
Quickly throwing herself onto the bed behind him Amber grabbed his arms and tried to drag him backwards. Cursing, he dropped the nurse, and turned on Amber, his fingers closing around her throat—squeezing the blood into her face and temples until the top of her head felt ready to burst. Her ears cracked and she went blind. Desperately she put up her hands and finding his eyeballs she gouged her thumbs into them. His grip weakened slowly, and then all at once he collapsed onto the bed, sprawling weirdly.
Amber slowly sank to the floor, helpless and stupidly dazed. It was several seconds before she realized what Spong was trying to tell her.