âQuite right.â But when the mat or the napkin or the towel had been brought to obey him, he was all smiles again. He made noises at things. âHeâs trying to talk,â said Emmeline. âClever boy.â Mr Janus said he was going to be a leader. Celia supposed he was right. Albert slept on his back, open to the world, ready for its blows.
Lily was entirely different. She was small, puny really, never took enough milk. Albert was always ravenous, hard to satisfy. Sheâd only take a little, then fall away, fretful. She cried and she didnât make noises like her brother. She was shy, hid away from anyone looking at her, slept curled tight, and when Celia held her,she felt fear. âIâll look after you, little one,â she said. âI promise.â She knew it was wrong, but Lily was her favourite. It wasnât only because Celia had known she was there, looked into her eyes on that first night, said I found you . She also saw herself in her niece, shy, ill at ease, afraid.
âPlease let me stay,â she begged Emmeline again. âYou need me to help.â She held Lily close. âYou know Iâm good with them.â
Emmelineâs face was pale, blue-purple smudges under her eyes. Albert slept well â sometimes five hours at a stretch â but Lily was always awake. Celia thought she hated the dark. âSamuel says we need the place to ourselves.â
âOr how about if I found rooms â Father would pay â and came in every day? I wouldnât have to stay here.â Albert was lying on Emmelineâs lap now, arm waving at the air.
Emmeline shook her head. âNot for the moment. Samuel needs the flat for himself. He has things he must do. Iâm sorryâ
âYou mustnât let him! Theyâre dangerous. And how can you look after two babies yourself? Youâre still exhausted!â
Emmeline shrugged. âThatâs the way it has to be. Maybe you can come later. But not now. Iâm sorry. He says other things are more important.â
âHe doesnât care about you.â Lily was nestled against Celia, not sleeping but quiet.
Emmeline straightened up, pulling her wrapper around her. âYouâre wrong to say things like that. And if you say it again, youâll never come back here!â
Celia clasped Lily closer. âIâm sorry. I didnât mean it, sister. I was wrong. Iâll just miss you, thatâs all.â
Emmeline touched her hand, lightly, a fairy touch. âIâll miss you too, sister. But it wonât be for long. Anyway, Mama and Papa need you at home,â
So Celia took the train back, got home, watched Arthur and Louisa talking endlessly, ignoring her. They walked in the garden together, deep in conversation. Sometimes Celia would come through the door into the parlour and find Louisa, alone, writing.Sheâd push whatever it was under her papers and look up, gazing-through Celia.
âWere you writing something?â Celia said.
Louisa shrugged. At dinner, she stared at Arthur, listened only to what he said.
One night, the events of Peace Night still burning hard into her mind, she thought sheâd attempt to talk to Louisa. Arthur was outside, smoking.
âThe war must have been quiet at home,â she said. âIt was quiet here for me too. Mama wanted me to stay. But I had to leave, I really had to. I wanted to go and help. Was it the same for you?â
Louisa shrugged and Celia took it as an encouragement â she started talking about being in the house with Verena, feeling alone, her desire to help. And then she wasnât stopping, the words tumbling out, talking on about France and her life there, confiding, describing. She talked of the men screaming for help, how she recited Shakespeare to them so the pain would stop, the relief when she arrived at the hospital, the white cloth doors ghostly against the dark sky. She talked about Shep,
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