Convalescence Read Free Page B

throat and I started to cough, flopping down on one of the dining chairs, trying to catch my breath.
    Amy just stared at me, a frown of concern etched across her brow. “What’s wrong with you?” she said. I swear that if she hadn’t been backed against the wall already, she would have taken several steps backwards.
    â€œTB,” I managed once the attack subsided.
    â€œThat’s not very nice,” she said. “People die of that.”
    â€œI know. It killed my family.”
    The color in her face drained, leaving it white, but a crimson blush soon replaced it once she realized what she’d just said. “Oh heavens! I’m so sorry…I didn’t mean to…”
    I waved away the apology. It wasn’t the first one I’d heard and I was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the last. “Please don’t feel badly. It was a couple of months ago now. I’m over it,” I added. It was a lie, but I was trying to ease her discomfort.
    She shook her head. “Me and my mouth. I only take one foot out of it so I can put the other one in, or so I’ve been told.”
    â€œIs all that food for me?” I said, changing the subject.
    She seemed to shake off her embarrassment. “You can eat whatever you like.” She lifted one of the domed lids. “Sausages and bacon here, and eggs and mushrooms there.” She nodded towards the other covered dishes. “Or there’s toast—a bit cold now—or cereal.”
    â€œDoesn’t Uncle Thomas have breakfast?”
    â€œYes, but he takes it in his rooms. He has a suite of them in the west wing. He rarely eats here in the dining room.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    Amy shrugged. “I don’t know. Likes his privacy, I suppose.”
    Further conversation was halted by the appearance of Mrs. Rogers in the doorway. “Amy,” she said sharply. “Don’t you have other duties to attend to?”
    The crimson blush was back at Amy’s cheeks. She lowered her eyes and nodded her head.
    â€œWell, run along then, girl. I can see that Jimmy has what he needs.”
    Nodding again, Amy rushed from the room.
    Mrs. Rogers adopted Amy’s post to the right of the sideboard. “Right then,” she said with a smile, “what’s it to be?”
    â€œEggs and bacon,” I said, “please.”
    â€œVery well,” she said, picked up a plate and began loading it from the covered dishes. “Amy’s a bit of a chatterbox,” she said as she spooned rather congealed-looking eggs onto the plate. “She’s a sweet girl and a very good worker, but I wouldn’t place too much importance on what she might tell you. She has what you might call a fanciful imagination.”
    â€œShe didn’t tell me anything. We were just chatting.”
    She came across and set the plate down in front of me.
    â€œWell, tuck in…and bear in mind what I said about Amy. I don’t want her filling your mind with preposterous notions.”
    I had no idea what the woman was talking about, so I crammed a forkful of eggs and bacon into my mouth and said nothing.
    After I had bathed and dressed, I took myself out into the garden. It was a hot day, but there was still a faint trace of dew on the grass, so I stuck to the gravel paths that ran either side of the lawn.
    The first path led me down to the stand of trees at the bottom of the garden, but there was no clear route through them, so I stood there for a moment, peering between the moss-covered trunks. I thought I could make out a pond or small lake in the distance, but I couldn’t be sure.
    I retraced my steps and took the other path. This one ended in a small clearing partly occupied by a long and low outbuilding made from what looked like ribbed asbestos painted apple green, with a rust-colored corrugated iron roof. There were a few grubby windows set in the walls. I went and peered through them.
    There