Page 63 of A Mother for the Blind Duke’s Orphans

“No. She was put to bed as usual. Mrs. Patterson looked in before retiring. Aurora was quiet then.”

At the study’s door, they stopped as though the room beyond were a place one ought to enter only by permission. Poppy took the lamp from her.

“You may go back to bed,” she said gently. “If I need assistance, I shall ring.”

“I shall wait and call Mrs. Patterson for some assistance.”

When the girl retreated, Poppy remained for a moment with her hand on the latch.

Enough is enough.

Poppy opened the door.

The study was dark except for the wavering lamp in Poppy’s hand. It was a beautiful room by any ordinary measure, though beauty at night could become a kind of coldness. The ceiling rose too far above. The walls drew away into the shadows. The closet stood waiting, broad and neat, its wood neatly carved, and a dim light came through the opening.

“Aurora?” she called softly.

No answer.

Poppy did not raise her voice. She crossed to the closet and opened the door. She set the lamp down where its light would not glare and stood still. Annabelle and Mrs. Patterson entered the room shortly after and stood at the entrance, waiting for a signal from her.

“Aurora,” she said, “it is Poppy.”

Poppy sat down on the floor outside the closet, arranging her wrapper around her knees. The boards were cold. She accepted the discomfort as useful; it would keep her awake.

“I am not angry,” she said.

The crack widened. A little.

In the darkness within, Aurora was only a shape at first, folded close to herself among hanging garments and the faint smell of wood and stored cloth. The closet was small enough that an adult would have called it cramped. Poppy could see at once why a child might prefer it. The duke made it feel like home.

“May I come in?” Poppy asked.

Aurora’s voice emerged, thin and wary. “Yes, please.”

Poppy opened the door only enough to slip inside sideways. It was awkward. Her shoulder brushed the frame; her knees protested as she lowered herself to the floor. A hem caught beneath her. She freed it with as much dignity as the circumstances permitted. Aurora watched her with solemn attention.

“There,” Poppy said when she had settled beside her, not touching. “We are both in the closet. It seems you were mistaken.”

Aurora’s mouth trembled. “You are squished.”

“Only a little.”

“You could go back out.” Aurora shrugged, but her eyes never lied, and Poppy knew the last thing she wanted was to be left alone.

“I could.” Poppy leaned her head lightly against the wall. “But I think I shall stay for a while.”

The closet held the two of them in a dim light gentler than the bedroom’s. Poppy could hear Aurora’s breathing was uneven, but slowing now that Poppy was nearby. For several minutes, she asked nothing.

At last, Aurora said, “Will Uncle Hector know?”

“Not tonight,” Poppy said.

Aurora turned her face toward her. “Will you tell him?”

“I will tell him what he needs to know when he needs to know it.”

“That means yes.”