The portrait was causing her some trouble. She had chosen Mall because of the angularity of her face, but she was having a good deal of difficulty capturing Mall’s rough, lively person. One day her face looked like a cartoon of a Welsh country girl, all nose and chin. The next day, Charlotte would work hard on bringing back Mall’s contrary girlishness and shrewdness, and then the portrait would take on the air of a little girl trapped in a grown-up face. Thinking about the painting made Charlotte feel much calmer. After all, there’s more to life than Alex and this bed, Charlotte told herself with a twinge of amusement. Someday they would be old and gray, and they would be tired of making love.

Suddenly there was a squabbling noise at her door and Charlotte sat up.

“Who’s there?” she called.

“Oh, my lady, I am so sorry,” came an anguished voice from the door.

Charlotte lit the candle by her bed. The door opened and she dimly saw Pippa’s nanny, swathed in a large robe, clutching a kicking, squealing Pippa.

“She ran out of the room before I realized she was awake,” Katy continued. “I’m so sorry she awakened you, my lady.”

Pippa let out a furious wail.

“Pippa,” Charlotte said. “What on earth are you doing awake in the middle of the night?” And then, “It’s all right, Katy. Let her go.”

Pippa trotted over to the bed, her little bare feet patting on the wood floor.

“Papa?” she asked, her voice quavering. “Where’s Papa?”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Charlotte said, her heart turning over. “Papa had to go away for a while, but he will come back.”

Pippa gave her a look of total disbelief and sat right down on the floor. She began to cry, not the angry sobs of an almost two-year-old, but the heartbroken sobs of a baby deserted again.

Damn! Charlotte thought furiously. How can he leave her? She hopped out of bed, shivering as her bare feet came down on the drafty floor. Katy was standing quietly in the door.

“She’s been asking all evening, my lady,” Katy said, in response to her unspoken question. “I’ve told her that her father will return, but she doesn’t believe me.”

Charlotte knelt down and pulled Pippa onto her knees.

“He is coming back, poppet,” she whispered into the child’s soft curls. “You remember when we went to Scotland together, and Papa was there waiting for us?” Charlotte stood up, still cuddling Pippa, and turned back to the bed.

“Katy, I will keep Pippa here tonight,” she said with sudden determination. Katy curtsied and closed the door silently.

Charlotte climbed back into the bed, tucking a sobbing Pippa up against her left side.

“Pippa,” she whispered. “Shall I tell you a story?” Pippa didn’t say anything. But Charlotte started a story about a mama hen and her three naughty little baby chicks. After a bit Pippa stopped crying and turned her face up toward Charlotte’s. Then, when Charlotte was chirping the peep peep of the three naughty chicks as they left their house to look for trouble, she felt Pippa’s body relax and her head grew heavy against Charlotte’s arm.