slept peacefully. Promising herself that she would get up during the night to make sure that they were all right, Araminta took herself off to bed.
She was asleep at once, but woke instantly at a peevish wail from Paul. She tumbled out of bed and crept to the half-open door. Paul was awake and the doctor was sitting on his bed, giving him a drink. There were papers scattered all over the floor and the chair was drawn up to the table by the window. She crept back to bed. It was two o’clock in the morning. She lay and worried about the doctor’s lack of sleep until she slept once more.
She was up very early, to find the boys sleeping and the doctor gone. She dressed, crept down to the kitchen and made herself tea, filled a jug with cold lemonade and went back to the boys’ room. They were still asleep. Paul’s face was very swollen but Peter looked normal. She had no idea how she would manage for the next few days; it depended on whether Peter got mumps, too.
She was going silently around the room, getting clean clothes for the boys, when the doctor came in.
She wished him a quiet good morning and saw how tired he was, despite his immaculate appearance. Despite his annoyance the previous evening, she said in her sensible way, ‘I hope you’ll have the good sense to have a good night’s sleep tonight. What would we do if you were to be ill?’
‘My dear Miss Pomfrey, stop fussing. I am never ill. If you’re worried during the day, tell Bas; he knows where to find me.’
And he had gone again, with a casual nod, hardly looking at her.
THE day was every bit as bad as Araminta had expected it to be. Paul woke up peevish, hot and sorry for himself, and it took a good deal of coaxing to get him washed and into clean pyjamas, his temperature taken and a cold drink swallowed. Bas had produced some coloured straws, which eased the drinking problem, but the mumps had taken hold for the moment and her heart ached for the small swollen face.
Nevertheless, she got through the day, reading to the invalid until she was hoarse, playing games with Peter and then taking him for a walk with Humphrey while Nel sat with Paul. They returned, much refreshed, armed with drawing books, crayons, a jigsaw puzzle and a couple of comics, had their tea with Humphrey in the sitting room and then went to spend the rest of the afternoon with Paul. He still felt ill, but his headache was better, he said, although it still hurt him to swallow.
‘You’ll feel better tomorrow,’ Araminta assured him. ‘Not quite well, but better, and when your uncle comes home I expect he’ll know what to do to take away the pain in your throat.’
The doctor came home just after six o’clock, coming into the boys’ room quietly, his civil good evening to Araminta drowned in the boisterous greeting from Peter and the hoarse voice of Paul. Humphrey, who had been lying on his bed, lumbered up to add his welcome and the doctor stooped to pat him.
Before the doctor could voice any disapproval of dogs on beds, Araminta said firmly, ‘I said that Humphrey could get on the bed. He’s company for Paul and comforting, too, so if you want to scold anyone, please scold me.’
He looked at her with raised eyebrows and a little smile which held no warmth. ‘I was not aware that I had given my opinion on the matter, Miss Pomfrey. I see no reason to scold anyone, either you or Humphrey.’
And, having disposed of the matter, he proceeded to ask her how the day had gone. He sat on the bed while she told him, examining Paul’s face and neck, taking his temperature, listening to his small bony chest, looking down his throat.
‘You’re better,’ he declared cheerfully. ‘You’re going to feel horrible for a few days, and you’ll have to stay in bed for a while, but I’ve no doubt that Miss Pomfrey will keep you amused.’
‘Does Miss Pomfrey—well, you mean Mintie, of course—amuse you too, Uncle?’ This from Peter.
The doctor glanced across at Araminta. ‘Oh, decidedly,’ he said, and smiled at her, a warm smile this time, inviting her to share the joke.
It was impossible to resist that smile. She agreed cheerfully and listened to Peter, like all small boys, enlarging upon the idea with gruff chuckles from his twin.
The doctor got up presently. ‘Ice cream and yoghurt for supper,’ he suggested. ‘Miss Pomfrey, if you would come down to my study, I will give you something to ease that sore throat. Peter, I leave you in charge for a few minutes.’
In the study, with Humphrey standing between them, he said, ‘You have had a long day. I’m afraid the next few days will be equally long. Paul is picking up nicely, and the swelling should go down in another five or six days. He must stay in bed for another day or so, then he could be allowed to get up, wrapped up warmly and kept in the room. Peter seems all right…’
‘Yes, and so good with his brother.’
‘I shall be at home this evening. I’ll keep an eye on the boys while you have dinner, and then if you would be with them for half an hour or so, I’ll take over. You could do with an early night…’
She said, before she could stop her tongue, ‘Do I look so awful?’
He surveyed her coolly. ‘Let us say you do not look at your best, Miss Pomfrey.’
He took no notice of her glare but went to his case. ‘Crush one of these and stir it into Paul’s ice cream. Get him to drink as much as possible.’ He added, ‘You will, of course, be experienced in the treatment of childish ailments?’
‘Yes,’ said Araminta. The horrible man. What did he expect when she’d been kept busy the whole day with the boys? Not look her best, indeed!
She went to the door and he opened it for her and then made matters worse by observing, ‘Never mind, Miss Pomfrey, as soon as the mumps have been routed, you shall have all the time you want for beauty treatment and shopping.’
She spun round to face him, looking up into his bland face. ‘Why bother? And how dare you mock me? You are an exceedingly tiresome man, but I don’t suppose anyone has dared to tell you so!’
He stared down at her, not speaking.
‘Oh, dear, I shouldn’t have said that,’ said Araminta. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your feelings, although I don’t see why I should be, for you have no regard for mine. Anyway,’ she added defiantly, ‘it’s a free world and I can say what I like.’
‘Indeed you can, Miss Pomfrey. Feel free to express your feelings whenever you have the need.’
He held the door wide and she flounced through. Back with the boys once more, she wondered if he would give her the sack. He was entitled to do so; she had been more than a little outspoken. On the other hand, he would have to get someone to replace her pretty smartly, someone willing to cope with two small boys and the mumps…
Apparently he had no such intention. Paul was soon readied for the night and Peter was prancing round in his pyjamas, demanding that he should have his supper with his brother.
‘Well, I don’t see why not,’ said Araminta. ‘Put on your dressing gown, there’s a good boy, and I’ll see what Bas says…’
‘And what should Bas say?’ asked the
