By a stroke of bad luck Kit’s protector, Roger, had gone away a week before. He was staying at Amos Barrowfield’s house in Kingsbridge, the servants heard, working on a mystery project, no one knew what.
Kit had been looking forward to getting out of bed.
At first, when his head ached and he still felt shocked, he had not even wanted to move. He had been so tired that he was relieved just to stay in the soft, warm bed. Three times a day Fan helped him to sit upright and fed him oatmeal, broth, or bread soaked in warm milk. The effort of eating had exhausted him, and he lay down again as soon as he had finished.
Things had changed gradually. Sometimes he could watch birds through his window, and he persuaded Fan to put breadcrumbs on the sill to attract them. Fan often sat with him after the servants’ supper, and when they had nothing to discuss he told her the Bible stories he had heard from his mother: Noah’s ark, Jonah and the whale, Joseph and his coat of many colours. Fan did not know many Bible stories. She had been orphaned at the age of seven and had come to work at the manor, where no one thought to tell a child stories. She could not read or even write her name. Kit was surprised to learn that she was not paid wages. ‘It’s as if I’m working for my parents,’ she said. ‘That’s what the squire says.’
When Kit told his mother she said: ‘I call it slavery,’ then she regretted saying it and told Kit never to repeat it.
Ma came to see him every Sunday afternoon. She entered by the kitchen door and came up the back stairs so that she would not meet the squire or his sons, and Fan said they did not even know that she visited.
And Kit became impatient to get back to normal. He wanted to put on clothes and eat with the other servants in the kitchen. He even looked forward to cleaning the fireplaces and polishing the boots with Fan.
But now his eagerness vanished. With Will in the house, Kit was safer shut away.
On the day of his release he had to stay in bed until the surgeon, Alec Pollock, had seen him. Soon after breakfast Alec walked into the room in his threadbare tail coat, saying: ‘How is my young patient, after six weeks?’
He told the truth. ‘I feel well, sir, and I’m sure I could go back to work.’ He did not mention his fear of Will.
‘Well, you seem to be getting better.’
Kit added: ‘I’m grateful for the bed and the food.’
‘Yes, yes. Now tell me, what is your full name?’
‘Christopher Clitheroe.’ Kit wondered why the surgeon would ask that question.
‘And what season of the year is this?’
‘End of winter, beginning of spring.’
‘Do you remember the name of the mother of Jesus?’
‘Mary.’
‘Well, it seems your brain has not been seriously damaged by that damned horse of Will’s.’
Kit realized why the surgeon had asked him questions with obvious answers: to make sure his mind was normal. He said: ‘Does that mean I can work?’
‘Not quite yet, no. Your mother can take you home, but you should do nothing strenuous for another three weeks.’
That was a relief. He would escape from Will a little longer. Then perhaps Will would have to go to Kingsbridge again. Kit’s spirits lifted.
Alec went on: ‘Keep the bandage around your head so that the other boys know you can’t play rough games. No football, no running, no fighting, and definitely no work.’
‘But my mother needs the money.’
Alec seemed not to take that very seriously. ‘You can work when you’re fully recovered.’
‘I’m not lazy.’
‘No one thinks you’re lazy, Kit. They think you’ve been kicked in the head by a dangerous horse, which you have. Now I’ll go and talk to your mother. Just enjoy your last morning in bed.’
*
Sal had missed Kit. She felt almost as bereft as she had when Harry died. She disliked being alone in the house, with no one to speak to. She had not realized just how completely her life was based around Kit. She constantly felt the impulse to check on him: is he hungry, is he cold, is he nearby, is he safe? But during the last six weeks other people had been taking care of him, for the first time since he was born.
She was glad when Alec Pollock walked into her house. She knew that it was six weeks to the day since Will’s horse had kicked Kit. She stood up from her spinning wheel. ‘Is he well enough to get up?’
