“Yes, there is,” Callandra said quickly. “You can tell them he died fighting for a cause, serving his country. Here all you can say is they died because the damnable council would not build sewers, and they were too poor to do it themselves. That's hardly a comfort to anyone.” She looked across at Enid and frowned. “They also died because they are half starved and cold all winter, half of them have rickets or tuberculosis, or are stunted by some other childhood disease. But you can hardly put on a tombstone, if you had one, that they died of having been born in the wrong time and place. Are you all right? You don't look well.”

“I have a headache,” Enid confessed. “I thought I was just tired, but I do feel rather worse now than I did before I sat down. I thought I was hot, but perhaps I'm cold. I'm sorry-I sound ridiculous . . . .”

Hester stood up and crossed the short space between them, bending down in front of Enid, searching her face, her eyes. She reached up her hand and placed it on her brow. It was burning.

“Is it . . .?” Enid whispered, the question too dreadful to ask.

Hester nodded. “Come on. I'll take you home.”

“But . . .” Enid began, then realized it was pointless. She clambered to her feet, swayed, and buckled at the knees. Hester and Callandra only just caught her in time to ease her back down into the chair.

“You must go home,” Callandra said firmly. “We can manage here.”

“But I can't just leave!” Enid argued. “There's so much to do! I . . .”

“Yes you can.” Callandra forced a smile; there was tiredness, patience and a deep grief in it. She touched Enid very gently, but without the least indecision. “You will only distract us here, because we can't look after you as we would wish. Hester will take you.”

“But . . .” Enid swallowed hard and began to writhe deeply, gasping, and in obvious distress. “I'm sorry .. . I think I may be sick.”

Callandra looked across and met Hester's eyes.

“Fetch a pail,” she ordered. “Then go and tell Mary. You'd better find a hansom and bring it back here.”

“Of course.” There was nothing to discuss or with which to take issue. She went into the main room and returned within seconds with a pail, then went to find Mary, who was up at the far end of the room, sponging down a woman who was almost insensible with fever. The rush torches on the walls threw shifting shadows over the straw and the dim shapes of bodies under the blankets. There were no sounds but the rustling of feverish movement and the murmurs and cries of delirium, and close to the windows, the thrumming of the rain outside.

“I fink she's a little better,” Mary said hopefully when she realized Hester was beside her.