Free Lost Angel by Kitty Neale Page B

hand reaching out. ‘My dear, are you all right?’
    Mrs Brandon’s voice barely reached Hilda as she sank into a pit of darkness.
    As Hilda’s condition worsened, she lost any sense of time passing, vaguely thinking at one point that she was in some sort of motorised vehicle. She drifted in and out of consciousness, hardly aware of what was going on around her as her temperature raged. When briefly conscious, coughs racked her body, the pain in her chest excruciating before she sank, exhausted, into blackness once again.
    Voices reached her again and Hilda forced her eyes open, her first thought for her daughter. ‘Ellen…Ellen,’ she gasped.
    ‘Your daughter’s fine,’ she heard a gentle voice say, but then Hilda knew nothing once again, unaware until later that day that both her daughter and Gertie were sitting beside her.
    ‘Is she gonna be all right?’ Ellen asked a nurse worriedly as she stared at her mother’s ashen face.
    ‘There’s been some improvement,’ said the nurse.
    Ellen saw her mother’s eyelids flicker, and then they opened, her eyes dazed and confused.
    ‘Wh…where am I?’
    ‘You’re in hospital, my dear; and, look, your daughter has come to see you.’
    ‘Ellen,’ Hilda said, her head turning.
    ‘Oh, Mum…Mum.’
    Hilda started to cough, the nurse raising her shoulders, and Ellen stared with horror as her mum’s chest heaved and she fought for breath.
    ‘I think you should both go now,’ the nurse urged.
    ‘Go?!’ Gertie said, looking annoyed. ‘But we’ve only just got here.’
    ‘I’m sorry, but maybe Mrs Stone will be more up to visitors tomorrow.’
    ‘I don’t want to go,’ Ellen cried. ‘I don’t want to leave her.’
    ‘Your mother needs to rest, my dear,’ the nurse said. ‘I promise you she’s in good hands.’
    Ellen looked frantically at her mum as the nurse lowered her gently back onto the pillows. Her eyes were closed again, body limp. ‘Mum…can you hear me?’
    There was no response and, unable to help it, Ellen began to cry. Gertie had told her to be brave, but how could she be brave when her mum looked so ill? ‘She…she’s not going to die, is she?’ she sobbed.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ the nurse said kindly. ‘I’m sure your mother is going to be fine.’
    ‘Ellen, you know your mum,’ Gertie said. ‘She’s a fighter and she’ll get better, you’ll see. Now come on, let her rest and we’ll come back tomorrow.’
    Gertie hoped she was right as she took Ellen’s hand, gently drawing her away and out of the small ward. They had all been ill, apparently flu, and if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon taking it upon herself to call, Gertie dreaded to think what would have happened. Gertie had shunned the people in the village, called them nosy busybodies, but now she knew that if it hadn’t been for Mrs Brandon, Hilda could have died. The woman had rallied help, and taking it in turns to use an ancient bicycle, two villagers had come in to nurse them all, but then, as she and Ellen recovered, Hilda had worsened, developing what they now knew to be a serious chest infection.
    ‘Oh, Gertie,’ sobbed Ellen. ‘My mum looked awful.’
    ‘I know, darling, but, as the nurse said, she is improving,’ Gertie said, trying to reassure Ellen, yet equally worried by what she had seen. Hilda didn’t look any better to her, but she had been unable to fob Ellen off any longer and had given in, allowing the child to come with her when she went to the hospital instead of leaving her with Mrs Brandon. It had been a bad decision, one she regretted now. Maybe the nurse was right, maybe they would see an improvement tomorrow, especially as she doubted that she’d be able to keep Ellen away now.
    On the way back to the cottage, Gertie stoppedoff at the village and, holding out her arms, Ellen jumped off the cart and into them, the two then going into the general store together.
    ‘How is she?’ Mrs Brandon asked.
    ‘The nurse said she’s