Lady in Rags

Chapter Forty-Eight: The First Night

When Richard and Jane had gone, Verity and Neil went back upstairs to his room. Annie, in her crib, was lying on her back and eating her fingers. She eyed Neil shyly as he stood over her.

"She slept for hours coming up," Verity said wearily, sinking into a chair. "I suppose she wants to play now."

"Can I pick her up?"

"Of course." Verity waited until he was holding her before adding, "She's going to drool all over your shirt though."

Neil winced as Annie began a scientific investigation of his cravat, but made no move to stop her. She gummed it thoughtfully, and then spat it back out.

"A true connoisseur," Neil said drily. Annie looked up at him, but was strangely silent. He jogged her up and down. "No talky?"

"Has she – forgotten you?" Verity said, dismayed. "Oh, Neil."

His face fell. "I suppose – it really has been more than half her life, that I've been gone." He dropped an apologetic kiss on her head, and she at last sputtered a confused syllable, and began to cry.

Verity got to her feet, and hastily took her from Neil, and began soothe her. Neil stood back, his hands hovering awkwardly by his side.

"No, it's your papa, darling," Verity cooed. "He's just your papa."

After a few minutes, Annie began to quieten, and chew her fingers again. She spat some strange, bubbly nonsense at Verity.

"She'll get used to you after a few days," Verity said, kissing her and motioning Neil to take her back. Cautiously, he cradled her in his arms, and this time she seemed a little less shy. She began to gum his cravat again.

He walked slowly about the room with her in his arms. Watching him, Verity felt the noisy misery of the past few months begin to quiet inside her. Neil caught her eye, and smiled.

"I have a feeling..."

"What feeling?"

"It's a faint sort of memory. I think my son would chew my cravats too."

They were very silent for a moment. Only Annie's contented gurgling sounded in the still room. Verity didn't know what to say, whether to encourage him to talk more, or to comfort him. But he didn't look sad. He was still smiling, as he touched Annie's nose, and mouth, and chin with his forefinger, muttering nonsense to her, and receiving nonsense in return. Eventually, he said,

"I don't remember much, you know. A few things. More, since I came here. But I don't think I'll ever get it all back. Do you remember what it was like to be a child? Before the age of six or seven? It's like that. Vast amounts of fog between fragments of memory, some clear, and some faded."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry. I wish I could remember you better. I know so little about us." He tapped Annie's nose. "There, there it is." She squawked with delight and reached for his hand. "I know so little about me."

Neil dressed for dinner that night. Perhaps he had no option, given the state Annie had put his clothes into. Verity, when she came down, felt her heart beat faster at the sight of him in his old dove-grey suit. Had he known it was one of her favourites? He must have forgotten such a benign detail. It was only coincidence. Herself, she was dressed in a staid and practical dark linen. The demand of nursing Annie had forced her to assign all her loveliest dresses to the back of the wardrobe.

It was still light outside, and the curtains were open. Verity stood by the windows and looked down at the view over the valley.

"It's been an age since I've seen this," she said softly, as Neil pulled a chair out for her.