“You have very mild symptoms,” he said to me while he fished around in his bag for items. “Your fever will break and I expect you’ll be back to normal in a day or two.”
He pulled out a small glass jar, the label of which I couldn't read, and handed it to Mr Hopkin.
“The girl is to rub this into her arms twice a day to fight the rash. If she develops a fever, you must keep her cool and rested. No solid foods for at least two days. She has only a small whitening to the lining of her throat and I suspect it will feel a little sore for a day or two, but there is little to be done about that I’m afraid.”
Everything he said was in a very matter-of-fact manner and nobody seemed particularly happy with his demeanour, but they remained silent and heeded his advice.
“What of Howell?” Mrs Hopkin cried. She’d risen from her seat in the living room and come to stand in the doorway of the kitchen waiting for news of her son. The doctor looked at her but ignored her pleas, returning his attention to Mr Hopkin.
“It is unlikely your son will last the night.” Mr Hopkin’s shoulders dropped as though the air had been knocked out of him and Mrs Hopkin let out a wail and buried her head into Nan’s breast. “If he does, then he might just stand a chance of pulling through, but I suggest you prepare yourselves for the worst.”
Sophia ran to her mother and clung to her skirts, sobbing loudly at the news. Betty and Nan tried to remain strong while they comforted their mother, but both were visibly shaken. Either forgetting himself for a moment, or simply not caring, Gwyn put his arm around me as I tried to take it all in.
“Two drops of this in some water every hour,” the doctor said, handing a small bottle to Mr Hopkin. “I can do no more.”
With a tip of his hat, he grabbed his bag and left the house, followed quickly by Gethin who was tasked with returning him to wherever he came from. The rest of us were left to wait.