“I don’t want you to be on your own, not after everything that’s happened today. I know you’re not a child anymore, but I’d rest easier if someone was with you. And don’t give me that look, Jemima Pardon.”

She was giving him a look, but not for the reason he assumed. She’d lived with him long enough to know how he operated, and she was a dab hand at spotting an ulterior motive.

“I’ll stay with her,” Rosie said, completely oblivious. “These chairs aren’t too bad once you get used to them.”

He beamed at her. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Don’t I get a say?” Jem asked, though it was hard to be indignant and wheezy at the same time.

“Apparently not,” Rosie said, and accepted the tin of biscuits from Jem’s dad.

He ruffled Jem’s hair. “I’m sure this would look terrific without the soot.”

“Kiss Mum from me,” she said.

He took his cap from his pocket and pulled it on. “Keep us updated, Rosie.”

“Of course I will.”

The door clicked behind him as he left. Rosie let his footsteps fade before she turned back to Jem, drumming her fingers on the lid of the tin. Jem knew what was coming, and she was already laughing.

“Did he just set us up?” Rosie asked.

Jem bit into another biscuit. “Yep.”

Rosie looked at the closed door and then back at Jem. “The crafty old sod,” she said.

* * *

When Jem had asked her nurse to leave the light on, Katya had swapped the overheads for the angle-poise lamp attached to the bed frame. It cast a soothing glow, ideal for lulling susceptible patients to sleep, but Jem was restless and uncomfortable after hours spent in the same position, and the last time she’d catnapped, she’d dreamt of the fire.

“Rosie? Are you awake?” she whispered.

“Yes, but you shouldn’t be.”

Jem was too preoccupied by fidgeting to react to Rosie’s schoolma’am impersonation. “Can you help me? I need to get up.”

“Not a problem.” Rosie readied the bed’s remote. “Say when.”

“No, not sit up. Stand up,” Jem said. The room felt too small: stuffy and airless despite her oxygen. She pulled at the neck of her gown, though it sat loose and nowhere near her throat.

“Hey, easy.” Rosie untangled Jem’s fingers, freeing the material and straightening the gown. “Shall I call Katya?”

“No.” Jem kicked at the sheets, twisting them around her legs. “Help me to the window. Please.”

“What? Jem, I can’t.”

“I’ll do it by myself,” Jem said, managing to get a foot out.

Rosie glowered, but whatever she saw in Jem’s eyes made her blink first. “Okay, okay, you stubborn bugger. Let me get a chair ready.”