The Edge of the Fall (36 page)

Stoneythorpe, April 1922

Celia

Stoneythorpe loomed up in front of them. The great, ivy-clad front looked smaller than Celia remembered. She gazed up at the windows, now cracked, the schoolroom looking out on to the drive, the parlour, her mother's bedroom. The front garden and lawn were looking overgrown, the yew tree so heavy with leaves that it could almost topple into the grass.

The car came to a stop and Emmeline and Mr Janus helped her out. ‘Try to walk quickly,' said Emmeline. ‘Then they won't guess.' Celia doubted it. She was a great size now, and although she was swathed in scarves and a large coat, she felt that everything betrayed her, the tipped-forward way of walking, her swollen ankles and hands.

Celia followed her sister towards the front door. Thompson stood there, waiting for them, smiling. ‘Come in, come in,' he said, taking their bags. Celia thought he didn't notice her stomach. She followed him up the stairs, dragging herself up, one by one. She touched the banister, feeling the dust on her fingers.

Her room was the same as it had always been, the desk laid out with her ornaments and books, the bed made up with lacy pillows and the green eiderdown. Her bookshelves were neatly arranged, largest book to the smallest,
The Water-Babies
to
Lorna Doone
. Her pictures of horses were hung on the walls. Someone – Verena, she supposed – had put in the two gold vases that had always been in the dining room. To make her feel welcome. She sat down heavily on the bed. The tears pricked at the back of her eyes.

‘Celia!' Her mother was calling from downstairs. ‘Come down to tea.'

She hauled herself off the bed and began walking downstairs.

Verena was serving tea in the sitting room. ‘It is so nice to have everybody together again,' she was saying. A maid Celia didn't recognise was pouring tea into the cups. Jennie was away, looking after her children, and Smithson had found a new job in a factory in Winchester while Celia had been in London. He'd left a note for Celia saying he promised to come to see her.

If it hadn't been for her stomach, she could be at Smithson's cottage now, playing with Jennie's two little girls. Instead, she was watching the maid handing round cups of tea. The twins were playing on the floor with Albert's toy train. ‘If you could play nicely without fighting for
one minute
,' Emmeline was saying.

‘Celia!' Verena jumped up. ‘My dear!'

Celia shied away and threw herself into the nearest armchair. She didn't want her mother hugging her, holding her close. Then she might know. Much better to be sitting down. She folded her shawl around her.

‘Where is Father?' she said.

‘Upstairs. We'll go after tea. He gets so tired these days.' Verena gestured at the maid to serve Celia. ‘You must be exhausted after your journey, dear.'

Celia took the tea, held it out in her hand. Recently, she'd been balancing things on her bump as it was more comfortable. She put her head back against the chair, feeling its thick brocade on her hair. Verena was talking about the garden and whether they should have the hedges at the back replanted. ‘Or maybe it just wouldn't be worth it. I have my suspicions, I'm not the only one you know, that the country's soil has been permanently weakened. Mrs Warrener was saying exactly the same thing to me. They put special substances in the soil in case the enemy invaded. They'd blow up and poison the wells. But now all those horrid things are in the soil and we can't grow a
thing
.'

‘Are there any wells near here?' said Mr Janus.

‘I should imagine that they're
everywhere
. But that's not the
point. The point is whether I should replant the hedge. Or whether it is never going to get any better, and so our hedges are always going to be so very thin.'

Celia gazed out of the window. She couldn't really remember what the hedges had looked like before the war, but surely they hadn't looked so much better. They'd always been pretty sparse. She strained her eyes to see past them, to the spot at the back of the garden that was always hers, past the rose bushes and the hedges, the ornamental fountain and Verena's Versailles-style gardens, into the rackety old place at the end, where the willow tree almost touched the pond and she could edge under its leaves to sit on the rocks by the side of the water. She'd have a struggle to do it now, she supposed. ‘I'll take you there,' she whispered to Michael. ‘After you're born, we'll sit there together and think. You'll have a lot to think about. You're just starting life, after all.'

