Kitty Neale - Lost Angel

‘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?!’ Gertie said, looking annoyed. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’

‘I’m sorry, but maybe Mrs Stone will be more up to visitors tomorrow.’

‘I don’t want to go,’ Ellen cried. ‘I don’t want to leave 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.