Lost Angel. Kitty Neale

her.’

      ‘Your mother needs to rest, my dear,’ the nurse said. ‘I promise you she’s in good hands.’

      Ellen looked frantically at her mum as the nurse lowered her gently back onto the pillows. Her eyes were closed again, body limp. ‘Mum … can you hear me?’

      There was no response and, unable to help it, Ellen began to cry. Gertie had told her to be brave, but how could she be brave when her mum looked so ill? ‘She … she’s not going to die, is she?’ she sobbed.

      ‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘I’m sure your mother is going to be fine.’

      ‘Ellen, you know your mum,’ Gertie said. ‘She’s a fighter and she’ll get better, you’ll see. Now come on, let her rest and we’ll come back tomorrow.’

      Gertie hoped she was right as she took Ellen’s hand, gently drawing her away and out of the small ward. They had all been ill, apparently flu, and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon taking it upon herself to call, Gertie dreaded to think what would have happened. Gertie had shunned the people in the village, called them nosy busybodies, but now she knew that if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon, Hilda could have died. The woman had rallied help, and taking it in turns to use an ancient bicycle, two villagers had come in to nurse them all, but then, as she and Ellen recovered, Hilda had worsened, developing what they now knew to be a serious chest infection.

      ‘Oh, Gertie,’ sobbed Ellen. ‘My mum looked awful.’

      ‘I know, darling, but, as the nurse said, she is improving,’ Gertie said, trying to reassure Ellen, yet equally worried by what she had seen. Hilda didn’t look any better to her, but she had been unable to fob Ellen off any longer and had given in, allowing the child to come with her when she went to the hospital instead of leaving her with Mrs Brandon. It had been a bad decision, one she regretted now. Maybe the nurse was right, maybe they would see an improvement tomorrow, especially as she doubted that she’d be able to keep Ellen away now.

      On the way back to the cottage, Gertie stopped off at the village and, holding out her arms, Ellen jumped off the cart and into them, the two then going into the general store together.

      ‘How is she?’ Mrs Brandon asked.

      ‘The nurse said she’s improving.’

      ‘Oh, God is good,’ the woman said. ‘Mrs Stone is such a lovely person and we’ve all been praying for her. I’ll pass on the news and I know that everyone will be delighted.’

      ‘I’ve already thanked Mrs Levison and Miss Pringle, but my added thanks to you for all you’ve done and for looking after Ellen while I went to the hospital. I don’t think it will be necessary any longer, but it was very kind of you.’

      ‘She’s such a lovely girl, no trouble at all. Ellen, I bet you were pleased to see your mum.’

      ‘Yes, but … but she looks awful.’

      ‘As she’s been so ill, it isn’t surprising, but it’s lovely to hear that she’s getting better. You wait and see; your mummy will be on her feet and home again in no time now.’

      Ellen looked a little more cheerful, and after she got a hug from Mrs Brandon, they said their goodbyes and left the shop. Gertie helped Ellen onto the cart, and then climbed up beside her, taking the reins.

      ‘Mrs Brandon said that God is good and that they’ve been praying for my mum. Gertie, do you believe in God?’

      ‘I think I’ll have to pass on that one, darling.’

      ‘We used to sing hymns in assembly when I was at school, and one of the teachers used to teach us about things in the Bible. You never do that.’

      ‘I know, and I’m sorry. All I can say is that I can’t teach you things that … well … I’m not sure about,’ Gertie said, hating this subject. Her father had turned her away from any leanings she might have had towards religion. Did he really think that she wanted to be this way? That she chose to be this way? With a sigh of exasperation, she signalled Ned to move off, but then had to pull him up again as someone called out to her.

      ‘Miss Forbes … Miss Forbes.’

      Gertie turned to see Martha Pringle hurrying towards her, a basket clutched in her hands. ‘I’m so glad I caught you,’ the woman said. ‘I know it takes such a long time getting to Crewkerne and back, so I made you this.’

      Gertie took the proffered basket, seeing an earthenware dish in the bottom.

      ‘It’s a chicken casserole,’ Martha Pringle said, ‘something for the two of you to have for your dinner.’

      ‘Goodness, how kind,’ Gertie said, amazed that these women she had snubbed were still rallying round to help. Yesterday Mrs Levison had given her a lovely rabbit pie, and now this.

      ‘How’s Mrs Stone?’

      Once again Gertie passed on the news, but, anxious about the animals now, she again thanked Martha Pringle before setting off.

      ‘Give her my kindest regards,’ the woman called and once again Gertie was humbled. She’d been a snob, stuck up, afraid that if the villagers found out about her, they’d make her life a misery. She’d lived like a recluse until Hilda arrived, but, unlike her, Hilda had always been friendly to these women when she saw them in the village, taking an interest in their lives. Gertie sighed. The barriers she had put up had been breached now, and though grateful for all their help, Gertie wasn’t sure that she wanted any more intrusions into her life.

       Chapter Eleven

      Hilda slowly recovered, but it took a long time. She was left debilitated, but at last allowed home, only to have Gertie fussing over her. At bedtimes, Gertie had wanted to help her undress, but, no matter how weak she felt, Hilda wouldn’t stand for that.

      So much time had passed since her illness and it was now early June, the weather lovely as, earlier than usual, Hilda climbed out of bed. Gertie was still treating her like an invalid, the physical contact getting worse, the touching, the stroking, and it was turning Hilda’s stomach. Not only that, Gertie was even more reluctant to go to the village now, and they had only been once since Hilda had left hospital. She was beginning to feel like a prisoner, though at least that one occasion had given her the chance to post two letters.

      Socks made an unusual appearance, jumping up on the bed. ‘Leave her alone,’ Hilda said as the cat lay on Ellen’s chest, his front paws paddling her as he purred loudly. ‘I’ll feed you today.’

      As if he understood her words, the cat jumped down again to follow Hilda. She fed him, then lit the range, hoping that Gertie would take them to the village once again. It didn’t help that she was so busy and behind with the planting. Ellen did her best, but no matter how many times Hilda said she felt strong enough, Gertie wouldn’t let her help.

      Socks licked his paws, and then went out through the cat flap, but only moments later Wilfred pushed through, his round, green eyes looking up at her in appeal.

      ‘All right, I know you want feeding too.’

      ‘You’re up early,’ came Gertie’s voice from behind her.

      ‘So are you.’

      ‘I’ve got a lot to do.’ Laying an arm around Hilda’s shoulder, she asked solicitously, ‘How are you feeling today?’

      ‘Gertie, how many times have I got to tell you? I’m fine. In fact, if you’ll run me to the village after breakfast, I’ll make it up to you by giving you a hand with the planting when we get back.’

      ‘I can’t spare the time.’

      ‘Gertie, we’re low on food and need to stock up.’

      ‘Can’t