Jolaine Tradescar gave the Sanatorium bell-pull another vigorous tug.

The peephole in the door shot open and the porter’s eye appeared.

‘We’re closed.’

‘Closed! My dear fellow, it’s two in the afternoon, not two in the morning. Let me in. Tell the good doctor I’m here to see him. It’s urgent.’

‘Like I said – we’re closed.’

‘I’m a family friend. Don’t you know me? Tradescar. Dame Jolaine Tradescar. I’ve two silver courons here for you if you’ll admit me.’

There was a silence, a considering silence. Then Jolaine heard the key turn and a calloused hand appeared, palm turned expectantly upwards. She placed the coins in the upturned palm which instantly shot back out of sight. The door opened.

‘Don’t tell him I let you in,’ the porter said, hastily ushering her into the courtyard.

‘What’s the matter? Why is the place shut up like a tomb, the blinds down? Is there plague? Is someone dead?’

‘It’s his daughter. Taken ill.’

‘Orial?’ Jolaine stopped. ‘Damn it all to hell!’ she muttered. ‘Am I too late, even now?’

‘You all right, Dame Tradescar?’ The porter was staring at her warily. ‘You’ve turned a funny colour.’

‘Just take me to Dr Magelonne,’ Jolaine ordered, her own troubles forgotten.

Cook appeared in the corridor carrying a tray.

‘Tragic,’ she said to Jolaine, shaking her grizzled head. Her eyes were red-rimmed. ‘Just like her poor dear mother. Tragic.’

‘How’s the doctor taking it?’

‘Bad. Very bad. Won’t even touch his food.’

‘Shall I go up?’

Cook gave a shrug, setting the cutlery rattling on the tray.

The stairs seemed steeper than before; Jolaine had to stop and pause for breath several times, clutching on to the polished handrail. At last she reached the top and tottered towards Orial’s room. The door was ajar.

Orial lay on her bed, one arm across her breast, her hair trailing across the white pillows like strands of waterweed.

Jerame Magelonne rose from her bedside and came across to Jolaine. Even in the shadowed room, Jolaine could see the unshaven stubble darkening his face; he had neglected his own needs to stay at her side.

‘The Accidie?’ Jolaine said.

‘I can’t be sure. I’ve sedated her.’ Magelonne spoke in a whisper as though frightened a louder tone might disturb Orial.

‘Why didn’t you let me know, Jerame? I would have stayed with her. You need rest. I don’t need so much sleep at my age.’

Magelonne beckoned her out on to the landing.

‘What use will you be to her if you fall sick too?’ she said sternly. ‘You must eat, you must sleep. Go to bed – I’ll watch over her.’

‘But –’ Magelonne began to protest but his voice was slurred with tiredness.

‘Go.’

‘I’ll be in my room. You’ll wake me if there’s any change?’ he added anxiously.