I looked at her. "Shall I see how he is?"
"Yes, do." Another strange thing. Usually I couldn't leave the table until everyone had finished.
***
Papa was lying back on his pillow. On the tray in front of him, the bowl of soup was half full. Still, he had eaten a few spoonfuls.
He smiled at me. "Hello, Lou. Had your dinner?" He was trying to speak normally, but his voice sounded hoarse. His face was flushed again, a deep red.
"Papa, I think I should take your temperature."
"Don't be silly, Lou. It's not necessary."
"I think it is. Papa, you know it is. Please."
He gave in as if indulging my whim, and I fetched the thermometer from his study. When I saw the result, I exclaimed. "It's a hundred and three! We should send for Dr. Kneale."
He lifted his hand in protest. "No. There's no need to trouble him. I've probably got a touch of influenza, that's all." He broke off in a fit of coughing. Perhaps he was right about the influenza.
When he'd recovered, he murmured, "What I need is a good sleep."
I took the hint and left him in peace.
Alone at my desk, I tried to read, but I had to keep going back over the same sentences. I couldn't stop thinking about Papa.
"Louisa!" It was Mamma's voice, sharp, urgent.
I ran to my parents' bedroom.
Papa had vomited. He was tossing around in a tangle of sheets and he still looked very hot.
Mamma tugged at his soiled nightgown but he was flailing his arms so wildly she couldn't get if off. "Help me, Louisa."
We managed to pull the gown over his head but as we were trying to put on a fresh one, he sat up and pushed us away.
"Don't touch me, you blackguards!" he shouted and, seizing his pillow, he thrashed it about as if he was fighting off an unseen enemy.
"Papa, it's me. Louisa!" But he didn't know me.
Mamma cried, "Edward!" and tried to catch hold of his arm, but he pushed her violently against the chest of drawers.
I went to the door and shouted for Mary. As soon as she appeared, I said, "You must run for Dr. Kneale. Hurry, Mary!"
***
It seemed like an age until the doctor came. All the while Papa thrashed about and babbled nonsense in a voice I'd never heard before. Mamma and I watched in silent horror. There was nothing we could do.
Dr. Kneale arrived. Although he was a colleague of Papa's at the Dispensary, we didn't know him very well. He examined Papa then turned to Mary and said, "Have you any ice?"
When she nodded, he told her to fetch some, wrapped in a cloth, and hold it on Papa's forehead. Papa was less agitated now and submitted to this quietly, although he continued to mutter and once said, very distinctly, "Pecked off her nose!"
Dr. Kneale took Mamma out of the room and I followed.
On the landing, Mamma was saying, "He's been so restless at night, unable to sleep. It's unlike him."
"And he's had diarrhoea," I added. "Not much and not very often, but it's yellow, like pea soup."
Dr. Kneale surveyed me with his mild blue eyes. "Well, now. That's a very precise observation, young lady. You're quite the nurse, aren't you?"
His tone made me squirm, but before I could say anything, Mamma asked, "What do you think it is?"
We both stared at him anxiously until he said, "I don't think there's anything to worry about. I'd say it was a common fever. It shouldn't last more than a week or so."
A sigh escaped Mamma and her shoulders relaxed. I felt reassured too. The doctor left, saying that he would look in the next day.
Mamma turned to me. "I was thinking we should send for Tom. But really, there's no need now."
I agreed. I wasn't surprised she wanted Tom home, but I could just imagine his annoyance at being dragged all the way from London for nothing, especially as he was about to sit his first medical examinations.
***
Papa opened his eyes. For a moment he looked round in an unfocused way. Then his gaze fell on me and he tried to smile.
"Lou." His voice was faint.
As always, when he was lucid again, I felt weak with relief. If only this time it would last. If only the crisis were over. I concentrated on practicalities. "It's time for your pill, Papa."
I put it between his poor, cracked lips and tilted the glass of water. As he drank, a trickle ran from the side of his mouth. I wiped it away. He licked his lips and I saw that his tongue was brown.
I felt his nightgown. It was drenched with sweat so I fetched a clean one. When I took off the soiled one I was shocked again. In the month since I was summoned home from Carr Head, he'd grown so thin his ribs protruded. And the telltale spots were clearly visible on his chest and back.
Why had it taken Dr. Kneale so long to realise? I'd shivered when he said the word and Mamma gave a little cry and went quite white.
Typhoid.
Although she didn't mention it, I knew Mamma would be thinking of her brother. But after all, there was hope. People recovered from typhoid.
When Papa was settled on his pillow again, I said, "Would you like anything? Beef tea? Or toast and water?"
He shook his head. "Not now. Later."