The Edge of the Fall (34 page)

It was hard to remember how she had thought about anything before Tom had told her he'd shot Michael, but she knew she had supposed that their night was the beginning of a love affair. Marriage. And now, here she was, going to have a baby by Tom, the man who had killed Michael, killed her brother, the baby's uncle. He'd held up a gun and shot his friend, standing there, desperate, in front of him. He hadn't tried to stop it. He'd let it happen.

One evening, not long after discovering what was happening to her, she took up a pen to write to Tom.
I need to see you
, she began. She ripped the paper into pieces, threw it to the floor. He was Michael's killer.

She ignored the other voices – the ones saying that Tom had no choice, he had been forced to do it, and he wouldn't have hit Michael anyway, it was someone else's bullet. They crept up and whispered in her ear. She shook them away. But, still, surely, she knew, if she wrote to him, it would be easy: he'd marry her, the baby would be theirs. But then there were all the other times when he'd told her he didn't want to see her, that she treated him like a servant. Perhaps she was better without him.

She was growing bigger every day, grateful for winter gowns and shawls, hiding her corsets under the bed. She lay in bed at night, feeling the baby grow. ‘Who are you?' she said to it. ‘Who?'

She supposed, now, it must be about the size of a little doll. It might look like a litde doll. ‘Are you a boy or a girl?' she said to it.
‘Do you know?' In her heart, she thought it was a boy. It had to be. Something so strange, so alien, making even her face grow wider, it could not be a girl. A girl would still be like her, in some way, but a boy was different, a strange body, unfurling and changing within her. ‘What are you doing in there?' she whispered, late at night, once all the visitors had gone and Emmeline and Mr Janus were asleep. ‘What are you thinking about?'

‘What on earth is
wrong
with you?' Emmeline snapped. It was a chilly day in early December and Celia had just dropped a third flannel on the floor, meant for Lily. ‘You're even clumsier than usual.'

‘Sorry, Emmeline.' She was clumsy, it was true, but she felt much less ill than she had been. She wasn't sick any more, or even tired. In fact, she thought, she felt rather better than she had done before Germany. If it wasn't for the little shape growing inside her, she might think she wasn't bearing a baby at all. ‘I suppose I am a bit worried about the meeting tomorrow.'

They'd kept Mr Janus in the cells for a week after that day in Trafalgar Square, then let him off with a caution – afraid of bad publicity, he'd said. But his arrest had only emboldened him. He was travelling every day now, meeting other people, talking about action. He didn't tell Celia or Emmeline much, said it was best for them not to know. He was out for long hours, leaving the children and the flat to Emmeline and Celia. Tomorrow, Mr Janus and his friends were due to have a long meeting about the next demonstration.

‘Oh, that's all just talk.'

Celia gazed at Lily, who was mesmerised by the blocks on the sitting room floor. Every minute, she wanted one of them to touch her, hold her, feed her – but still she didn't want to talk. Albert only wanted his mother. He shied away from Celia, refused to let her pick him up, didn't even let Mr Janus do it much. Celia had spent hours looking at him, but she didn't see any Witt in him at all. He was almost a copy of Mr Janus, as if someone had traced around her old tutor and made him into a child, square-faced,
sure of his place in the world. Lily looked to Celia like Verena, the same thin face, the same constantly nervous manner, her brow furrowed with worry. She hung back from games, shy, her tiny eyes fearful. ‘Don't be afraid,' Celia whispered. ‘Don't let the world know.'

‘I'll have to boil that flannel again,' Emmeline was saying. ‘You're hopeless today, Celia. We'll just have to hope she doesn't want to pass anything while we're waiting.'

Lily suddenly burst into tears. ‘There you go. Now you've upset her!'

Celia picked Lily up, held her close, tried to jog her up and down. Still she cried. Albert was more easily pleased; Emmeline could tie him to the chair and get on with housework for an hour or so as he played with a train or even looked at a picture book. Lily cried, sometimes threw tantrums in which her whole body seemed to flame red over nothing, a cup given to her with the handle facing the wrong way, a toy bear that was too soft to be propped up. She shook and wailed, cried even harder when she was picked up.

