Pushing the thought from my mind, I made myself say, "I'm happy for you then."
Grace leant over me and I felt her lips brush my cheek. "Thank you, Lou. You're a dear. And now we must go to sleep. There's so much to do tomorrow." She turned away from me and blew out the candle. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Soon her breathing deepened into sleep.
I lay still, aware of the warmth of her body beside me, of that strange, sweet feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had the oddest desire to put my arms round her and hold her close. I felt such a longing, a painful, lovely feeling that we might be like this always, that we might never be apart. And suddenly with a hot rush it came to me: I love Grace, I love her. In a confused way I knew I didn't just love her as cousins do. This was different, this was ... I felt ... I felt about her in the way that she felt about Charles!
My heart stopped. Then it sped on, as if I was running a race. I was trembling as if I had a fever and I tried to calm myself, to think, but my thoughts scattered like beads of mercury from a broken thermometer.
I told myself: It can't be true, it can't.
But even as I was denying it, I knew I was deceiving myself.
***
"What do you think, Lou?"
"Sorry?"
"Should we have salmon and lobster?"
It was the next morning. We were all sitting in the morning room and Aunt Phyllis and my cousins were discussing the wedding meal.
I shrugged, trying to smile. But I really didn't feel like smiling. I couldn't stop thinking about Grace—and me.
I kept telling myself that I must be mistaken. Of course I loved Grace, that was natural. We were cousins...
But this was different. This was ... I didn't know what else to name it. This was being in love. But how could I be in love with her? If it were true, what did it mean? And what would Grace think of me if she knew?
I'd lain awake for hours, not daring to go to sleep in case I accidentally moved too close to her and gave myself away. Now I felt tired and wretched and the questions wouldn't stop chasing each other round and round in my head.
I dragged my attention back to the conversation.
"We must have jellies, blancmange, and fruit tarts." Maud had abandoned her efforts to be grown-up for the moment.
Aunt Phyllis laughed. "You won't be able to eat all those. You'll be sick."
"And don't forget there'll be the cake," Grace put in. She glanced at me, smiling, but I couldn't meet her eyes. What if she saw the truth in mine?
"But there'll be so many people," said Maud. "And it's very grand to have a choice."
She put her nose in the air as she said this, and everyone laughed. I joined in but I didn't feel like laughing.
Without warning the door opened and Susan burst in. Her cap was awry and her face was flushed.
"What is it, Susan?" said Aunt Phyllis, with unusual sharpness.
"Oh, Ma'am. It's a telegram. For Miss Louisa."
For a second no one moved or spoke. Then I seized the yellow envelope and with trembling fingers drew out the thin sheet of paper. As I read it, I felt the colour drain from my face.
"What's happened, Lou?" Grace was watching me with concern.
I stood up. "I have to go home immediately. Papa is ill."
There was a general exclamation.
"May I?" Taking the telegram from my hand, Aunt Phyllis scanned it. "Your mother doesn't say what is wrong." She gave me a lopsided smile. "Perhaps it's not so serious. You know your mother."
"Yes. But I must go. I must see how he is."
She nodded. "Of course. Whatever it is, he'll feel better for the sight of you. The maid will pack your things and I'll order the carriage."
***
I left in a confusion of goodbyes. At the last minute Grace thrust something through the carriage window. It was the sketch she'd made of me. "If Uncle Edward is all right, you'll come back again, won't you?"
Her beautiful face was creased with concern and I wanted to jump out of the carriage and bury myself in her arms. But I was also frantic to get home.
We set off. I sat staring at the sketch, but I didn't see it. Was Papa seriously ill? Had Mamma sent for Tom too? Or perhaps she was mistaken and it was a false alarm. Oh, if only it was and I could go back to Carr Head...
In time with the rhythm of the rolling wheels, my mind spun between two desperate poles: Grace, Papa, Grace, Papa.
***
The journey had never seemed so long. We had to stop to change horses, but I wouldn't go into the inn, I didn't want to waste a minute. And I couldn't eat. The coachman stood in the yard to have a bite of bread and a few mouthfuls of ale, then we sped on again.
When I reached home, Mamma met me at the door. She looked pale and the lines on her face were deeper.
"Where's Papa?"
"He's just gone upstairs to fetch something."
I stared at her. "He's not in bed then?"
She shook her head. "He says it's nothing. Just a bilious attack."