* * *
The little room at the top of the building had changed considerably since my last visit. It was clean, for one thing, with polish gleaming on every horizontal surface. There was food in the hutch, a down quilt on the bed, and numerous small comforts provided for the patient. Mary had confided on the way that she had been quietly pawning her mother’s jewelry, to ensure that Alex Randall was as comfortable as money could make him.
There were limits to what money could manage, but Alex’s face glowed like a candle flame when Mary came through the door, temporarily obscuring the ravages of illness.
“I’ve brought Claire, dearest.” Mary dropped her cloak unheeded onto a chair and knelt beside him, taking his thin, blue-veined hands in her own.
“Mrs. Fraser.” His voice was light and breathless, though he smiled at me. “It’s good to see a friendly face again.”
“Yes, it is.” I smiled at him, noting half-consciously the rapid, fluttering pulse visible in his throat, and the transparency of his skin. The hazel eyes were soft and warm, holding most of the life left in his frail body.
Lacking medicine, there was nothing I could do for him, but I examined him carefully, and saw him tucked up comfortably afterward, his lips slightly blue from the minor exertion of the examination.
I covered the anxiety I felt at his condition, and promised to come next day with some medicine to help him sleep more easily. He hardly noticed my assurances; all his attention was for Mary, sitting anxiously by him, holding his hand. I saw her glance at the window, where light was fading rapidly, and realized her concern; she would have to return to her aunt’s house before nightfall.
“I’ll take my leave, then,” I told Alex, removing myself as tactfully as I could, to leave them a few precious moments alone together.
He glanced from me to Mary, then smiled back at me in gratitude.
“God bless you, Mrs. Fraser,” he said.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and left, hoping that I would.