else, though, that made her feel as though they had stopped being just faulty reproductions of herself and Tim and had suddenly taken on separate identities of their own. She sighed, tired of being constantly confused by these outlandish children. Then, troubled, she resumed her needlework. Drawing the mazarine crimson into the wing of a mythological bird, she experienced a slight and inexplicable alarm.
Caressing the thread until the strands lay even, wishing it was her mind, not silk, being soothed, she tried to recover her thought but could not. The plump children looked sordid and unhealthy. George had pimples and Sissy red stains on the corners of her mouth as though she was a dribbling toddler. And sheâs really a teenager, Elizabethâs heart cried out in outraged anguish.
Pinching her lips together and stabbing at her cloth, she began to anticipate Sissy grown up and away, leaving Elizabeth to Lovage-enhanced graciousness, and then felt instantly dismayed because she did not want to seem, even to herself, a woman who did not love her children. It was graciousness thatElizabeth sought, and peace she needed; and somehow the older Sissy got, the more difficult it became to feel either in her presence. Beauty was as necessary to Elizabeth as was food to other, grosser people and, the other day, she had caught a definite whiff of BO from Sissyâs armpits so that she had had to turn her head swiftly away as she suggested cautiously, without taking in too deep a breath, âWhy donât you have a bath, dear? The waterâs hot.â
âHuh. So you think I stink, do you?â Sissy had said, squaring up with blazing eyes.
When Sissy had been little, Elizabeth would have simply picked her up and carted her, struggling, to the bathroom. Adult dignity is not affected by the kicks and screams of reluctant toddlers, but Sissyâs blaring accusations had left Elizabeth smarting. She sewed and told herself hopefully, âI
must
love herâI wouldnât even part with her for school â¦â then dived aquamarine in, groaned aloud, and thought that only these children could create such muddle and conflict in a motherâs mind.
Sissy, holding Georgeâs hand, came into the house where she had been born, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation that she was entering for the first time. She looked round, craned, stared, as though she had never before seen the blistered portraits of white-faced young men in dead black velvet, the shelves of dulled pewter, the faded silken bell-tassels and swooping plush pelmets.
âIt all looks new, as if it comes out of someone elseâs life,â she whispered, as if sound would wake the watching painted eyes, tug the bell pulls till the ringing reverberated, and alert Elizabeth and Mrs Lovage. âI feel as though I donât recognise my own home.â
George looked at her and asked, alarmed, âDid they give you beer in the pub, then? You must be drunk,â and Sissy, putting her hands against her stomach as though she had a premonition, said, âI just feel something is going to happen. I can feel it in the walls.â
George said, his voice low, âWhich room, Sis?â
âBut itâs not bedtime,â said Sissy, her breath very fast.
Ten minutes later, Elizabeth heard a small sound, glanced up, her fear reawakening and saw Sissy and George reflected in a bellied looking glass, tiptoeing. For two hundred years the slow liquid of the glass had crept and freckled, so that the children were bent and blotchy, as, peeping furtively, they crept past, dragging something behind them.
Elizabeth put her sewing down, rose and strode to the door. The children were now halfway up the servantsâ staircase.
âWhat are you doing? Where are you going?â Elizabeth demanded harshly, offended because they had tried to slink past her, unseen.
She waited, suspicious, and they stared back, blankfaced, while a tide of
Caressing the thread until the strands lay even, wishing it was her mind, not silk, being soothed, she tried to recover her thought but could not. The plump children looked sordid and unhealthy. George had pimples and Sissy red stains on the corners of her mouth as though she was a dribbling toddler. And sheâs really a teenager, Elizabethâs heart cried out in outraged anguish.
Pinching her lips together and stabbing at her cloth, she began to anticipate Sissy grown up and away, leaving Elizabeth to Lovage-enhanced graciousness, and then felt instantly dismayed because she did not want to seem, even to herself, a woman who did not love her children. It was graciousness thatElizabeth sought, and peace she needed; and somehow the older Sissy got, the more difficult it became to feel either in her presence. Beauty was as necessary to Elizabeth as was food to other, grosser people and, the other day, she had caught a definite whiff of BO from Sissyâs armpits so that she had had to turn her head swiftly away as she suggested cautiously, without taking in too deep a breath, âWhy donât you have a bath, dear? The waterâs hot.â
âHuh. So you think I stink, do you?â Sissy had said, squaring up with blazing eyes.
When Sissy had been little, Elizabeth would have simply picked her up and carted her, struggling, to the bathroom. Adult dignity is not affected by the kicks and screams of reluctant toddlers, but Sissyâs blaring accusations had left Elizabeth smarting. She sewed and told herself hopefully, âI
must
love herâI wouldnât even part with her for school â¦â then dived aquamarine in, groaned aloud, and thought that only these children could create such muddle and conflict in a motherâs mind.
Sissy, holding Georgeâs hand, came into the house where she had been born, and was suddenly overwhelmed with the sensation that she was entering for the first time. She looked round, craned, stared, as though she had never before seen the blistered portraits of white-faced young men in dead black velvet, the shelves of dulled pewter, the faded silken bell-tassels and swooping plush pelmets.
âIt all looks new, as if it comes out of someone elseâs life,â she whispered, as if sound would wake the watching painted eyes, tug the bell pulls till the ringing reverberated, and alert Elizabeth and Mrs Lovage. âI feel as though I donât recognise my own home.â
George looked at her and asked, alarmed, âDid they give you beer in the pub, then? You must be drunk,â and Sissy, putting her hands against her stomach as though she had a premonition, said, âI just feel something is going to happen. I can feel it in the walls.â
George said, his voice low, âWhich room, Sis?â
âBut itâs not bedtime,â said Sissy, her breath very fast.
Ten minutes later, Elizabeth heard a small sound, glanced up, her fear reawakening and saw Sissy and George reflected in a bellied looking glass, tiptoeing. For two hundred years the slow liquid of the glass had crept and freckled, so that the children were bent and blotchy, as, peeping furtively, they crept past, dragging something behind them.
Elizabeth put her sewing down, rose and strode to the door. The children were now halfway up the servantsâ staircase.
âWhat are you doing? Where are you going?â Elizabeth demanded harshly, offended because they had tried to slink past her, unseen.
She waited, suspicious, and they stared back, blankfaced, while a tide of
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