Free The Stopped Heart by Julie Myerson Page B

said.
    Lottie shut her eyes and opened them again.
    Let me see: I think it was the one that was hit by the cart.
    Now our mother straightened up and stared at Lottie.
    How do you know that?
    What?
    About Mrs. Narket’s lad. How do you know it?
    Lottie yawned.
    I don’t know how I knowed it. I just did know it.
    I looked at my mother, who was still gazing at Lottie with her mouth open.
    I didn’t know Mrs. Narket had a lad, I said, because as far as I knew, all the Narkets since way back had been girls.
    My mother stood the broom up against the wall and took her shawl, winding it around herself. She seemed to shiver.
    He was hit by a hay cart when he was small. Years ago. I was only a girl myself. She never spoke about it. She didn’t like to. No one in the family did. It’s been years since I heard anyone speak about it.
    My mother sat down by the hearth. Shock all over her face. And I looked at my naughty sister, who was bobbing around the kitchen now, lifting her petticoats and jigging around on the spot and looking a bit too pleased with herself. She glanced at me then and a quick blast of surprise shot across her face and she started to laugh. Pointing her finger at me. I felt my skin grow cold.
    What? I said. What’s the matter, Lottie? What is it?
    Lottie nodded at something just past my shoulder.
    There, she said, and she narrowed her eyes as if she was staring at something.
    What?
    Eliza, look! There. It’s her—she’s just behind you.
    I couldn’t help it. I shivered.
    What do you mean? I said. Who’s behind me?
    Her. The lady.
    I tried to look behind me. Lottie was laughing, very amused now.
    There’s no one there, I said.
    Yes, there is.
    Where?
    I watched as Lottie’s face went cool and intent, as if she was trying even harder to look at something.
    There! By your neck—
    My neck?
    No, your hair. Oh no, now she’s right by your hand!
    I pulled my hand back sharply and looked at our mother. I tried to laugh.
    What? Now you’re saying you can see old Mrs. Narket standing next to me?
    Still gazing at the space around me, Lottie shook her head.
    Not Mrs. Narket, no. The other lady.
    What do you mean? What other lady?
    The one with the long black hair. The one that cries all the time and doesn’t have any skirts.
    Our mother seemed relieved that it wasn’t Mrs. Narket. She let out a laugh.
    No skirts? A lady in the altogether? Now that would certainly be enough to make anybody cry.
    Lottie gazed at our mother and chewed her lip as if she was considering this. Then she shook her head.
    No, she ain’t in the altogether. She don’t mind about the skirts. She has other clothes. She has breeches.
    A lady in breeches?
    For a moment Lottie looked upset.
    And she’s crying because of the man.
    What man?
    The man that took her little girls away and did—this!—to them.
    Lottie raised up her hands and brought them down so hard on the table that the spoons and knives rattled in the drawer. I gasped. I saw a flash of fear go across our mother’s face.
    Don’t do that, Lottie, she said. I mean it. You just stop it right this minute or you’ll break something.
    Keeping herself very still, Lottie blinked.
    It’s what the man did.
    The man. A cold, dark pain in my chest. For a quick moment I couldn’t breathe.
    What man? I said. What little girls?
    Lottie didn’t look at me. She had a look on her face that I didn’t recognize: you would think she was staring at something that was going on a very long way away from us.
    I don’t know if they’re in heaven or not but I don’t think they’re coming back ever again.
    I T ’ S M AY. T HE SKIES ARE BLUE AND THE DAYS ARE LENGTHENING . They had a week or two of coolness and cloud, but now every morning they wake to the same wide, steady sky, the same swelling promise of heat.
    Leaving the back door open, Mary walks down the garden to hang the washing. The