“In bed with a headache,” Harriet says. “She’s very worried about you, miss. We all are. I’m spending the night.”
“But your children . . .”
“My husband is home this week. He can see to them.”
I think of Weston, of how it will be impossible for me to go to him tonight with so many people in the house. “I’m fine, really. You don’t need to stay.”
“Sadie, lie down,” Beckett says, his voice firm. “She’s staying the night. And so am I.” He eases me back onto the sofa, propping a pillow beneath my head. “I’ll go make you something to eat.”
Dr. Gallagher kneels at my side. “I’ll check on you tomorrow on my way to Tin Mountain. Get some rest, young lady. And make sure to drink plenty of water in this heat. It can get ahead of you before you know it.”
Harriet places a cool washcloth on my head and urges me to drink more juice. I comply, trying my best not to think about Weston. He and Paris will have to wait. For now.
Later, I swim up from sleep, to the sound of low voices from across the room. I lie still, eyes closed. Listening.
“It’s happening again, Harriet,” Beckett says. “Just like it did with Sybil.”
“It does seem strange, how quickly this came on.”
“Have you come across that painting? It’s not in the studio.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“If you find it, tell me.”
Beckett’s words fade as sleep pulls me under once more. He’s wrong. I’m nothing like Sybil. As soon as I’m able, I’ll hide Weston’s portrait in a place where Beckett can’t find it. Where he can’t take my love from me.
Early the next morning, I creep up to the tower to retrieve the painting and hurry back to my attic room.
Interlude
Weston
“They’re suspicious of us. We must be more careful, darling.” Weston glances up at Sadie from his desk, his pen stilling on the sheet of paper. It is autumn of 1883 in Paris, and the chestnut trees have turned deep gold. “Perhaps some time apart is in order.”
“Time apart? How long?”
“A week. Perhaps two. Besides, I’m on a deadline. I must finish this novel, and you must learn to be more discreet. Lock yourself in your room before you come to me so you aren’t traipsing about the place in a state of undress.”
“I ... I don’t think I can go that long without seeing you.” Sadie’s voice wavers. Her emotions are rawer these days. More mercurial. Weston’s presence is the only thing that soothes her.
He stands, goes to where she sits on the sofa, cups her jaw tenderly in his hand. “Oh, pet. Don’t worry. I’ll be ever more attentive when I’m not distracted by work.”
“Can I see what you’re working on?”
“No. Not yet.”
“Why not?” Sadie asks.
“Because it’s not finished. I don’t show anyone my work until it’s finished.”
“You showed Claire. I remember.” Sadie’s words lash the air.
“Don’t be jealous.”
“Did you showSybilyour work, too?”
“Sybil? No.” Weston skims Sadie’s bottom lip with his thumb. “You’ll see it. Eventually. Don’t be petty. It’s unbecoming.”
