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Emma braced herself for more unpleasant news. “How bad is it?”

“It’s a bloody mess,” Nell replied cheerfully. “But Bantry said he’d still rather be out there than in the bloody hall with a bunch of bloody lunatics. Oh, Emma, it’s been such an exciting morning.”

“I’ll bet it has,” Emma said weakly. She looked toward the balcony door, then propped herself on her elbows, knowing that she had to get up. She couldn’t leave Bantry to clean up the garden rooms by himself. “You can tell me all about it while I’m having my bath.”

Emma watched in amazement as Queen Eleanor scrambled to the floor and scampered toward the bathroom, shoelaces flying, tossing a stream of gleeful, breathless chatter over her shoulder.

Groaning, Emma swung her legs over the side of the bed and hobbled toward the bathroom, feeling as old as the Pym sisters but not half as spry. Nell was waiting for her in the dressing room, and when she opened the bathroom door, billows of steam emerged, redolent with the heavy scent of camelias.

“Use a little bath oil?” Emma asked, wiping the steam from her glasses.

Nell nodded proudly. “Smells pretty, doesn’t it?”

As the clouds of steam dissipated, Emma saw a stupendous mountain range of bubbles covering the tub. One majestic peak had made its way over the lip of the mahogany surround and was cascading slowly to the floor. Emma put a towel on the sudsy puddle, then reached into the tub to feel the water. It was still blessedly hot.

With a fine sense of decorum, Nell had remained in the dressing room, leaving Emma to face the laborious task of pulling her nightgown over her head, wrapping her hair in a towel, and easing herself gingerly through the bubbles and into the water. The heat was so deliciously soothing that Emma could almost imagine getting dressed and facing the consequences of her intemperate behavior. But not just yet. Not until she had a better idea of just what she was about to face. Settling back against the terry-cloth pillow, she called to Nell.

Nell entered the bathroom carrying Emma’s blue bath-robe in both arms. She heaped the robe on the marble bench across from the tub, then climbed up to sit beside it, her sneakers dangling well above the floor. “Do you feel better now?”

“I’m beginning to,” Emma replied. “Thank you, Nell. A long soak in a hot bath is just what I needed.”

“Grayson, too. But just his head. That’s what Kate told him, anyway.”

Emma thought that one through, then blanched. “You mean, Kate told Grayson to go soak his head?”

“Uh-huh. At breakfast. She said he needed to get his pri-phtor—”

“Priorities?” Emma suggested.

Nell nodded. “She said he had to get those straight. And then Nanny Cole tried to talk and Kate told her to shut up.”

“She didn’t,” Emma gasped.

“She did. I heard her. Nanny Cole looked very surprised. And then Kate threw her napkin on the floor and stomped out of the dining room.”

Emma closed her eyes and slid slowly down the back of the tub until the water was lapping her lower lip.

“And then Papa said what did Grayson expect and Grayson said why didn’t Papa ring up Mrs. Higgins and Papa said why didn’t he mind his own business”—Nell took a quick breath before racing on—“and Grayson said children were everybody’s business and Papa said he was a fine one to talk and why didn’t he get some of his own and then Syd told them both to pipe down and stop acting like a pair of palookas.”

“Oh, God ...” Emma moaned, covering her face with her hands.

“It was wonderful.” Nell kicked her legs back and forth, wriggling with delight. “ ’Specially Kate. She shouts almost as good as you do.”

“Now, Nell, there’s nothing good about shouting,” Emma protested feebly. “It’s never good to lose your temper. I feel terrible about shouting at your father. I said all sorts of things I shouldn’t have said.”

Nell nodded sympathetically. “Papa says I do that all the time.”

“Well, sometimes you can hurt people by doing that. I’m sure I hurt your father.” Emma wiped bubbles from her chin. “I’m going to have to apologize to him.”

“You can’t,” said Nell. “He’s gone.”

“Gone?” Emma asked. “Gone where?”

“I don’t know. He stomped out of the dining room, just like Kate. But he didn’t throw his napkin.”

“That’s good,” Emma said hopefully.

“He threw his whole plate!” Nell’s peal of laughter rang with such unabashed joy that Emma couldn’t help smiling, though she was ashamed of herself for doing so. “That’s when Bantry stomped out to the bloody ruins and Nanny stomped up to her bloody workroom and Grayson stomped off to the bloody library. Syd and I helped Hallard clean up Papa’s eggs,” she added virtuously.

Emma sobered as the mention of Syd Bishop reminded her of Susannah, and of Mattie. Pushing herself up and moving the bubbles aside so that she could see Nell more clearly, she asked, “Did anyone mention how Mattie’s doing?”

Nell’s swinging legs slowed, then stopped. “Mattie’s sleeping,” she said briefly. “Dr. Singh gave her some pills. Crowley’s sitting on a chair next to her bed. He’s been there all day. And Syd’s ...” Nell scratched her nose. “Syd’s with Susannah, but she’s awake. I heard them talking. Syd said ...” Frowning, Nell scratched her nose again, then fell silent.

Wordlessly, Emma reached for a towel and wrapped it around her as she rose from the tub. Stepping quickly to the bench, she pulled on her blue robe, then sat beside Nell, looking down on her tousled curls. Nell’s head was bowed and her hands twisted restlessly in her lap, as though seeking the kind of comfort only Bertie could provide.

In her own way Nell was as tough and brave as Peter, Emma conceded, but she wasn’t Lady Nell or Queen Eleanor or a wise old woman in disguise. She was just a little girl who’d been working hard to make sense of the world on her own, and who’d learned enough to realize that she couldn’t do it anymore. Nell had come to Emma, finally, to help her make sense of the world.

“What did Syd say?” Emma asked, putting her arm around Nell’s shoulders.

Nell’s troubled eyes scanned the sink, the mirror, the ceiling, and the towel rack, finally coming to rest on Em-ma’s knees. “Syd said that Mattie ... hit Susannah.” She began to rock, very slightly, back and forth. “Was Syd telling the truth?”

“Yes,” said Emma. “Syd was telling the truth.”

“Oh.” The rocking stopped for a moment, then resumed. “Was Mattie angry?”

Emma rocked with the child. “Mattie was afraid and confused. She didn’t mean to hurt Susannah. And she’s sorry that she did.”

“Is she very sorry?” Nell asked.

“She’s very, very sorry,” Emma confirmed.

The little girl stopped rocking, snuggled up to Emma for a moment, then sat back and released a rushing sigh. “Poor Mattie,” she said. “Poor Susannah.”

Yes, Emma thought, poor Mattie, and poor Susannah. The best they could hope for was that Syd would be able to convince Susannah that Mattie had suffered enough already.

Nell had clambered off the bench and was kneeling at the side of the tub, carefully molding a mound of suds into a rounded dome. Emma went to kneel beside her.

“I know about the window,” Nell said suddenly.

Emma kept her eyes on the little girl’s busy hands, feeling preternaturally alert to Nell’s every word. “What do you know about the window?” she asked.

“I know that it’s changed,” Nell replied. “I went to see it today, for Peter. It’s white, like an angel. Peter says it’s Mummy.”

Emma watched as Nell teased her dome of bubbles into a taller, narrower shape that bore a faint resemblance to the silhouette of the lady in the window. “Do you believe what Peter says?”