She had to admit, she hadn't thought much about what she'd do after Michael arrived. She supposed she'd spend some time at Stoneythorpe (after they'd all forgiven her) and then go back to London with Emmeline. They might even find a bigger flat for the three of them – six of them: Emmeline, Mr Janus, Celia, Michael, Albert and Lily. They'd share things between them and then she might get a job. Something in London where she could earn money, although what she wasn't sure.

‘Celia?' Verena was holding up the cake. ‘Are you paying attention? Would you like a slice?'

She shook her head. ‘I was thinking about the garden.'

‘A shadow,' said Verena, crossly, holding up her teaspoon. ‘A poor shadow of its former self.'

When she tried to think of the future –
only a month away!
– she couldn't imagine it. Birth was the most baffling thing of all. ‘You need to prepare,' Emmeline had said to her. ‘Lie down and think about it. Imagine you're in pain and breathe through it. Not that I did much breathing. I mainly screamed, if you remember. But you should make the effort to learn. Then you might not have to be stitched back together like me.'

Celia meant to – remembering all the blood after the twins
were born. But every time she tried, she felt ridiculous, confused. ‘What do you think, Michael?' she asked. After all, surely it would be hardest for him. She only had to wait, he was the one who had to
travel
. But he didn't answer. He spoke to her on lots of things, but on the subject of birth he was frustratingly silent. She supposed it would be new to both of them.

‘Well, it won't last long,' she said. ‘Then we can start being friends.'

‘What was that, Celia?' Verena looked up. ‘Did you say something?'

Celia shook her head. ‘Sorry, Mama. Just mumbling.'

Verena shook her head. ‘Dear Celia. Always the same.'

Celia looked at her mother.
No
, she wanted to say.
Not the same. Different
. She opened her mouth, started to speak.

Albert began wailing loudly as Lily snatched the train. ‘Right, that's it,' said Emmeline. ‘I'm putting the train away.'

Celia shook her head, looked down at the children. She couldn't say it. Not yet. Tonight, she thought. Tonight she would walk out, wander towards the back of the garden, touch the roses, try to edge her way under the willow. She'd sit there, on her favourite rock, and then she'd find the courage to speak, to say, ‘Mama, something has happened.'

‘Shall we all go upstairs now?' Verena stood up. ‘Sarah, can you take the children? I don't think that Rudolf is quite up to seeing them.'

‘He hasn't seen them for so long,' said Emmeline, from the floor where she was holding Albert. ‘He'll ask after them. Especially Bertie.'

‘Not tonight, Emmeline. He's tired.'

‘Well, I'm not coming if they're not welcome. Or is it that you think they might catch something off him?'

‘It's not that they're not welcome. Emmeline, please. Papa won't give them anything. He's just very weak. But they'll tire him.'

‘I'll stay with them.'

Verena nodded, her shoulders slumping. ‘Come on, then.'

‘Alright, let's all go. Come on.' Emmeline stood up and hauled Bertie onto her hip.

‘Could you take Lily, Celia?' Verena asked.

‘No, no,' broke in Mr Janus. ‘I can take her, or the maid can.'

Verena looked at Celia uncertainly, then shrugged. ‘Off we go then.'

They set off up the stairs, Albert kicking at Emmeline and complaining. ‘He wants to go outside,' she said, apologetically.

At the top of the stairs, they turned on to the landing, walked past the doors, until they arrived at Rudolf's room. A nurse was standing outside. Celia tried to remember when she had last seen her father in this room, perhaps when she had been twelve or so. While he'd been interned, during the war, she'd come sometimes, in her spare hours after the long afternoons of reading to Verena. She'd rested her head on his bed, touched his books on the shelf. She'd clenched her hand around the pile of small change on the bedside table – holding it because it broke her heart the most, the ten little coins, of which he'd thought nothing, barely regarded, thought he'd be using in the next day or so. Sometimes – she blushed at the imposition – she'd even lain in his bed, burrowing her head in the pillows, trying to find him, any part of him, still there in the fabric.

They walked in and two more nurses stood up, bobbed their heads. Rudolf was lying in the bed, hands resting on the cover. Celia clutched Emmeline's arm, shocked. His face was terribly pale. He looked half the size he had been, like a child. He opened his eyes and Albert let out a wail, hid his face in Emmeline's gown.

‘Hello, children.' His voice was even weaker than he looked. ‘I'm glad you came.' He held out a skeletal hand, riven with blue veins.

