Page 2 of Corridors of the Night (William Monk 20)

Hester’s heart sank and she felt a moment of panic. The boy looked desperately ill. Maggie was probably right and he was dying. Was this a quarantine ward? How could she hope to get enough information from a six-year-old to have any idea what was wrong with him, or how to help?

The first thing she needed to do was to reassure him, gain his confidence. She moved forward and stood by the side of the bed.

‘Hello, Charlie,’ she said very quietly. ‘Tell me how you feel. Are you hot? Sick? Shivery? Do you hurt anywhere especially?’

He stared at her for a moment. His face was so pale his skin looked almost translucent, shadows around his eyes like bruises. ‘I don’t really ’urt,’ he whispered. ‘Just a bit achy.’

‘Have you been sick?’ she asked.

‘Yesterday.’

‘Very sick, or just a little?’

‘Quite a lot.’

‘Have you eaten anything since then?’

He shook his head.

‘Drink anything? Water?’

She reached forward and touched her hand to his forehead. He felt hot and dry. She turned to Maggie, who was staring at her, eyes filled with fear.

‘Can you go and fetch Charlie a drink of water, please?’ Hester asked.

Maggie started to speak, then changed her mind and went off to obey.

‘Please, miss, don’t tell ’er I’m dyin’,’ Charlie said almost under his breath. ‘She’d be awful upset.’

Hester felt a sudden ache in her throat. She was a nurse – she was used to people dying – but these children alone, with no parent to comfort them, were different. They were so small, and lost. She did not normally lie to patients. She knew that if you did then sooner or later they stopped believing you, and you had lost much of your power to help, and they had lost trust in the one person they needed to believe.

This was different.

‘I won’t do.’ She made too big a promise, without hesitation. ‘I don’t intend to let you die if I can help it.’

‘But will you look after ’er?’ he asked. ‘An’ Mike? Please?’

It was not a time for equivocation. ‘Yes I will. Are you the eldest?’

‘Yeah. I’m seven. Maggie’s only six, although she acts like she’s everybody’s ma.’ He gave a weak smile, a little lop-sided.

‘Do you know why you’re here in hospital?’ It was time to be practical.

‘No.’ He shook his head a fraction. ‘Summink ter do wi’ me blood.’

‘Are they giving you medicine for it?’

‘They keep putting a big needle in me arm. It ’urts a lot.’

‘Really? Yes, it would hurt. Does this needle have a glass tube on the other end of it?’ She was picturing the major new invention called a syringe, which could transfer liquids into the flesh – or, for that matter, take them out.

He nodded.

‘Do you know what was in the glass part?’

He was looking paler and she could hardly hear his voice when he answered, ‘Looked red, like blood.’

Maggie came back with a mug full of water. Hester thanked her for it, then took a sip. It smelled and tasted fresh. She put an arm around Charlie. She could feel his bones through his nightshirt. She eased him upright and helped him very slowly to drink a little of the water. When he had taken all he could she laid him back down again, then as carefully as possible, straightened the sheets around him so they were smooth. He was gasping for breath, exhausted. She looked at him and was very afraid Maggie was right.