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i shrugged my shoulders。 “just tired。 that’s all。”
she pursed her lips and regarded me sternly； but i said nothing more； and she took up her story。
for six months things went on。 we sequestered ourselves in a handful of rooms： the kitchen； where john still slept at night； the drawing room and the library。 we girls used the back stairs to get from the kitchen to the one bedroom that seemed secure。 the mattresses we slept on were those we had dragged from the old room； the beds themselves being too heavy to move。 the house had felt too big anyway； since the household had been so diminished in number。 we survivors felt more at ease in the security； the manageability of our smaller acmodation。 all the same； we could never quite forget the rest of the house； slowly festering behind closed doors； like a moribund limb。
emmeline spent much of her time inventing card games。 “play with me。 oh； go on； do play；” she would pester。 eventually i gave in and played。 obscure games with ever…shifting rules； games only she understood； and which she always won； which gave her constant delight。 she took baths。 she never lost her love of soap and hot water； spent hours luxuriating in the water i’d heated for the laundry and washing up。 i didn’t begrudge her。 it was better if at least one of us could be happy。
before we closed up the rooms； emmeline had gone through cupboards belonging to isabelle and taken dresses and scent bottles and shoes； which she hoarded in our campsite of a bedroom。 it was like trying to sleep in a dressing…up box。 emmeline wore the dresses。 some were out of date by ten years； others—belonging to isabelle’s mother； i presume—were thirty and forty years old。 emmeline entertained us in the evenings by making dramatic entrances into the kitchen in the more extravagant outfits。 the dresses made her look older than fifteen； they made her look womanly。 i remembered hester’s conversation with the doctor in the garden—there is no reason why emmeline should not marry one day—and i remembered what the missus had told me about isabelle and the picnics—she was the kind of girl men can’t look at without wanting to touch—and i felt a sudden anxiety。 but then she flopped down on a kitchen chair； took a pack of cards from a silk purse and said； all child； “play cards with me； go on。” i was half reassured； but still； i made sure she did not leave the house in her finery。
john was listless。 he did rouse himself to do the unthinkable； though： he got a boy to help in the garden。 “it’ll be all right；” he said。 “it’s only old proctor’s boy； ambrose。 he’s a quiet lad。 it won’t be for long。 only till i get the house fixed up。”
that； i knew； would take forever。
the boy came。 he was taller than john and broader across the shoulders。 they stood hands in pockets； the two of them； and discussed the day’s work； and then the boy started。 he had a measured； patient way of digging； the smooth； constant chime of spade on soil got on my nerves。 “why do we have to have him？” i wanted to know。 “he’s an outsider just like the others。”
but for some reason； the boy wasn’t an outsider to john。 perhaps because he came from john’s world； the world of men； the world i didn’t know。
‘he’s a good lad；“ john said time and time again in answer to my questions。 ”he’s a hard worker。 he doesn’t ask too many questions； and he doesn’t talk too much。“
‘he might not have a tongue； but he’s got eyes in his head。“
john shrugged and looked away； uneasy。
‘i won’t always be here；“ he said eventually。 ”things can’t go on forever like this。“ he sketched a vague gesture that took in the house； its inhabitants； the life we led in it。 ”one day things will have to change。“
“change？”
‘you’re growing up。 it won’t be the same； will it？ it’s one thing； being children； but when you’re grown up…“
but i was already gone。 i didn’t want to know what it was he had to say。
emmeline was in the bedroom； picking sequins off an evening scarf for her treasure box。 i sat down beside her。 she was too absorbed in her task to look up when i came in。 her plump； tapered fingers picked relentlessly at a sequin until it came away； then dropped it into the box。 it was slow work； but then emmeline had all the time in the world。 her calm face never changed as she bent over the scarf。 lips together。 her gaze at once intent and dreamy。 every so often her eyelids descended； closing off the green irises； then； as soon as they had touched the lower lid； rising again to reveal the green unchanged。
did i really look like that？ i wondered。 oh； i knew what a good match my eyes were to hers in the mirror。 and i knew we had the same sideways kink underneath the weight of red hair at the back of our necks。 and i knew the impact we could make on the villagers on those rare occasions when we walked arm in arm down the street in matching dresses。 but still； i didn’t look like emmeline； did i？ my face could not do that placid concentration。 it would be screwed up in frustration。 i would be biting my lip； pushing my hair angrily back over my shoulder and out of the way； huffing with impatience。 i would not be tranquil like emmeline。 i would bite the sequins off with my teeth。
you won’t leave me； will you？ i wanted to say。 because i won’t leave you。 we’ll stay here forever。 together。 whatever john…the…dig says。
‘why don’t we play？“
she continued her silent work as though she hadn’t heard me。
‘let’s play getting married。 you can be the bride。 go on。 you can wear… this。“ i pulled a yellow piece of gauzy stuff from the pile of finery in the corner。 ”it’s like a veil； look。“ she didn’t look up； not even when i tossed it over her head。 she just brushed it out of her eyes and carried on picking at her sequin。
and so i turned my attention to her treasure box。 hester’s keys were still in there； still shiny； though emmeline had； so far as one could tell； forgotten their previous keeper。 there were bits and pieces of isabelle’s jewelry； the colored wrappers from the sweets hester had given her one day； an alarming shard of glass from a broken green bottle； a length of ribbon with a gold edge that