as soon as Mrs. Bascombe brings up the hot water bottle, run out to the drop and tell them I’m going to be late, she thought, going into the nursery. Alf was sitting listlessly on the edge of his cot, still in his clothes. Eileen took off her hat and coat and helped him into his pajamas, looking anxiously at his chest as she buttoned the jacket. His chest was a bit pink, but she couldn’t see a rash. “Lie down while I make up a bed for you,” she told him and dragged one of the cots into the ballroom, made it up, then helped him across the corridor and onto the cot.
She heard a door slam below and voices. “Go outside and play now,” Mrs. Bascombe said.
The rest of the children must be home from school. “I want to go see Alf,” Eileen heard Binnie say.
And whatever Alf had, it couldn’t be that serious, because Mrs. Bascombe said, “No talking back. Outside, all of you.”
“I don’t got to go outside, do I?” Alf asked worriedly.
“No,” Eileen said, covering him up. He looked very green. “Are you feeling like you’re going to be sick again?”
He shook his head weakly, but she fetched a basin, just in case. When she got back to the ballroom, Dr. Stuart was there, and he was asking Alf the same questions Mrs. Bascombe had. He looked at Alf’s chest and then stuck a barbaric-looking glass thermometer in his mouth and took Alf’s pulse, using two fingers and his watch. If this was something serious, Alf was in trouble. Nineteen-forties medicine was extremely primitive. Could a thermometer like that even detect a fever?
“He’s been complaining of feeling cold,” Eileen said, “and he’s been sick twice.”
Dr. Stuart nodded, waited an interminably long time, pulled out the thermometer, read it, and took a small pocket torch from his bag. “Open wide,” he said to Alf and looked at the inside of his cheek with the light. “Just as I thought. Measles.”
Not scarlet fever. Thank goodness. If he’d been really ill, Eileen wasn’t sure she could have brought herself to leave. But measles was only a childhood disease of the time. “Are you certain?” she asked. “He hasn’t any rash.”
“The measles won’t appear for another day or so. Till then, he needs to be kept warm and the sickroom kept dark to protect his eyes. That’s one advantage of the blackout. You needn’t put up new curtains.” He put the torch back in his bag. “His fever is likely to go up sharply until the measles come out.” He snapped his bag shut. “I’ll look in tonight. The most important thing is to keep him away from the other children. How many are here at the manor just now?”
“Thirty-five,” Eileen said.
He shook his head unhappily. “Well, we’ll hope most of them have already had measles. Alf, has your sister had them?” Alf shook his head weakly. The doctor turned back to Eileen. “You’ve had them, I hope?”
“No,” she said, “but I’ve been—” and remembered they hadn’t had vaccines in 1940 except for smallpox. “I mean, yes, I—” she stammered and stopped again. If she said she’d had them, he’d put her in charge of the sickroom and she’d never get away. The doctor was looking at her curiously. “I haven’t had measles,” she said firmly.
“Sit down,” he said, and opened his black bag. He took her temperature, looked at her throat, and examined the inside of her cheeks. “No symptoms yet, but you’ve been in close contact. I’ll tell Mrs. Bascombe to send someone up to take over for you immediately. In the meantime, no more contact with the patient than absolutely necessary.”
She nodded, relieved. There was no reason now not to leave. Even if she stayed, she wouldn’t be allowed near Alf or the other evacuees who caught the measles.
“I’ll look in on him tonight,” Dr. Stuart said and left.
“What’d ’e mean, ’ave someone take over?” Alf asked, sitting up on his cot. “Ain’t you goin’ to take care of me?”
“I’m not allowed to,” Eileen said. “I haven’t had measles.” She started toward the door.
“You ain’t leavin’ now, are you?”
“No, I’m only going across to the nursery to fetch you another blanket. I’ll be back straightaway.”
“You swear?”
“I swear. I won’t leave till someone comes to relieve me.”