Page 53 of The Forgotten Boy

Though she would have liked nothing more than to attach herself to Joshua after dinner, Diana’s exhaustion was real and urgent and she didn’t want to give Weston a reason to go to Clarissa before she could talk to the headmistress. She bid Joshua a decorous good night in the dining hall—warmed by the positively wicked grin he gave her in turn—and checked that Beth Willis meant to spend the night in the infirmary with Jasper.

She reached her door ready to sleep for a solid ten hours. She was so tired that, at first, she couldn’t properly take in the state of her bedroom. Drawers had been violently ripped open and their contents flung far and wide. Books and loose papers covered the floor and the contents of her wardrobe had been strewn about in trails of wool, cotton, and silk.

Diana thought it could have been done by Luther Weston. For whatever reasons, he detested Joshua and her, and seeing them together might have pushed him over some edge. But she didn’t really believe it. Jasper’s voice from earlier today came back to her: I don’t want to say it. You won’t believe me.

If she were brave enough to enjoy Joshua’s bed, Diana decided she was brave enough to tell herself the truth: that the malice she could see in the attack on her bedroom matched the malice she’d felt on the solar stairs. Whatever invisible force had seized her in a vision and then attempted to push her down the stairs was the same force that had done this damage.

And yet, Diana was not afraid. She remembered the outside terror that had possessed her as she’d watched a band of hostile horsemen descending on Havencross some long ago century, and she felt only compassion. She knew about terror. She knew what someone might do in the grip of it.

With a sigh, Diana put her things back in a semblance of order. To her own surprise, she then spoke out loud: “I’m not your enemy, whoever you are. I don’t want to hurt you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d just leave me be.”

That speech—heard and understood or not—sufficed to allow her to fall asleep in peace, her body humming with memories of Joshua’s touch.

She wasn’t even surprised when she woke in darkness to the sound of knocking. When was the last time she’d simply woken up in the morning like a normal person? She checked her watch and saw it was 4 a.m.

She wouldn’t say that she expected it to be Joshua, but the unpleasantness of facing Luther Weston served to fully wake her up. “What do you want?” she asked, keeping one hand firmly on her door, ready to slam it in his face.

The curl of his lip showed that he appreciated her suspicions of his intent, but he didn’t offer the expected insults. “Believe it or not, your nursing skills are required. Lawrence Dean is unwell and running a noticeable fever.”

“Which room is he in?” Diana asked. “I’ll meet you there.”

He told her how to find Lawrence Dean and left. Diana dressed quickly and snatched her medical bag from her office. Just a fever, she told herself. Boys get fevers all the time, especially after a day of overexcitement.

But keeping pace with her every step was a line from one of the health bulletins she’d read earlier today: an outbreak of epidemic influenza has been reported at Birmingham.

CHAPTER THIRTY

DIANA

NOVEMBER 1918

Lawrence Dean, a tall and robust ten-year-old, had a temperature of 103 degrees. In a French field hospital, that number would have set off a panicked attempt to allay a possible infection in an already weakened soldier. But children could spike high fevers with the mildest of illnesses and be fine the next day. If the fever had been the boy’s only symptom, Diana would not be greatly worried.

But he also had a headache and a sore throat. His joints hurt so badly he whimpered when she touched him.

Damn it, she thought.

“Influenza?” Weston asked from the doorway.

“Why do you say that?” she asked, stalling.

“I had influenza in the spring. Half my unit was down with it at some point. Nasty, but over quickly.”

I hope so, she thought. But she remembered another phrase from the medical bulletin about Birmingham: there are an unusual number of fatal cases.

“I suppose you’ll want him in the infirmary,” Weston said.

“No. Not yet, at least. I don’t want to expose Jasper. Will you stay with him while I alert Miss Somersby?”

Although Weston hardly seemed to even tolerate the boys most days, she admitted that he made no protest at being assigned nursing duties.

Diana leaned over Lawrence, careful not to touch him. He smiled gamely at her when she said, “I’ll be back soon with some medicine to help your fever and let you sleep.”

“Thank you, miss,” he whispered.

Clarissa Somersby woke to Diana’s knocks with the ease of a woman who has trouble sleeping, and listened to the report without interruption. She looked amazingly composed for a woman in a silk bedrobe.

“I’ll phone Dr. Bennett,” Clarissa said when Diana had finished. “I assume that you’d like his opinion?”

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