John woke one night to hear him coughing in their room and heard Frances go quietly down the stairs. He slipped from his own bed, threw his cape around his shoulders over his nightshirt and went downstairs to the kitchen.

Frances was stirring a saucepan over the embers of the fire.

‘I’m making a drink of mead and honey for Alexander,’ she said. ‘His cough is so troublesome.’

‘I’ll put a drop of rum in it,’ John said, and went to fetch the bottle from the cupboard in the dining room. When he came back he saw that Frances had sunk into one of the kitchen chairs with the saucepan left on the hob. He took it off and poured a hearty slug of rum on the mix, and then poured it into a cup.

‘Taste it,’ he said.

She would have refused but he insisted.

‘Very sweet,’ she said.

‘Take another gulp,’ he said. ‘It’ll put some spirit in you.’

She did as she was ordered and he saw the colour come into her cheeks.

‘I am sorry,’ he said.

She met his eyes frankly. ‘He’s sixty-seven,’ she said bluntly. ‘We’ve had twelve good years. We never counted on this many.’

John put his hand over hers.

‘And you never wanted me to marry him at all,’ she said with a flash of residual resentment.

John smiled wryly. ‘Only to spare you this night,’ he said. ‘And the other nights ahead, while you nurse him.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘I’m caring for him now, but he has cared for me for as long as I can remember. I quite like being the one in charge for a change. I like repaying the debt of love. He’s always petted me, you know. Petted me so tenderly. I rather like nursing him now.’

John poured a little thimbleful of mead and rum for her. ‘You sit by the fire for a while and drink this,’ he ordered. ‘I’ll take this up to him.’

Frances nodded and let him go. John took one of the kitchen candles, lit it at the embers of the fire and went quietly up the stairs to Alexander’s bedroom.

Alexander was propped up against the pillow, his breathing hoarse. When he saw John come in he managed a smile of greeting.

‘Is Frances all right? I didn’t want her running after me.’

‘She’s having a drop of mead and rum at the fireside,’ John said. ‘I thought I’d sit with you for a while, if you wish.’

Alexander nodded. ‘I brought you this,’ John said. ‘If it doesn’t help you sleep then you have a head stronger than my narwhal tusk.’

Alexander gave a choking little laugh and took a sip of the hot drink. ‘By God, John, that’s good. What’s in it?’

‘Herbs of my own brewing,’ John said innocently. ‘Actually, my Jamaican rum.’