Corridors of the Night by Anne Perry Page A

immediately and tried to go to bed, since it was now early evening. But she had prepared herself to be on duty all night, and sleep was elusive. She lay still only so she would not disturb Monk beside her. She had not told him the reason for her change of duty. He had more than enough to worry about with the rearrangements necessary when Orme finally retired. He was pleased that she was working the same sort of hours as he was. At least they were together all night, a warmth and a sweetness that he valued more than he was willing to admit.
    In the morning Hester was in Magnus Rand’s office when Adrienne Radnor arrived with her father. Hester looked at Radnor with intense interest and a pity she found it difficult to conceal. Nature had designed him to be a big man, physically imposing, but now he was gaunt. His broad shoulders and deep chest were painfully bony, his arms limp by his sides where he lay on the palet on which he had been carried. His powerful face, with its aquiline nose and wide, thin-lipped mouth, registered rage at this present dependence upon others for his mere ability to move from one place to another. He must have been magnificent in the days of his health.
    Adrienne was at his side, far more soberly dressed than the day before. Her skirt was of a brown so dark as to be almost black and she wore a very plain blouse, which looked drab in the bright August sun that streamed through the office windows. But nothing would dull the burning colour of her hair.
    The porters who had carried Radnor set him down on a long couch in the office frequently used for patients who were too unwell to walk. At a nod from Magnus they left, closing the door behind them.
    ‘Help me up!’ Radnor said to Adrienne, not even glancing at anyone else.
    Hester was startled at his tone. It was an order, not a request.
    Adrienne moved forward instantly. With a practised gesture she slipped her arm around his shoulders and eased him up.
    Hester passed her two pillows to prop his body at a comfortable angle and stepped back. With a smile of tenderness Adrienne smoothed his hair, which was white but still thick.
    He did not thank her. It was as natural and accepted as if he had done it himself.
    Adrienne stayed beside him, but allowed Radnor to speak to Magnus without her appearing to be between them. Let no one imagine that Bryson Radnor was not still in charge.
    Hester understood. She might have done the same. No one else would know what gratitude he might express when he and his daughter were alone, what private passion or despair she might be a silent witness to, what indignities she would pretend not to observe, yet he would always be conscious that she knew. The very ill have little privacy, even for the most intimate of things.
    Radnor studied Magnus for several moments and seemed to be satisfied with what he saw. Magnus was an unassuming man. He had none of the arrogance of his elder brother, but he had the confidence of both education and practical success. And unlike Hamilton, he had patience.
    Radnor nodded and inclined his head towards Hester. ‘Who is she?’ he asked, his question clearly still directed at Magnus.
    ‘One of Florence Nightingale’s nurses,’ Magnus replied without hesitation. ‘She was standing in for a friend, on night duty, but we have asked her to remain and look after you. We will find someone else to replace her in the ward.’
    Radnor regarded Hester for only a moment longer, then nodded. ‘Good. You may begin.’
    Before he would do anything further, Magnus had Hester make all the usual measurements and assessments of pulse, temperature, history of eating, drinking, digestion and elimination, patterns of sleep or lack of it, and such treatments as they had attempted, and their results.
    Radnor told her grudgingly, and twice Adrienne stepped in to answer in his behalf. Hester accepted this, because it was not uncommon for people to find it awkward to answer such things to people they did not