Alison was there some ten minutes later; the doctor had not yet arrived. She touched Lizzie’s forehead, said, “Oh, dear,” and then immediately unbuttoned her chemise. “Open some windows,” she said, “the child is burning alive. We shall need cold cloths; I’ll ring down for some ice.”
The doctor, when he arrived, looked as if he had just been shaken out of a deep sleep, though it wasn’t quite yet five o’clock. (Alison later suggested that perhaps they had interrupted his quatre à cinq.) He seemed to be just this side of fifty, a tall and rumpled Englishman who introduced himself as Dr. Charles Fawcett and then immediately set to work, further unbuttoning Lizzie’s chemise, spreading the lace-trimmed muslin open over her naked breasts, and then putting his stethoscope to her chest, causing her to let out a startled little gasp when the metal touched her flesh. He listened for what seemed an inordinately long time, and then said only, “Mm.”
Wiping a clinical thermometer with a swab of cotton he wet from a small vial of alcohol, he put it into Lizzie’s mouth and then asked, while her lips were closed about it and it was impossible for her to speak, “Have you been experiencing muscular pains, madam?”
Lizzie nodded.
“Headaches?”
She nodded again.
“Aches in the joints? Sore throat?”
Again she nodded. He took the thermometer from her mouth, studied it, said, “Mm” again, wiped the thermometer with the same cotton swab, put it back into its case, put stethoscope, thermometer and vial of alcohol back into his bag, and then said to Alison, whom he had undoubtedly singled out as being in charge here, “I frankly thought we’d seen the end of this — if indeed it’s what I think it is.”
“The end of what?” Alison asked.
“Influenza,” Fawcett said. “We had our first case of it last December, and it was rather prevalent during January and February. Did it not reach England as well, madam?”
“Indeed,” Alison said.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “But, as I say, I thought it had long ago left Paris. Always seems to start in Russia, doesn’t it? Their beastly climate. Moves westward through all of Europe, always has, always will, I suppose. Probably depends more on easterly and northeasterly winds than it does on human intercourse. At any rate, it does seem your friend has come down with it.”
“With influenza?” Lizzie said, suddenly feeling sicker than she had before.
“Yes, indeed,” Fawcett said, “but I shouldn’t worry too much about it were I you. The course of the disease is a short one — four to six days, sometimes as many as ten days — and unless there are complications...”
“Complications?” Lizzie said.
“Well, don’t fret about those now,” he said, and smiled.
“What complications?” Alison asked.
“Bronchitis,” Fawcett said. “Pneumonia. But normally...”
“Pneu...” Lizzie started to say, but Fawcett’s voice continued on over hers.
“... normally, you needn’t worry about a grosser infection. I shall prescribe a proper laxative to cleanse the bowels, and the local chemist will let you have mustard for hot footbaths. You should drink plenty of liquids and fruit juices and unless the fever reaches alarming heights...”
“Alarming?” Alison said.
“It’s not uncommon for the temperature to fluctuate somewhere between the hundred-and-one, hundred-and-three range. It may fall one day, only to rise again the next. But, as I say, that’s all quite normal, and to be expected. Should the temperature rise higher than that, I should recommend sponging her down with alcohol. And if she still seems exceedingly hot to the touch, you should not hesitate to fill a tub with cold water and lower her into it. I suggest you see a chemist at once to buy a clinical thermometer and, of course, the mustard and alcohol. Do not hesitate to ring me should an exceedingly high fever persist. Were you planning on leaving Paris soon?” he asked Lizzie.
“Next Tuesday,” she said.
“I ask only because the disease sometimes has a lingering debilitating effect, and I would not advise serious traveling for at least a week after the symptoms have disappeared. As for those,” he said, “I fear you will experience chills accompanying the high fever, and you will feel extremely weak, depressed and listless. There will also be all manner of bodily aches that will cause you to wish you were dead — but you won’t die, I shall see to that. There will be some dry coughing and rapid breathing, and your nose will be quite stuffed up, and your eyes will turn as red as your hair, and there may be a thin, watery discharge from them as well. All quite normal, however — if one can consider the routine course of any disease ‘normal’.”
“Ohhhhh,” Lizzie moaned, and closed her eyes.
“Tut-tut,” Fawcett said, “you will be healthy again in no time at all. I shall write you my bill,” he said to Alison, “and...”
“I’ll take the bill,” Lizzie said, and attempted to sit up.
“You will stay exactly where you are,” Alison said.
“I don’t believe you’ll need a prescription either for the mustard or the alcohol, but I shall write one out anyway,” Fawcett said. “Some of the chemists here in Paris are extremely sticky about dispensing medicines — especially to foreigners, whom they suspect of being raging opium eaters or worse. I shall write out one for aspirin as well, which will help bring the fever down. When the fever does start to break, incidentally, you’ll want to begin drinking hot lemonade to encourage further perspiration. Now then,” he said, to Alison, handing her a sheet of paper, “my normal fee for a hotel visit is twenty francs, which I should prefer having in cash since these odious French make cashing checks a virtual impossibility for foreigners. If you find yourself short, however...”
“I have the francs,” Alison said.
“Ah, excellent,” Fawcett said as she went for her purse. “Now then, here are the prescriptions. There’s a chemist not far from here — just down the street, in fact — and I’m sure the concierge will be happy to send someone round there for you. Ah, thank you,” he said, as Alison handed him the gold louis. “They still call this a Napoleon, you know, the French,” he said idly, looking at the coin, “even though the head of the Republic — such as it is — has adorned it for the past thirty years. Ah well, the French,” he said. “It’s a pity such a beautiful country is wasted on them, is it not?”
He pocketed the coin, snapped his bag shut, said, “You have my telephone number, do not hesitate to use it.” He turned to the bed then and said, “Cheer up, you’ll soon be up and around again. Did I mention absolute bed rest? Oh, yes, that is a must, I fear. Except for when you must relieve yourself, I don’t want you stirring from this bed. Au revoir, madam,” he said in French that sounded like Albert’s, and then turned, bowed stiffly to Alison and Felicity, said, “Au revoir” again and let himself out of the room.
The moment he was gone, Lizzie said, “I shall die, I know it. Just like that Marie what’s-her-name.”
“Nonsense, you will not!” Alison said sharply.