Twisted Root - Anne Perry [60]
"Doesn’t matter," she replied, standing up. "It’s all right without milk, if it isn’t too strong."
She was scalding the pot, ready to make the tea, when the door opened, and she turned to see a young man standing just inside the room. He was of average height, slender, with very handsome dark eyes. At this moment he was obviously angry.
"Who are you?" he demanded, coming farther in. "And what are you doing?" He left the door open behind him, as if for her to leave the more easily.
"Hester Monk," she replied, looking at him squarely. "I called upon Mr. Robb to visit with him. We have much in common, and he was kind enough to listen to me. In order that he might speak with more comfort, he permitted me to make a cup of tea."
The young man looked at her with total disbelief. From the expression in his eyes one might have presumed he thought she was there to steal the meager rations on the shelf behind her.
"What on earth could you have in common with my grandfather?" he said grimly.
"It’s all right, Michael," the old man intervened. "I’d fairly like to watch her take you on. Reckon as she might have the best of you—with her tongue, any road. Crimean nurse, she is! Seen more battles than you have—like me. She don’t mean no harm."
Michael looked uncertainly at the old man, then back at Hester. She respected his protectiveness of his grandfather and hoped she would have done the same had she been in his place. And she was unquestionably an intruder. But the elder Robb should not be treated like a child, even if he was physically all but helpless. She must refrain from defending his judgment now, though the words were on the end of her tongue.
The old man looked at Hester, a glint in his eye. "Wouldn’t mind getting another cup, would you, miss?"
"Of course not," Hester said demurely, lifting the last cup from its hook on the shelf that served as a dresser. She finished scalding the pot, put in a meager portion of leaves, then poured on the boiling water, keeping her back to Michael. She heard the door close and his footsteps across the floor.
He came up behind her, his voice very low. "Did Monk send you here?"
"No." She was about to add that Monk did not "send" her anywhere, but on reflection, that was not true. He had frequently sent her to various places to enquire into one thing or another. "So far as I know, he has no idea I am here. I remembered what he said to me of Mr. Robb, and I felt that I wished to visit him. I have no intention of taking anything that belongs to you, Sergeant Robb, or of doing your grandfather any harm, either by meddling or by patronizing him. Nor am I interested in your police concerns with Mrs. Gardiner."
He blushed painfully, but his eyes remained sharp and steady, and considerable animosity showed in them.
"You are direct to a fault, ma’am."
She smiled suddenly. "Yes—I know. Would you rather I beat around the bush a little more? I can go back and make ten minutes of obscure conversation if you wish. Well— perhaps five ..."
"No, I would not!" In spite of himself his voice rose. "I—"
Whatever else he had been about to say was cut short by the old man’s beginning to cough again. He had struggled forward, half out of his chair, and he was in considerable distress, his face flushed and already beads of sweat on his lip and brow.
Michael swung around and rushed towards him, catching him in his arms and easing him back into the chair. For the moment Hester was completely forgotten.
The old man was fighting for breath, trying desperately to drag the air into his damaged lungs, his whole body racked with violent spasms. He brought up great gobbets of phlegm, dark yellow and spotted with blood.
Hester had already guessed how seriously ill he was, but this was agonizing confirmation. She wished that there was something she could do, but at least until the coughing subsided he was beyond all assistance except the physical support Michael was giving him.
If they had been at the hospital she could have got