‘Do you ever wish you could escape?' Celia said, holding Lily to her as she screamed. Emmeline had worn the same gown for the last four days. She was tired, careworn, her beautiful hair tied up in a scarf. Her eyes looked smaller, Celia thought – and that meant she was getting old. No old person had large eyes.

Emmeline stared at her. ‘What do you mean, escape?'

‘From this.'

‘From the children? Celia, what are you talking about?'

‘But you're so tired all the time. You don't sleep.' Sometimes Celia wondered if Mr Janus's great surge of work wasn't rather convenient. The flat was never tidy, piles of flannels on every surface, the children's cups and plates stacked up in the sink, dirty clothes everywhere in the bedrooms, both in Emmeline's and the second box room that was now the twins'. The dirty flannels soaked in big buckets that Emmeline left by the window, but they were still horrible, so the whole place smelt nasty. Mrs Breaks came in every morning to clean, but after about an hour or so, the
place was in disorder again. One twin was nearly always wanting something, and Emmeline was exhausted. Last week she had fainted and woken up with no idea where she was.

‘Like everyone else with a child. Anyway, it's better than last year. Mama said Arthur only ever slept for an hour at a time until he was two. I was much better, you know. I think you were a naughty baby.'

‘Probably. But do you think it's always like this?' Lily was quieter now, leant against her. Celia stroked her hair.

‘What?' Emmeline bent to pet Albert, who was hitting a spoon on the floor. Celia held Lily closer as she picked up the spoon.

‘Babies.'

‘Yes, I should think so. Exactly the same. Worse if you have four. Easier if you have only one, maybe.'

‘How does everyone stand it?'

‘Could you go and get a towel to wrap her in? She'll catch cold.'

Celia carried Lily over to the sofa, wrapped her legs in a towel draped over the cushions.

‘Is that clean?' asked Emmeline.

‘I think so.'

‘It will do. I'll boil another one, then we'll take them out for a walk.'

Celia sat back on the sofa, held Lily close to her, feeling her body soften as she began to doze. ‘But how does everyone stand it?' she asked again. She pushed aside a pile of papers with her feet. Mr Janus's papers, reams and reams of reports about money and the state and the workers, scrawled handwriting covering page after page.

‘Honestly, Celia. Because they love them, of course. Look, some people in life are meant to have babies and some aren't. You're not.'

‘I'm not?'

Emmeline was carrying Albert to the kitchen, shouted over her shoulder. ‘You've never been the motherly type, have you? Look, you always said you never wanted to get married. So you don't need to have babies.'

Celia picked up the sleeping Lily and followed her. ‘But what if I had one anyway?'

‘You can't just
have
one, Celia. You have to want it to happen. They don't fall from the sky.' Emmeline pulled out the ever-ready saucepan, filled it with water, turned on the gas. Celia watched the water, rising up to boil. Emmeline seized up the flannels, dropped them in, holding Albert all the time. She said she should have taken them out of flannels long ago, but she couldn't face their screams when she put them on the potty. ‘I'll wait until they don't need teaching,' she said, when Verena complained. ‘Best to follow nature.'

‘But what about all those girls Jemima talks about who were tricked into it?'

Emmeline stirred the flannels with the wooden spoon. ‘I'd say most of them were tricking the men into it, if you ask me. They think that's the way to keep them. Usually wrong,'

‘Emmeline! That's so – harsh.'

‘But true. You wouldn't know, sister. You don't want to catch a man. The rest of them, they're desperate. What was all that finishing school business that Papa sent you to? All the girls there were thinking of nothing but husbands.
I
escaped it.'

‘But—' She made to touch Emmeline, overbalanced and almost fell against the cupboard. Lily burst into roaring tears. Celia hugged her close, shushed her.

‘Now look what you've done,' said Emmeline. ‘Go and try and put her down in her cot.'

Celia moved Lily up on her hip, even though she was almost too big for it now, and walked through to the twins' bed in the box room.

Had she? Had she been trying to trap Tom?
Of course not. But that's what people might think. And she couldn't say he'd tricked her into it, plied her with drink, forced her. She'd drunk what he'd offered. It had happened, that was all. Inside her, she felt the child move again. She sat on the floor, held Lily close as she quieted. Then, as the infant continued crying, tears began falling from
Celia's eyes too. She rocked the baby back and forth, weeping on to her head.

