“You’re asleep.”
“I’m resting my eyes.”
“In a chair, at half past two, for the past…” Cecily looked at William.
“Hour and a half,” he supplied.
“Hour and a half,” she echoed. “Go to bed. I’ll send word the moment anything changes.”
Letitia opened both eyes, an internal struggle visible on her face. Then she looked at William.
“Go,” he urged.
She went, pausing in the doorway to look back at the crib with an expression she would have denied having if anyone mentioned it. Then she left, her footsteps quiet down the corridor.
Cecily looked at Isadora.
“Don’t,” Isadora huffed.
“You’ve been here for hours.”
“So has William.”
“William is–” Cecily stopped.
“What?” Isadora prompted, with a pointed look.
Impossible to move.Built differently from the rest of us. Built specifically to remain upright in rooms like this one.
“William is insufferable about sleep,” Cecily said instead, “and he knows it, so you’re in good company. But you have lessons at nine, and I am here now.” She let out a long breath. “She’s stable. Doris will be back at four. I will be here the whole time, and I will send for you if anything changes. You have my word.”
Isadora looked at the baby, then at her brother.
William said nothing.
Isadora rose from the chair, went to the crib, and stood there for a moment, just looking at the baby with fear in her eyes. Then she straightened.
“You’ll send for me.” Not a question.
“The moment anything changes,” Cecily promised.
Isadora nodded once and left.
The room settled.
The fire shifted occasionally. The baby breathed faintly. Cecily stood beside the crib and looked at the baby.
She did not look at William. She was aware, with the particular acuity of a room that had just lost two people, of exactly how much of the remaining space he occupied.
“You should be asleep,” he murmured.
“I was asleep.”
“Then you should still be asleep.”
“I woke up.” She reached down and checked the cloth on the baby’s forehead. Warm. She lifted it, moved to the basin, and submerged it. “I couldn’t not come.”
He said nothing to that.
