She found Edmund still half-conscious, with Grandmama bending over him. The oil lamp still burned on the tallboy, and the room was full of its soft light. Edmund’s breathing was fast and shallow, and the sound of it seemed to fill Amelia’s ears. His face, which had been pale when she left, was bright now with fever, and every now and then he seemed to murmur something that she couldn’t quite catch. ‘A fire,’ said Amelia to Grandmama. ‘I’ll set a fire here.’ Grandmama knew a fire wasn’t necessary. The night was mild. But it would give Amelia something to do. ‘Good girl,’ she said. ‘That’s a good idea.’ Grandmama sat on the side of Edmund’s bed and whispered to him while Amelia toiled up and down the stairs with buckets. Amelia couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it seemed to comfort Edmund, because his own disjointed murmuring stopped, and – perhaps she was imagining it – his breathing seemed to become more regular.