‘What is happening here?' Emmeline was at the doorway, holding the flannel. ‘Celia?'

Celia hid her head against Lily's. Emmeline was sitting beside her, putting her arm round her shoulders. She reached over and prised Lily out of Celia's arms. ‘She's nearly asleep,' she said, taking the towel off and putting the flannel on her, quickly wrapping it around her and pinning it in place. Celia watched, still crying. Emmeline lifted Lily carefully into her bed, stroked her head.

‘Albert's asleep too. On the sofa. I'll move him in a minute.' She sat back. ‘Now, tell me what's wrong. You know me, I always speak hastily.'

‘Nothing, Emmeline. I'm just tired.' She gazed at Lily. The child stretched out an arm, smiled in her sleep.

‘You must be upset about something. I didn't mean that you wouldn't be a good mother. I promise. Well, you'd be a different sort of mother. But anyway, I just don't think you're ready
yet
. You can wait another ten years or so.'

Celia opened her eyes, blurry with tears, looked down at her niece. ‘But what if I have to have one now?'

Emmeline stared at her. ‘What do you mean, have to have one now? Why on earth would that be?'

Celia put her hand on the wall.

‘Sister? What are you talking about? What's going on?'

Celia pulled away from her. ‘Nothing, Emmeline. I'm going out for a walk.' But then she realised her shawl had fallen away. She gathered it back, but it was too late. Emmeline was staring at her stomach.

‘What?' her sister was saying, wonderingly. She reached out a hand to Celia's body. She touched it, flattened her hand, then gazed up at her. ‘Celia, what is this?'

Celia shook her head.

Emmeline took her hand away, returned it. Celia felt its warmth. The baby moved, responding too. ‘What happened?' she said. ‘What have you done?' Her face was white, horrified.

Celia looked away.

‘How long?' Lily turned over and sighed and Emmeline went to pat her.

‘It's due in May, I suppose.'

Emmeline raised her eyebrow, hardened her voice. ‘Well, you're carrying small, I'll give you that. I thought you were just getting fatter. I was a hippopotamus at your stage. Anyway, back to the point. You conceived when, August? Who was it?' She was hissing now, not to wake Lily.

‘I don't know.'

‘You don't know? What do you mean, you don't know?' Emmeline's face was flaming.
Oh you, playing respectable all of a sudden
, Celia wanted to say.
At least I didn't run off with my tutor
. But what she'd done was worse.

‘It was a soldier when I came back from Germany.' The lie came fast to her mouth. ‘I was in a cafe on the journey home. He came to me and started talking. I didn't know.' The idea of blaming it on Captain Evans flashed into her mind, trailed away. He might be easy to find, might even write to her.

‘What are you talking about? A soldier? An officer?'

Celia rested her hands on her stomach. The child was still, hopefully asleep. ‘I think he was an officer.'

‘Well, that's a start, thank goodness. What's his name?'

‘I don't know.'

‘You don't know?'

‘I don't. He told me. I've forgotten.'

‘Well, we have to find him! What regiment?' Emmeline clutched her hand. ‘Unless he's
married
?'

‘I don't know that either. He wasn't wearing a ring.' He was coming up in her mind, this officer, his hair smartly slicked back, tanned skin, dark eyes, would have been good-looking if it wasn't for his rather large nose. Quiet, but a good sense of humour, she thought.

‘You don't know? Did you talk to him
at all
?'

‘Not much.'

‘My God.' Emmeline sat back. ‘Well, you've hidden it well, I'll
say that. What are we going to do? It's too late to drink gin and have hot baths. There might be other things we can do. Samuel's friends might know. I'll ask tonight.'

‘No! Don't.'

‘You're not saying you want to
keep
it?'

‘I might die doing the other thing.' The thought of the other thing had crossed her mind, late at night, but she'd thrown it away, fast. Women died of it, horrible deaths, tormented and bleeding. ‘Anyway, there's been enough death, don't you think?'

Emmeline paused, thoughts slipping over her face. Then she shrugged. ‘It's risky, certainly. Perhaps it would be easier if you just had it sent away. We'll work hard to hide it. I suppose it can be done. You can go to the country or something and then we'll find someone to take it.'