“And then Papa said what did Grayson expect and Grayson said why didn’t Papa ring up Mrs. Higgins and Papa said why didn’t he mind his own business”—Nell took a quick breath before racing on—“and Grayson said children were everybody’s business and Papa said he was a fine one to talk and why didn’t he get some of his own and then Syd told them both to pipe down and stop acting like a pair of palookas.”
“Oh, God ...” Emma moaned, covering her face with her hands.
“It was wonderful.” Nell kicked her legs back and forth, wriggling with delight. “ ’Specially Kate. She shouts almost as good as you do.”
“Now, Nell, there’s nothing good about shouting,” Emma protested feebly. “It’s never good to lose your temper. I feel terrible about shouting at your father. I said all sorts of things I shouldn’t have said.”
Nell nodded sympathetically. “Papa says I do that all the time.”
“Well, sometimes you can hurt people by doing that. I’m sure I hurt your father.” Emma wiped bubbles from her chin. “I’m going to have to apologize to him.”
“You can’t,” said Nell. “He’s gone.”
“Gone?” Emma asked. “Gone where?”
“I don’t know. He stomped out of the dining room, just like Kate. But he didn’t throw his napkin.”
“That’s good,” Emma said hopefully.
“He threw his whole plate!” Nell’s peal of laughter rang with such unabashed joy that Emma couldn’t help smiling, though she was ashamed of herself for doing so. “That’s when Bantry stomped out to the bloody ruins and Nanny stomped up to her bloody workroom and Grayson stomped off to the bloody library. Syd and I helped Hallard clean up Papa’s eggs,” she added virtuously.
Emma sobered as the mention of Syd Bishop reminded her of Susannah, and of Mattie. Pushing herself up and moving the bubbles aside so that she could see Nell more clearly, she asked, “Did anyone mention how Mattie’s doing?”
Nell’s swinging legs slowed, then stopped. “Mattie’s sleeping,” she said briefly. “Dr. Singh gave her some pills. Crowley’s sitting on a chair next to her bed. He’s been there all day. And Syd’s ...” Nell scratched her nose. “Syd’s with Susannah, but she’s awake. I heard them talking. Syd said ...” Frowning, Nell scratched her nose again, then fell silent.
Wordlessly, Emma reached for a towel and wrapped it around her as she rose from the tub. Stepping quickly to the bench, she pulled on her blue robe, then sat beside Nell, looking down on her tousled curls. Nell’s head was bowed and her hands twisted restlessly in her lap, as though seeking the kind of comfort only Bertie could provide.
In her own way Nell was as tough and brave as Peter, Emma conceded, but she wasn’t Lady Nell or Queen Eleanor or a wise old woman in disguise. She was just a little girl who’d been working hard to make sense of the world on her own, and who’d learned enough to realize that she couldn’t do it anymore. Nell had come to Emma, finally, to help her make sense of the world.
“What did Syd say?” Emma asked, putting her arm around Nell’s shoulders.
Nell’s troubled eyes scanned the sink, the mirror, the ceiling, and the towel rack, finally coming to rest on Em-ma’s knees. “Syd said that Mattie ... hit Susannah.” She began to rock, very slightly, back and forth. “Was Syd telling the truth?”
“Yes,” said Emma. “Syd was telling the truth.”
“Oh.” The rocking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Was Mattie angry?”
Emma rocked with the child. “Mattie was afraid and confused. She didn’t mean to hurt Susannah. And she’s sorry that she did.”
“Is she very sorry?” Nell asked.
“She’s very, very sorry,” Emma confirmed.
The little girl stopped rocking, snuggled up to Emma for a moment, then sat back and released a rushing sigh. “Poor Mattie,” she said. “Poor Susannah.”
Yes, Emma thought, poor Mattie, and poor Susannah. The best they could hope for was that Syd would be able to convince Susannah that Mattie had suffered enough already.
Nell had clambered off the bench and was kneeling at the side of the tub, carefully molding a mound of suds into a rounded dome. Emma went to kneel beside her.
“I know about the window,” Nell said suddenly.
Emma kept her eyes on the little girl’s busy hands, feeling preternaturally alert to Nell’s every word. “What do you know about the window?” she asked.
“I know that it’s changed,” Nell replied. “I went to see it today, for Peter. It’s white, like an angel. Peter says it’s Mummy.”
Emma watched as Nell teased her dome of bubbles into a taller, narrower shape that bore a faint resemblance to the silhouette of the lady in the window. “Do you believe what Peter says?”
Nell stared at the glistening, quivering pillar of fragrant bubbles. “I don’t remember Mummy,” she said softly, “but I think angels are in heaven.” She blew on the sudsy sculpture, and bubbles swirled into the air. “Could she be in two places, do you think?”
Emma shrugged. “I don’t see why not. What do you think?”