Evan Hunter - Lizzie

Her illness caused an immediate problem in that the women had planned to leave on the next leg of their journey on the coming Tuesday, and whereas Lizzie hoped she would be well by then (the doctor had said four to six days, hadn’t he?), she was mindful of the fact that he had recommended a convalescent period of at least a week before she might consider traveling again. On Saturday, her temperature surprisingly dropped to a shade above ninety-nine, which Fawcett assured her on the telephone was virtually normal. But the very next day, it shot up to a hundred and three again, and it became apparent to her that she would not be able to accompany the other women when they left on the twelfth — if indeed they decided to leave.

Anna, as was to be expected, never once ventured into the room, so fearful of contracting the disease was she. To Felicity’s credit, it was she who spent all night Friday, Saturday and Sunday lying half-awake beside Lizzie on sheets that became damp again almost the moment they were changed, escorting her to the toilet and back again, taking her temperature whenever she felt inordinately hot to the touch. But although she and Rebecca protested that they wouldn’t dream of leaving Lizzie behind while they voyaged further, Lizzie detected that they were all eager to get on their way, and that her illness was an inconvenience that posed a serious threat to their plans. Surely they were not supposed to linger here, were they, during the convalescent period as well? Assuming, of course, that the disease ran the minimum number of predicted days and not the maximum. (“And assuming,” Anna said pessimistically — as later reported by Rebecca — “that there are no complications.”)

By Monday, the eleventh, it became apparent that a decision simply had to be made. Lizzie’s fever showed no signs of breaking; it hovered at the hundred-and-three mark, and she required constant alcohol baths to keep her from burning to an absolute crisp. It was Alison who, during the daytime, ministered to her every need, relieving Felicity of her nursing chores and making certain that she caught up on the sleep she’d lost at night, though Felicity would much have preferred to accompany the other two women on their sightseeing jaunts around the city.

Albert had concluded whatever business had delayed the couple here, and when he came to see Lizzie that Monday, he seemed eager to get down to their villa on the Riviera. He came bearing roses and chocolates for the patient — who could not smell the roses and who would have vomited up the chocolates — and he sat beside the bed and patted her hand, which rested on the sheet dampened by her naked body beneath it.

“Now, dear lady,” he said, “you must get well soon, do you hear? We simply won’t have you lying about this way.”

Lizzie, her eyes and her nose running, her brow beaded with sweat, nodded weakly.

“It has been such a pleasure knowing you,” he said, and his words had an ominous ring of finality to them.

But Alison showed no indication of wanting to leave Paris before Lizzie was entirely well again. It was she who suggested to the others, quite firmly and in Lizzie’s presence, that they leave as scheduled on the morrow. She would personally see to it that Lizzie was well taken care of until she was able to catch them up later. If necessary, she would ask Geoffrey to come over from London when Lizzie was well enough to travel again, and he would accompany her to wherever the ladies might then be, avoiding any risk of misinterpretation that might result from the sight of a woman traveling alone. The ladies protested (but not overly, Lizzie felt) and finally were persuaded to pack their bags in preparation for their departure in the morning.

On Tuesday, the twelfth, the ladies left for the Loire valley and Albert left for Cannes. Alison had her things moved from the Binda, surprising Monsieur Foubrier when she announced that she was moving into the room he felt contained the decaying body of a plague victim. Day and night it was Alison now who regularly took her temperature; Alison who changed the sheets when the chambermaids were too slow to respond to the summons of the bedside button; Alison who soaked rags with alcohol and bathed Lizzie’s trembling body from head to toe; Alison who slept beside her each night, alert to every moan or sigh.

The fever lingered, though on the Friday after the others had left — a full week after she’d taken ill — it dropped again to below a hundred (“Ah, splendid!” Fawcett said on the telephone. “I’m sure we’re seeing the last of it.”) Then, on Saturday, it soared to a hundred and four, which Alison considered to be in the alarming range they’d been warned about.

When she first saw the reading on the thermometer, she thought it was surely a mistake. Something had gone wrong with the instrument; the mercury wasn’t properly recording Lizzie’s temperature. Or perhaps she wasn’t properly translating centigrade to Fahrenheit. She shook down the thermometer, stuck it once again into Lizzie’s mouth, timed a full five minutes by the ornate gilded clock hanging on the wall opposite the bed and then studied it again.

A hundred and four — in fact, a trifle over that!

She went immediately into the bathroom, soaked a cloth with alcohol, came back into the bedroom to lower the sheet covering Lizzie, and began bathing her hot and naked body, soaking the cloth again and again, moving it over Lizzie’s brow and neck and shoulders and breasts and belly and thighs. Lizzie recoiled each time the cloth touched her flesh. Alison murmured soft, encouraging words, “Yes, dear, I know, dear, yes, yes,” her hands moving, her eyes darting to the clock again and again. She took the wet top sheet off the bed, and replaced it with the last cool, dry one in the room. When she took Lizzie’s temperature again a half hour later, it had risen to a hundred and five.

Truly frightened now, she went immediately to the telephone and asked the concierge to ring Dr. Fawcett for her. A woman speaking with a clipped English accent told her that doctor was out on a call and would telephone her as soon as he returned. She told the woman it was urgent and went to the bed again and put her hand on Lizzie’s forehead. It was scalding to the touch, and now she had begun trembling violently. Alison looked up at the wall clock. Then she went into the bathroom and began running cold water into the tub.

She was struggling to lift Lizzie from the bed when a knock sounded at the door.

“Entrez!” she shouted, and the chambermaid she had summoned to change the sheets an hour earlier opened the inner door and peered into the room.

“Avez-vous sonné, madame?” she asked.

Alison had one arm under Lizzie’s knees, and was attempting to get a firm hold across her back and under her arms.

“Yes!” she shouted in English, without turning toward the door. “Lend me a hand here!” And then immediately, in French, “Aidez-moi! Madame est en danger! Vite!”

The chambermaid, terrified by the stories she had heard of the gravely ill woman in room 305, hesitated in the doorframe.

Alison turned to look at her. Her green eyes flashed. “Come help me!” she said in English, and then immediately in French, “Je vous ferai couper la tête, espèce de salope! Je vous ordonne de venir ici immédiatement!”

The chambermaid rushed to the bed, her eyes wide. Together they lifted Lizzie and carried her into the bathroom. “Be careful with her now,” Alison said in English, and then in French, “ Attention, doucement, doucement,” and they lowered Lizzie into the tub. Her back arched when the cold water touched her naked buttocks. For a moment Alison thought she might go into convulsion and feared she was doing exactly the wrong thing — but wasn’t it what the doctor had advised? Or wasn’t a hundred and five alarming enough to warrant such emergency action? And then, as they lowered her still further into the tub, as the water covered her knees and her belly (the sleeves of their garments soaked to the elbows) and then her breasts (the nipples puckering from the shock) and her shoulders, submerging her to the neck, Alison’s supporting hand behind her head now, she seemed suddenly to relax. A great sigh escaped her body on a shiver that rushed through it like a fleeting wind. Where an instant earlier she had been trembling, her body now became still — so still that it frightened Alison again. Her eyes fluttered open. She gazed up into Alison’s face, and then closed her eyes again, and again sighed deeply.