‘Shall we sit you up?' said the nurse, a slender girl with reddish hair. The other dark-haired one darted forward, held Rudolf as she pushed up the pillows. He fell back against them, closed his eyes. Celia felt sick and pained, as if she had seen her father naked or he her. She couldn't believe he was so frail. He rested on the pillows for a second then opened his eyes. Albert was whimpering now.

‘I'm so happy to see you.' His German accent was stronger than she recalled. ‘Might you sit?' he asked. ‘You'd be easier to look at.'

The nurse bustled around getting chairs. ‘There's enough for two of you.'

‘We'll take it in turns,' said Verena, perching herself on a far one. ‘Celia, Samuel, you stand.'

Emmeline sat down, Albert wriggling in her arms, and Celia leant on her chair. As she did so, she was gripped by a flash of heat, a desire to collapse into the table next to her sister. She held tight to the chair, head spinning, limbs weak.
Don't fall
, she said to herself.
Don't fall
.

‘You don't look well, Mr de Witt,' said Mr Janus, gravely. ‘What has the doctor said?'

‘It's my lungs,' said Rudolf. ‘They're so weak. He says they can't withstand much.'

Verena shot an angry look at Mr Janus. ‘But you'll be up and about in no time, won't you?'

‘Perhaps, wife. But it is spring and I have pneumonia.'

‘It's all the government, if you ask me,' said Mr Janus, his voice rising. ‘What they did to you! You should demand compensation. Imprisoning an innocent man, ruining his health. Just to pander to the hysteria of the right, those
Mail
readers who wanted you all locked up.'

Rudolf turned his head, coughed. The nurse was beside him in a moment, held his head as he coughed again, dry and violent, retching hopelessly into her basin. Celia looked away, her eyes pricking.

‘Water, sir?' the nurse was saying.

He nodded and the red-haired girl poured him a glass, passed it over. He sipped from it gratefully, like a child.

‘Better out than in, that's what I say,' said Verena, smiling around the room. They sat, silent, staring at the bed, trying not to look at Rudolf's pained, hopeful face.

Emmeline broke the silence, holding up Albert. ‘Look, Papa! Hasn't he grown?' She pushed the little boy to stand on her knee. ‘Don't you think he's so much stronger?'

‘Lillian's a fine girl too,' said Mr Janus from by the bed. ‘Very quick.'

Emmeline gripped Albert under the arms. ‘Let's go to shake
hands with Grandpapa,' she said to the little boy. He squirmed and shied away, but she rose, hauling him up and plopping him on the bed. ‘Shake hands with Grandpapa,' she was saying. ‘Be friendly.'

The child looked over, buried himself in his mother's bosom. Rudolf reached out a hand. ‘Good boy,' he said. ‘Good boy.'

I'm sorry!
Celia wanted to cry.
I didn't mean to
. But she couldn't, for then the heat swept her again. Her head reeled. She gripped the chair, but without Emmeline's body it was weak and it tipped under her hands. She felt herself drop, scrabbled for the chair, missed it, felt herself falling to the floor. She aimed to catch herself with her hands, fell on her back, the chair flung to the side.

‘Celia!' cried Verena. ‘What is it?' She leapt up, started towards her daughter.

‘Stop!' Emmeline cried. ‘I'll go. You stay!' But it was too late, Verena was heading towards Celia. Celia tried to stand, fell back. The red-haired nurse was coming too. Her head throbbed and it felt like the whole of her was burning.

‘My child!' Verena flung her arms around Celia, leaning across her. Celia saw her mother's face close to her, suddenly crossed with horror. ‘Celia?' She pulled her hand down, just as Emmeline had. ‘What is this?'

‘Mama,' Emmeline started. Celia could see her giving Albert to Mr Janus.

Celia tried to look up, but Verena's hand was on her stomach, around her, lower. ‘Are you ill? This is an illness, surely?'

‘I—' She tried to speak, then the heat flooded through her again, and then a thunder, a rushing, battering at her head.

‘Give her some air.' The red-haired nurse was standing over them now. ‘Please, ma'am, step back.' Verena was gripping Celia now, holding her hands. ‘What's happened to you? Tell me!'