“Percy?” Barely a whisper.
“I told him that we needed you here.”
Saffy made a sound that might have been a sob.
Percy spoke carefully then, slowly. “You know you can’t go, Saffy. That you mustn’t mislead people like that. He was expecting you in London next week.”
“Expecting me in London because that’s where I’m going to be. I applied for a position, Percy, and he chose me.” She did turn then. Lifted her clenched hand, elbow bent, a strangely theatrical gesture made more so by the scrunched tea towel still in her grasp. “Hechoseme,” she said, shaking her fist for emphasis. “He collects all sorts of things, beautiful things, and he’s hired me—me—to assist him with his work.”
Percy dug a cigarette from her case, had to fight the match, but eventually she struck it.
“I’m going, Percy, and you can’t stop me.”
Damn Saffy; she wasn’t going to make things easy. Percy’s head was already throbbing; the wedding had left her spent, then playing hostess to Meredith’s parents. This was the last thing she needed; Saffy was being purposely obtuse, goading her into spelling things out. Well, if that was how she wanted to play it, Percy wasn’t afraid to lay down the law. “No,” she exhaled smokily, “you’re not. You’re not going anywhere, Saff. You know it, I know it, and now Mr. Wicks knows it, too.”
Saffy’s arms slackened beside her, the tea towel fell to the flagstones. “You told him I wasn’t coming. Just like that.”
“Someone had to. He was about to wire you the fare.”
Saffy’s eyes were brimming now, and although Percy was angry with her she was pleased too, to see that her sister was fighting the rush of tears. Perhaps a scene would be avoided this time, after all.
“Come along now,” she said, “I’m sure you’ll see eventually that it’s for the best—”
“You’re really not going to let me go.”
“No,” said Percy, firmly but kindly, “I’m not.”
Saffy’s bottom lip trembled and her voice when finally she managed to speak was little more than a whisper. “You can’t control us forever, Percy.” Her fingers were scrabbling together against her skirt, gathering invisible sticky threads into a tiny ball.
The gesture was one from childhood and Percy was overwhelmed by déjà vu and a fierce urge to hold her twin close and never let her go, to tell her she was loved, that Percy didn’t mean to be cruel, that she was doing it for Saffy’s own good. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. And it wouldn’t have made any difference if she had, because nobody wants to be told that sort of thing, even when they know, in their heart of hearts, that it’s true.
She settled instead for softening her own voice and saying, “I’m not trying to control you, Saffy. Maybe some other day, in the future, you’ll be able to leave.” Percy gestured at the castle walls. “But not now. We need you here now, what with the war and Daddy as he is. Not to mention the severe shortage of staff: have you considered what would happen to the rest of us if you left? Can you see Juniper or Daddy or—Lord help us—mestaying on top of the laundry?”
“There’s nothing you can’t do, Percy.” Saffy’s voice was bitter. “There’s never been anythingyoucouldn’t do.”
Percy knew then that she’d won; more importantly, that Saffy knew it, too. But she felt no joy, only the familiar burden of responsibility. Her whole being ached for her sister, for the young girl she’d once been with the world at her feet.
“Miss Blythe?” Percy looked up to see Meredith’s father at the door, his thin little wife by his side, and an air of complete perturbation surrounding them both.
She’d forgotten them completely. “Mr. Baker,” she said, ruffling the back of her hair. “I apologize. I’ve taken an age with the tea—”
“That’s all right, Miss Blythe. We’re about done with tea. It’s Meredith, you see.” His shoulders seemed to sink a little. “My wife and I planned to take her home with us but she’s that set on staying—I’m afraid the little devil’s given us the slip.”
“Oh.” It was the last thing Percy needed. She glanced behind her, but Saffy had performed her own escape act. “Well. I expect we’d better take a look then, hadn’t we?”
“That’s just it,” Mr. Baker said unhappily. “My wife and I have to be back on the three twenty-four to London. It’s the only service today.”
“I see,” said Percy. “Then of course you must go. The trains are terrible these days. If you miss today’s, you’re as likely still to be waiting this time Wednesday.”
“But my girl …” Mrs. Baker looked as if she might be about to cry and the prospect didn’t sit comfortably on her tough, pointy face. Percy knew the feeling.
“You’re not to worry,” she said with a short nod. “I’ll find her. Is there a number in London where I can reach you? She won’t have gone far.”
FROM Abranch in the oldest oak of Cardarker Wood, Meredith could just make out the castle. The pointed turret of the tower and its needlelike spire piercing the sky. The tiles glowed crimson with the afternoon light, and the silver tip shone. On the lawn at the top of the driveway Percy Blythe was waving her parents good-bye.
Meredith’s ears burned with the thrilling wickedness of what she’d done. There’d be repercussions, she knew, but she’d had no other option. She’d run and she’d run until she could run no further, and when her breath was finally caught, she’d scaled the tree, alive with the strange, humming energy of having acted impetuously for the very first time in her life.
At the top of the driveway, Mum’s shoulders sagged and Meredith thought for a moment she was crying, then her arms flew out to the sides, hands like startled starfish. Dad flinched backwards and Meredith knew that Mum was shouting. She didn’t need to hear what Mum was saying to know that she was in big trouble.
