The Edge of the Fall (40 page)

Celia felt the velvet table rock under her hands. ‘What do you mean?'

‘What I say. I just can't feel him, dear. More than that. The whole story sounds odd to me.'

‘But babies
die
,' one of the grey-faced women sitting round the table said.

‘Of course they do. Listen, Mrs Witt, forgive me. But I'd ask your family for more details.' She stood up abruptly. ‘Let me show you out. Ladies, I will be back in two minutes. Hold your beloved's belonging, if you would.'

Celia followed her outside, her heart pounding. She was being told to leave. ‘What do you mean?' she said, furiously. ‘He's dead.'

‘Your story doesn't ring true to me,' said Mrs Stabatsky, flatly. Her accent was slipping, Celia realised, more East London than Russia. ‘I tell you, Mrs Witt, I hear a million stories and there's something not right about yours. Someone's lying. At first I thought it was you – and of course you are about that husband business – but now I think someone else is lying too.'

‘The husband business?'

‘That's a poor lie,
Mrs
Witt. I wouldn't try it on anyone of importance. No one seems less like a married woman than you.'

Celia stopped. Her whole body felt as if was being shaken. She started to speak.

‘Listen, we don't have time. Think about it. You were unmarried – right? Goodness knows who the father is. Do you know?'

Celia nodded.

‘Well, that's a start. But what a disgrace for your family. Yes, don't think that scruffy hat fools anyone. Obvious you're from a good family. And the touch of German in your speech.'

‘What?'

‘Oh, don't worry,
miss
.' She dropped her voice, moved closer. The smell of violets was suffocating. ‘Only the most sensitive would spot it. That's what I am, you know, sensitive. I pick up on things. That's how I find out so much about those who come to me.'

‘But—'

‘Oh, smoke and mirrors, all that stuff. People tell you everything
the minute they open their mouths. But listen, you're rich – from that
de Witt de Witt, keeps you fit
canned meat lot, are you? Yes, thought so, I have a researcher who looks into that kind of thing. Anyway, you were pregnant. Yes, that I could tell. Whatever else you were lying about, you've definitely had a child. But that child, it's a disgrace for the family. They tell you the baby's dead. Maybe it is. Maybe it isn't.'

‘Maybe it isn't?'

‘I've had a thousand women in here who've lost babies. Even the poorest keep something of the child, a scrap of rag it wore, hair. You have nothing. Your family kept nothing – at all? Funny. The nurses didn't take pity on you and slip you something? Impossible.'

‘So he's
alive
?'

‘I don't know. Not saying anything. All I think is that it's time for you to stop seeing people like me and Mrs Bright and start asking some questions.'

Celia stood in the hall, stared.

‘Get along with you, miss. You've got something over the women I see. You've got money. Real money. You don't need me. You can find things out. And you might have something over everyone else in here. The person you seek might still be alive.'

‘I don't understand.' Celia pulled up her purse, was fumbling for money. She found a note, held it out.

Mrs Stabatsky folded it into her sleeve. ‘Well, try to. Anyway, I have my clients. I must return. Good day,
Miss
Witt.'

She pulled open the door. Celia stumbled out into the chill, pale air. Around her, people flowed. A man bustled past, two newspaper boys were shouting. She clutched the wall.
Still alive
.

TWENTY-NINE

London, April 1923

Celia

Celia opened the door into Emmeline's flat.The twins were shouting, Lily, she thought, complaining the loudest. Emmeline was telling them crossly that she was exhausted and they needed to stop shrieking, immediately, right this minute. Celia slammed the door behind her, hard.

‘Is that you, Samuel?'

‘It's me,' said Celia, walking into the bedroom. Lily was rolling on the bed, her small face screwed up red. Emmeline was trying to rub her stomach, holding Albert in the other arm. ‘What's happened?'

‘Oh, you know. They're always cross. Where've you been? You must have finished work ages ago. You can make yourself useful and take them out.'

‘I've been thinking.'

‘You think too much. Take Lily for me, will you?'

Celia bent down, hauled the child on to her hip. ‘You're getting too heavy to carry, now you're almost four!' She bounced her but Lily only screamed more. ‘I think they're hungry.'

‘Of course they're hungry. They're always hungry.'

‘I'll get them some bread and milk.'

‘The milk's off.'

‘I'll see what I can find.' Celia took Lily with her, still howling, and walked to the kitchen. She tore a crust off the loaf of bread on the side and stuffed it into Lily's mouth. ‘Here you go, little one.' Lily coughed, hiccuped and started chewing. ‘Good girl,' said
Celia, patting her as she hunted for the milk. She pulled down a bowl, tipped in milk and tore up bread.

‘Come on, Lily, let's take this to your brother.' She carried the bowl out, balancing the child on her hip.

‘She was hungry,' she said, pushing open the door. ‘I brought some for Albert.'

‘You're ruining their routine. They're supposed to stick to meal times. No snacks.'

‘Yes, but they're hungry.' Celia set down the bread and milk on the floor by Albert. He threw aside the spoon and started gobbling it up by hand. Lily was still chewing.

‘As I said, Emmy, I've been thinking. About Michael. Baby Michael.'

Emmeline looked at her. ‘What about Michael?'

‘I wanted to know if he's dead.'

‘Dead? What do you mean?' She dropped her voice. ‘Please, Celia. I know it is hard. But you have to accept it. He's gone.'

‘But you weren't there. You said you were asleep.'

Emmeline patted Lily. ‘I was. It happened in the middle of the night. When I came down, Mama said he was gone. But you know, Celia, it happens. Babies die. All the time. I'm sorry he did, but he did.'

‘You wanted me to get rid of him!'

