Susan retrieved the washcloth, squeezed out the excess water, and returned it to Bertie’s forehead, noticing that his skin was hot to the touch. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go to Northampton, when you’ve recovered.”

She had expected him to argue. Instead, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Have I told you the story about how your parents met?”

Susan smiled. “Yes,” she said, “but I’m fond of how you tell it.”

Amid coughs, sniffles, and the muted scent of eucalyptus, Susan listened to a much-shortened version of Bertie’s story. She’d heard the tale perhaps a hundred times, but tonight was different. His words were precious to her, as she realized that the times she would hear his beautiful stories were numbered.

CHAPTER 46 - EPPING, ENGLAND

CHAPTER 46

EPPING, ENGLAND

Susan looked at Bertie, asleep in his chair. A candle, burned to a nub, flickered a dull amber glow over the room. His chest rose, then fell. She exhaled. Refusing to leave his side, she’d spent the night on the sofa rather than her bed. After an evening during which he coughed frightfully, she was glad he was finally able to rest. And she hoped that the worst of tonight’s bombardment was over.

As she tried to sleep, a rustling, like a chipmunk had gotten into the attic, caused her to sit up. A cushion she had been using for her head fell to the floor.

Bertie opened his eyes and cleared his throat. “All right, my dear?”

She nodded, lit another candle, and then listened. The rumble of distant explosions. A gust of wind caused the cottage to creak. Seconds later, a flutter. And Duchess swooped downstairs.

Susan shot up, wanting to hold her pigeon, caress her wings, and warm her feathers. But she didn’t want to make the same mistake of leaving her bedroom window open. So she ran upstairs and closed the sash to prevent Duchess from prematurely flying away. Running down the hallway, thoughts of Ollie’s message filled her with hope. Her heart raced. She dashed downstairs and froze.

She found Duchess perched on Bertie’s lap. Her once-exquisite feathers, which had shimmered with fluorescent green and purple, now appeared dull, tarnished like old silver. Despite being in the prime of her pigeon years, she looked haggard. Perhaps it was the candlelight. Or maybe Duchess’s wan appearance was compounded by Bertie’s condition—unshaven, oily hair, shoulder bones protruding under his nightclothes.

“She’s knackered,” Bertie said, staring at Duchess. He coughed into his handkerchief.

Duchess blinked.

“I’m under the weather,” Bertie said to the pigeon.

Susan carefully picked up Duchess, untangling a toenail that had gotten stuck in Bertie’s blanket. She kissed her pigeon on the head, then caressed her wings.

Duchess closed her eyes.