Page 98 of A Thousand Painted Hours

He lifted his brows.

When I brought the tea and the slightly stale biscuits, I said, “I’m going to ride my bicycle into town and go to the market. I’ll bring back a boy to help me move things around so you can be comfortable down here without having to navigate stairs.” I took a breath and dived into the next question. “Shall I bring you a bedpan?”

He closed his eyes. “Elsie, I don’t—”

“I know. It’s all terribly awkward, and I don’t how to do any of this, either, but this is better than the places they would have sent you,andif I don’t care for you properly, Gurdaya will never speak to me again.”

He gave a slight nod. I helped him with the badly fitted English coat and shoes and left him alone with the bedpan I found in the closet of my father’s bedroom.

We managed.

I rode my bicycle into the village, finding pleasure in the vigorous exercise. At the market, I found oatmeal and tea, cheese and baked beans. There was no bread, but Mr. Herrick promised there would be in a day or two. Local farmers supplied quarts of whole milk.

The bounty was in the produce—a gorgeous cabbage, spring onions, and joy of joy—cherries! We were lucky enough not to need sugar—I still had a five-pound sack in a glass jar to keep the pests out, left over from before the house had been shut up, long before we knew everything would be rationed. There had not been a similar boon in flour, unfortunately, but I would make do.

At the post office, I stopped in to send a telegram to Gurdaya.Tanveer Home With Me At Herewich Stop Condition Fair, But Healing Stop Send Spices Lentils Stop Send Lady Elsie Turner, Herewich Manor, Forest Vale England Stop Letter To Follow.

Mr. Herrick’s son, Michael, drove me back in the wagon, and then stayed to help me create a nest for Tanveer in the sitting room. We dragged a mattress down from the bedroom nearest the stairs, along with sheets and blankets I shook out and aired on the line. I wondered if he still preferred a flat pillow, and found one I thought he would like.

After Michael left, I helped Tanveer change into striped pajamas that must have belonged to a guest of the house, because neither my brother nor my father were tall, and these fit him well.

We ate a simple supper of potato soup, made with milk and margarine and some of the spring onions floating on top. He tasted it gingerly, and in surprise raised his head. “You cooked this?”

“I learned to cook when I was at Slade. I hadn’t the funds to eat at cafés and the like.”

“It is very nice.”

“Thank you.”

When we finished, it was plain he was entirely exhausted.

“Shall I read to you?”

“Please.”

I picked up the novel I’d borrowed from the library before I left and settled in the chair opposite the pallet nestled against the wall. He leaned against a pile of pillows, stroking Topaz’s back. He grew sleepy. “Elsie, will you take off my dastaar? I shall sleep more soundly without it. I cannot do it myself.”

My heart rustled. “Of course.” As matter-of-factly as possible, I knelt beside him, and untied, and unwrapped, folding the fabric as I went. “Do you generally sleep with it or without?”

“At home, always without.”

“It’s been a while, then.”

“So long.”

Down to the thin patka; I removed that, too, and paused. “Hair tied up or let down?”

“Do you have a brush?”

“Of course.” I found my wide pig bristle, and gave it to him, watching as he brushed with vigor and obvious pleasure. He sighed audibly, a sound of relief. “Do you mind doing the rest?”

I smoothed out the side of his head he couldn’t reach, trying to keep myself aloof, above, apart. But my hands trembled slightly as I tugged out a tangle, smoothed curls into waves. His eyes were downcast as I worked, his lashes making a line so thick and dark against his cheek that I was reminded of the child who’d wept with me over a tiger, the youth who kissed me in a hay-filled barn, the young man who’d attracted every eye in Hyde Park.

Emotion filled me like a tide, overwhelming and intense, but I said carefully, “Done.” I stood, as if nothing could be more ordinary.

“I would like it back into a topknot, please.”

“Of course.” This took a little more doing. I knelt beside him and brushed the mass into a rope, winding it around and around until I could secure it at the crown of his head. “That should hold.”