Chapter 14: The Girl's Cake

Alaric's mother called the cliff house at two in the morning.

Darian took the phone from the maid, listened, and held it out to me.

"He has a fever," she said. "He won't sleep. He keeps asking whether you will come, and the doctor says to let him ask."

"The Lord won't allow it," I said.

"The Lord is in his study with the door shut." Her voice dropped. "Come to the kitchen door. Nobody will stop you there."

I looked at Darian.

"I'll drive," he said. "I will wait at the gate. I won't come in."

"You don't have to wait."

"I know."

I told myself I was going for one look and no more.

The kitchen door of Crowhurst Manor stood open a hand's width, with a lamp burning behind it.

Alaric's mother met me on the step in her dressing gown.

She had been crying, and she had stopped, and her face looked scrubbed.

"He's gone back up with the doctor," she said. "Wait in the pantry. If he comes down, he will come this way."

"Why can't I go up?"

"Because the Lord sleeps lightly, and the stairs talk." She squeezed my hand once, hard. "Please. Five minutes."

I stood in the dark pantry among the flour bins, and I heard small feet on tile.

A little girl climbed onto the counter stool in her pajamas.

She had a plate with a slab of lemon cake on it, the corner cut off.

She swung her feet and ate, humming.

It was the last of my birthday cake, and she ate it with the plain happiness of a child who has never been told no.

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