‘Mister Drum! Come-a quick!’
Perhaps she dreamt Camira screaming at Drummond, ‘Nottum hospital, Mister Drum! Many people sick! Go gettum medicines, we takem care of Missus Kitty here.’
She opened her eyes to see Andrew’s face – or maybe it was Drummond’s – urging her to sip some salty liquid that made her gag, then vomit, and noticed that a foul, acidic smell hung permanently in the air.
Gentle hands washed her down with cool water as her stomach contracted again and again. She dreamt then of floating off to join Camira’s ancestors who lived in the sky, or maybe God himself . . . Once, she opened her eyes and there was an angel, shimmering white in front of her, offering her a hand. A beautiful high-pitched voice was singing in her ear.
It would be nice, she thought with a smile, to be free of the pain.
Then another figure appeared in front of the angel, telling her to ‘Fight, my darling Kitty. Don’t leave me now, I love you, I love you . . .’
She must have slept again, for when she opened her eyes, she could see small horizontal chinks of light appearing from behind the shutters.
‘Why did no one close the curtains?’ she murmured. ‘I always close them. Helps keep out the heat . . .’
‘Well, your majesty, please do forgive my tardiness. I’ve had other things on my mind just recently.’
Drummond stood over her, his hands clasped to his waist. He looked dreadful: pale and haggard, with dark purple rings visible under his eyes.
‘Welcome back to the land of the living,’ he said to her.
‘I dreamt an angel came to take me up to the heavens . . .’
‘I’m sure you did. We nearly lost you, Kitty. I thought you were giving up. However, it looks to me like God didn’t want you yet, and sent you back.’
‘Perhaps there is a God after all,’ she whispered as she tried to sit up, but then she felt horribly dizzy and lay back down on the pillows.
‘Now that is a conversation we’ll have another time, after I’ve taken a nap. You seem lucid – up to a point – and you haven’t messed the bed for a whole twelve hours,’ Drummond declared.
‘Messed the bed?!’ Kitty closed her eyes and used what little energy she had to turn away from him, full of horror and embarrassment.
‘Cholera is a messy disease. Don’t worry, I left the room when you and the sheets were changed. Camira did all that. Although I admit that if you had died, I was about to go to the police station and insist they arrest her for the murder of her mistress. When I tried to take you to the hospital, she fought like a tiger to restrain me. She’s convinced that “whitefella” hospitals are full of disease, which, in truth, they probably are. If you don’t die of your own bacteria in an epidemic, you’re likely to die of your neighbour’s. In the end, she wore me down and I agreed, God help me.’
‘An angel was in here, I swear . . .’
‘Are you delirious again, Kitty? I do hope not.’ Drummond raised an eyebrow. ‘Well, I will leave you to your talk of angels and go and tell Nurse Camira that you are alive and could be very well soon.’
Kitty watched him as he walked towards the door. ‘Thank you,’ she managed to utter.
‘My pleasure, ma’am. Always here to serve.’
‘I did see an angel,’ she insisted as, exhausted from the conversation, she closed her eyes and slept again.
*
‘Mister Drum withum you night an’ day. Neva left your side. Only when I change you an’ dem stinkin’ sheets.’ Camira wrinkled her nose. ‘He good whitefella, he listen to me when I tellum no hospital.’
Kitty, who was sitting up in bed and doing her best to sip the watery, salty soup on the tray in front of her, studied Camira’s dreamy expression. She realised her nursemaid and helpmeet had completely fallen under the spell of ‘Mister Drum’ too.
‘He lovem you, Missus Kitty.’ She nodded firmly.
‘Of course he doesn’t! Or at least’ – Kitty tried to soften her gut reaction to Camira’s words – ‘he loves me like any brother-in-law should.’
Camira rolled her eyes in disagreement. ‘You lucky woman, Missus Kitty. Most fellas not good like-a him. Now, you eat an’ gettum strong for your boy.’
Two days later, Kitty felt confident enough to see Charlie without the sight of her terrifying him.
‘Mama! Are you better?’ he said as he ran into her arms and she felt the sheer life force in him.
‘Much better, Charlie darling. And oh, so very glad to see you.’
‘Papa said he would come home when Uncle Drum telegraphed him to say you were sick.’
Instinctively, Kitty’s stomach turned over, just as it had during the worst of her recent illness. ‘Did he? That is very kind of him.’
‘Yes, but then you got well, so Uncle Drum went back to the telegraph office to tell Papa, so he isn’t coming back.’
‘You must be disappointed, Charlie.’
‘Yes, but we have Uncle Drum to take care of us, and he looks exactly the same, but he’s funnier and plays cricket and swims with us. Why won’t Papa swim with us?’
‘Maybe he will if we ask him nicely.’
‘He won’t, ’cos he’s always busy with work.’ Charlie kissed her wetly on her cheek as his chubby hands went round her neck. ‘I’m glad you didn’t die. Me and Cat are going to help Fred build a hut in the garden.’
‘What hut?’
‘Our own house. We can live in it together and maybe eat our supper there sometimes.’ Charlie’s eyes pleaded with his mother. ‘Can we?’
‘Sometimes, maybe,’ Kitty agreed, too exhausted to argue.
‘And one day, we’ll get married like you and Papa. Goodbye, Mama. Eat your soup and get strong.’
Kitty watched him as he walked stoutly across the room. Even in the past few days, he seemed to have grown, both in terms of maturity and stature.
Although there was nothing wrong with childhood games, Kitty wondered once more whether she had made a mistake by entrusting Camira with so much of Charlie’s care, but all that was for another time. Kitty concentrated on finishing her soup.
The following morning, she insisted she was well enough to take a bath and dress. Food was still a problem – it made her feel nauseated every time she looked at it – but she did her best to eat. Charlie and Cat were busy in the garden with Fred, who was sawing and nailing their play hut together.
‘He’s a good man,’ Drummond commented over breakfast. ‘You’ve treated him and Camira with respect, and they’ve repaid you ten-fold.’
‘You’re a good man too. Thank you for caring for me while I was sick. I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been here.’
‘My pleasure, or, at least, my duty. I couldn’t have you die under my watch, could I? My brother would never have forgiven me. The good news is that it seems the epidemic is over in town, though Dr Suzuki has told me they’ve lost a dozen souls at the hospital and you can probably triple that in the shanty town. Sadly, Mrs Jefford was one of them.’