as Paul.’
‘By all means. Ask him to do so, Miss Pomfrey, and then have your dinner—a little early, but I dare say you will enjoy a long evening to yourself.’
There was nothing to say to that, so she went in search of Bas.
Peter said. ‘You must say Mintie, Uncle. Why do you always call her Miss Pomfrey?’
‘I have a shocking memory. How about a game of Spillikins after supper?’
Araminta still felt annoyed, and apprehensive as well, but that didn’t prevent her from enjoying her meal. Jet sent in garlic mushrooms, chicken à la king with braised celery, and then a chocolate mousse. It would be a pity to miss these delights, reflected Araminta, relishing the last of the mousse. She must keep a curb on her tongue in future.
She went back to sit with the boys and the doctor went away to eat his dinner, urged to be quick so that there would be time for one more game of Spillikins before their bedtime.
‘It’s already past your bedtime,’ said Araminta.
‘Just for once shall we bend the rules?’ said the doctor as he went out of the room.
He was back within half an hour, and another half an hour saw the end of their game. He got up from Paul’s bed.
‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he told them, ‘and you’ll both be asleep.’
When he came back he said, ‘Thank you, Miss Pomfrey, goodnight.’
She had already tucked the boys in, so she wished him a quiet goodnight and left him there.
A faint grizzling sound wakened her around midnight. Peter had woken up with a headache and a sore throat…
She went down to breakfast in the morning feeling rather the worse for wear. The doctor glanced up briefly from his post, wished her good morning and resumed his reading. Araminta sat down, poured her coffee, and, since he had nothing further to say, observed, ‘Peter has the mumps.’
The doctor took off his spectacles, the better to look at her.
‘To be expected. I’ll go and have a look at him. He had a bad night?’
‘Yes,’ said Araminta, and stopped herself just in time from adding, And so did I.
‘And so did you,’ said the doctor, reading her peevish face like an open book. He passed her the basket of rolls and offered butter. ‘You’ll feel better when you’ve had your breakfast.’
Araminta buttered a roll savagely. She might have known better than to have expected any sympathy. She thought of several nasty remarks to make, but he was watching her from his end of the table and for once she decided that prudence might be the best thing.
She bit into her roll with her splendid teeth, choked on a crumb and had to be thumped on the back while she whooped and spluttered. Rather red in the face, she resumed her breakfast and the doctor his seat.
He said mildly, ‘You don’t appear to be your usual calm self, Miss Pomfrey. Perhaps I should get extra help while the boys are sick.’
‘Quite unnecessary,’ said Araminta. ‘With both of them in bed there will be very little to do.’
She was aware that she was being optimistic; there would be a great deal to do. By the end of the day she would probably be at her wits’ end, cross-eyed and sore-throated from reading aloud, headachey from jigsaw puzzles and worn out by coaxing two small fractious boys to swallow food and drink which they didn’t want…
‘Just as you wish,’ observed the doctor, and gathered up his letters. ‘I’ll go and have a look at Peter. Did Paul sleep?’
‘For most of the night.’
He nodded and left her to finish her breakfast, and presently, when he had seen Paul, he returned to tell her that Peter was likely to be peevish and out of sorts. ‘I’ll give you something before I leave to relieve his sore throat. Paul is getting on nicely. Bas will know how to get hold of me if you are worried. Don’t hesitate if you are. I’ll be home around six.’
The day seemed endless, but away from the doctor’s inimical eye Araminta was her practical, unflappable self, full of sympathy for the two small boys. Naturally they were cross, given to bursts of crying, and unwilling to swallow drinks and the ice cream she offered. Still, towards teatime she could see that Paul was feeling better, and although Peter’s temperature was still too high, he was less peevish.
She hardly left them; Nel relieved her when she had a meal, and offered to sit with them while she went out for a while, but Araminta, with Bas translating, assured her that she was fine and that when the doctor came home she would have an hour or two off.
She was reading The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe when he walked into the room. He sat down on Paul’s bed and didn’t speak for a moment.
‘I see Paul’s feeling better; what about Peter?’
He could at least have wished her good evening or even said hello.
‘He’s feeling off colour, and he’s been very good—they both have—and they’ve taken their drinks like Trojans. Jet is making them jelly for supper.’
‘Splendid. Go and have a stroll round the garden, Miss Pomfrey, and then have dinner.’
‘I’m perfectly…’ she began.
‘Yes, I know you are, but kindly do as I say.’ He said something in Dutch to the boys, and they managed to giggle despite the mumps.
Araminta went. First to her room to get a cardigan, and to take a dispirited look at her reflection. There seemed no point in doing more than brushing her hair into tidiness and powdering her nose; she went downstairs and passed Humphrey on his way up to join his master. She would have liked his company as she wandered to and fro in the garden.
It was growing chilly and she was glad of the cardigan and even more glad when Bas came to tell her that dinner would be ready in five minutes.
It was a delicious meal, but she didn’t linger over it. The doctor would need his dinner, too, and probably he had plans for his evening. It was Bas who insisted that she went to the drawing room to have her coffee.
Sitting by the cheerful fire presently, with the tray on a table beside her, she felt at peace with everyone…
She was pouring her second cup when she heard Bas admit someone. A minute later the door was thrust open and Christina Lutyns pushed past him and came into the room.
Araminta put the coffeepot down carefully. Her polite ‘Good evening, Mevrouw,’ went unanswered, though.
‘Why are you sitting here in the drawing room? Where is Dr van der Breugh? Why aren’t you looking after the children?’
Araminta didn’t need to answer, for the doctor had come into the room. His ‘Dag, Christina,’ was uttered quietly, and he smiled a little. ‘Miss Pomfrey is taking a well-earned hour or so from her duties. The reason she is not with the children is because she has been with them almost constantly since the early hours of today. They both have
