Lost Angel. Kitty Neale

her shoulders, she said, ‘OK, Doug, whatever you say.’

      Ellen settled onto her dad’s lap, his arms tight around her. As they set off, she wished the journey could go on for ever, that they’d never reach the station; but if anything, Gertie seemed to be urging the horse to a faster pace than usual.

      

      When they arrived in Crewkerne, Hilda fought to keep her composure, but inside she felt as though her heart was breaking. She wanted the train to be late, anything to stop Doug’s departure, but when they got to the platform it was already drawing in. She cursed Gertie, wishing the bloody woman hadn’t been in such an all-fired hurry to get here. Poor Ned had looked almost on the point of collapse by the time Gertie had drawn the cart to a halt. If the journey had taken longer, Doug would have missed this one and had to wait for the next. It might have taken hours, perhaps giving them time to walk around Crewkerne, to explore the town together; but instead it would be a hurried goodbye.

      Steam hissed, engulfing part of the platform, as Doug said, ‘Gertie timed that right.’

      Few people had got off the train and Hilda could see that the female guard was about to blow her whistle, her arm up and waiting to signal the train’s departure.

      ‘Bye, pumpkin,’ Doug croaked, quickly hugging Ellen.

      Hilda then found herself crushed against him, and fighting tears she said, ‘I love you, Doug. I’ll always love you.’

      The whistle sounded now, Doug’s voice strangled in his throat as he let her go to pick up his kitbag. ‘I love you too – both of you,’ and then he had to dive into the nearest carriage, only able to pull down the window to blow them a kiss before the train pulled away.

      Hilda would never know how she managed it, her heart swelling with love for her daughter when she saw that Ellen, too, was somehow smiling as they waved him off.

      They remained where they were, both still with fixed smiles on their faces and waving until the train went out of sight. Only then did Ellen turn to fling herself into Hilda’s arms.

      ‘Ned needs a bit of a rest,’ Gertie said innocently as they at last went outside, ‘but wasn’t it good that I managed to get Doug here in time to catch that train?’

      Hilda was too upset to speak, but this was the final straw. She’d had enough. No matter what, she and Ellen were going back to London.

       Chapter Ten

      Just a few days after Doug left, Ellen went down with an awful cold that turned to a raging fever, and two days later she passed it on to Gertie.

      Hilda was run ragged as she nursed them both, along with seeing to the chickens, pigs and the goat. Bertie was contented once he’d been fed and would lie on Gertie’s bed, and the cats were happy and off out as soon as they finished the food in their bowls but Hilda became seriously worried as Ellen and Gertie’s temperatures fluctuated – one minute they were hot, the next cold. Tiredly she went into Gertie’s room.

      ‘I’m thirsty and my head’s splitting,’ Gertie moaned.

      ‘Somehow I’m going to have to go into the village. You both need to be seen by a doctor.’

      ‘Waste of time. He’s at least eighty,’ she said, then bent double with coughing before she croaked, ‘See how we are in a couple of days.’

      Hilda rubbed her eyes. They’d been like this for over a week now and she was now feeling a bit rough herself. Maybe Gertie was right, maybe there would be an improvement soon. ‘All right, but if Ellen gets any worse, no matter what, I want her seen by the doctor.’

      ‘My throat’s raw.’

      ‘Here, drink this,’ Hilda said as she poured Gertie a glass of water. ‘I’ll be back soon, but I must see to Ellen now.’

      Gertie lay back, closing her eyes, and Hilda quietly left the room. She found Ellen tossing and turning, her hair wet with perspiration and the bedding in a tangle around her. Hilda sorted the bed, bathed her with cool water and for a moment Ellen opened her eyes, but then they closed again. Hilda shook her head in despair. She felt so helpless and the feeling of isolation, of living so many miles from any other human beings, overwhelmed her.

      For the rest of the day Hilda kept up her vigil, only leaving Ellen to see to Gertie and the animals. At night she sat in a chair by her daughter, unaware in the early hours of the morning that she had fallen asleep, her upper body and head resting on the bed.

      

      ‘Mum … Mum …’

      Hilda awoke with a start, her back screaming with pain as she sat up. She groaned, still half asleep at first, but as soon as her eyes settled on her daughter, she was instantly awake. Ellen looked a lot better and, as Hilda reached out to place a hand on her daughter’s forehead, for the first time in a week she smiled. ‘Your temperature’s down. How do you feel?’

      ‘A lot better, and I’m hungry.’

      Hilda could have danced with joy but, standing up, she swayed. Her throat was on fire, head thumping, but she fought it off, determined to get her daughter something to eat. ‘I’ll look in on Gertie, and then make you some breakfast. Hopefully, Gertie’s feeling better too.’

      ‘Mum, you look awful.’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Hilda lied.

      Gertie was still asleep when Hilda peeped in the room, so leaving her for now she went downstairs, clinging to the banister for balance as her head swam. The range would need lighting and, opening the doors, she stuffed in paper and wood, before adding coke, praying she could get it going. Was that a knock on the door? No, surely not? The cottage was so remote and they didn’t get visitors. Another knock and, swaying with dizziness, Hilda finally managed to get to the door.

      ‘Mrs Brandon,’ she croaked.

      ‘You haven’t been to the village for a long time and I was worried about you,’ the woman said, but then paled, her hand reaching out. ‘My dear, are you all right?’

      Mrs Brandon’s voice barely reached Hilda as she sank into a pit of darkness.

      

      As Hilda’s condition worsened, she lost any sense of time passing, vaguely thinking at one point that she was in some sort of motorised vehicle. She drifted in and out of consciousness, hardly aware of what was going on around her as her temperature raged. When briefly conscious, coughs racked her body, the pain in her chest excruciating before she sank, exhausted, into blackness once again.

      Voices reached her again and Hilda forced her eyes open, her first thought for her daughter. ‘Ellen … Ellen,’ she gasped.

      ‘Your daughter’s fine,’ she heard a gentle voice say, but then Hilda knew nothing once again, unaware until later that day that both her daughter and Gertie were sitting beside her.

      

      ‘Is she gonna be all right?’ Ellen asked a nurse worriedly as she stared at her mother’s ashen face.

      ‘There’s been some improvement,’ said the nurse.

      Ellen saw her mother’s eyelids flicker, and then they opened, her eyes dazed and confused.

      ‘Wh … where am I?’

      ‘You’re in hospital, my dear; and, look, your daughter has come to see you.’

      ‘Ellen,’ Hilda said, her head turning.

      ‘Oh, Mum … Mum.’

      Hilda started to cough, the nurse raising her shoulders, and Ellen stared with horror as her mum’s chest heaved and she fought for breath.

      ‘I think you should both go now,’ the nurse urged.

      ‘Go?!’