Emmeline turned away. ‘Don't be cruel. I did at the beginning, I admit it. But I didn't want him to die. He was so weak, sister. Don't you remember? He couldn't even cry and he wouldn't feed.'

‘Why didn't you keep anything of his? Why didn't you keep any hair or a blanket?'

‘A blanket!'Albert shouted. He splashed a hand in his bowl and then climbed on to the sofa.

‘No jumping,' said Emmeline. ‘I'm trying to talk. Celia, Mama decided not to. That's the way they did it in her day. She thought it would be better that way. A clean break, that's what she said. She wanted to make life easier for you.'

‘One single piece of hair?'

‘Stop that!' Emmeline hauled Albert on to the bed. She tugged
a clump of rug from his fingers. ‘I'm sorry, sister. I know it hurts. And coming so soon after Louisa too, you were still so sad about her, and brother Michael before that. We all were so sad. But time will heal. One day you'll have more children. I promise.'

Emmeline hauled the twins up to stand. ‘Come along,' she said. ‘Out we go.'

Celia followed her. ‘What were the names of the nurses?'

‘What nurses?'

‘Father's nurses, Nurse Brown and Nurse Black. Or whatever their names were. The ones who attended me. What were they called?'

Emmeline patted the sofa for the twins to get up onto, put a book in front of Lily, gave Arthur a wooden carriage. She turned for the kitchen. ‘I can't remember.' Albert stood up and started bouncing.

Celia put her arms around Lily. ‘The nurses would know the truth,' she said, quietly. ‘I could ask them.'

‘The truth is that he died.' Emmeline ruffled Lily's hair. ‘I'm sorry, Celia, but he did. You could ask Mama about the nurses but she probably won't know.'

Lily began to sniff. ‘Died,' she said, experimentally. Albert was still bouncing.

Celia patted Lily, absently. ‘Someone is lying to me.'

Emmeline threw the towel she was holding to the floor. ‘Why can't you accept it?'

Just then, the door slammed. ‘I'm back.' Mr Janus sounded weary. He walked into the sitting room.

Emmeline marched up to meet him. ‘Celia's upsetting everyone.'

He sat down heavily on his chair and opened his arms to Lily. ‘The committee are arguing too. Can't decide what kind of action to take. Whether a full strike would be too far. They say I want to hide the truth about the real figures of poverty and starvation. They say I don't want the men to strike. Griffiths says that he could snap his fingers and five million men would be on the streets, demonstrating. I say to him, I know you could. But what would happen if they did? The government might kill us
all. Remember West Riding a hundred years ago? They were all hung for treason.'

‘Are you listening to me, Samuel?'

‘It would be another war.'

Lily began to cry again.

‘You're holding her too tightly! Give her to me.' Emmeline pulled the child from his arms. ‘You're not listening to a word we say.' She jogged Lily on her hip but the child only cried more.

Samuel put his head in his hands. ‘Tell me again.'

‘Celia can't accept her child is dead. She needs to. Tell her!'

He shook his head. ‘But Emmeline, how should I know? I wasn't there.'

‘Don't be ridiculous.'

Celia stood up. ‘So you know something?' she asked, walking towards him. ‘You know that he wasn't dead, after all?'

He stood up. ‘I'm ignorant on this. I really don't know anything.'

‘You do! Otherwise you'd back her up.'

He held up his hand. ‘I've had enough. I'm going to our room. I don't know anything about any of this. You can both leave me out of it.' He flung off to their room, the door shut behind him.

Albert was screaming now, both children wailing. Emmeline dropped Lily back on the couch.

‘Now look what you've done! Celia, I'm sorry for you, really I am, but you must understand it. Poor Michael was never healthy. He died.'

Celia held Lily to her. ‘I want to hear the truth. That's all.'

‘You have heard it. You just don't believe it.'

Celia gazed up at the ceiling, holding the child tightly. She rocked her, staring at the cracks in the ceiling, thousands of them snaking through the grimy paint.

That night, Emmeline slammed off to her room, told Celia it was her job to get the children to sleep. Celia sat with Lily, rocking her in her arms, while Albert dozed leaning against her, head propped on her shoulder, in his favourite position. She could be doing the same for Michael now, singing ‘Twinkle Twinkle' to him, reciting
his favourite story. Her heart lurched, flipped. The words were out before she knew it, so loud that Albert started. ‘Michael!' she cried. ‘Come back!'

In the following days, it was like she was two people, sometimes three. One of them was Celia, the girl everybody knew, doing the things she should, going to work, tidying the flat, taking Albert and Lily out for walks, occasionally exchanging words with Emmeline, about practical things, not conversation. She read to Lily, fed her, tried to encourage her to talk, played trains with Albert.

And then there was the other girl, who thought only of Michael. She wrote to Verena and Rudolf demanding the names of the nurses, then again when they didn't answer. She tried to recall what had happened, over and over.
Who
had taken Michael first, Verena or the nurse? She cried, alone in her room, not caring if Emmeline could hear.

Then there was another voice that intervened, told her it wasn't really true. That she was believing a medium over her own sister. Mrs Stabatsky was a charlatan, of course she was, her fake bracelets, the swathes of red velvet, the cloudy crystal ball. Normal, rational people would tell Celia that she was simply wrong and Mrs Stabatsky was just another one who made money out of vulnerable women (
The Times
was currently getting rather exercised on the subject). And why would her kindly family lie to her? They loved her. Michael would be their own flesh and blood, after all. Celia listened to the voice.
I see your point
, she said.
I agree with you, why believe a charlatan like Mrs Stabatsky?
But still. The voice was weak. Michael might be alive. Someone was lying.

PART FIVE