“I have been thinking about the two of you, marooned in this gloomy house. I’m sure the best thing for you would be to get away. I’ve talked it over with Ozzie. Why don’t the pair of you come and stay with me? At least for a while, until you find your feet. I could look after you.”

I watch Violet’s hand reach down and caress your hair. You lay your head in her lap and close your eyes. My mind races to thoughts of Adrian, Father, Thoby. It is as if I have spoken aloud.

“I know you’re worried about Adrian, but neither of you can mother him. Besides, with the two of you gone, the men will have to look after themselves.”

I smile in spite of myself at the thought of Father coping.

“Well, my dears, it’s entirely up to you. I’m sure it would do you both good. We could have a jolly time together.”

Later that night, I think over Violet’s plan. The prospect of relinquishing the household duties is an appealing one.

“Billy. Are you asleep? Shall we go to Violet’s?”

I hear you stir in the darkness.

“It’s an absurd idea! Who would look after Father? And there’s Adrian to consider!” Something in your tone rings false.

“I was wondering if we might ask Aunt Caroline to come.”

“Aunt Caroline! You know how she irritates Father! I’d much rather things went on as they are. After all, I can see Violet whenever I like.”

I do not press the point home. I am not certain enough to try to win you round. I lie back on my pillow and remember the look on your face as you let Violet stroke your hair. A new thought dawns on me.

“I don’t believe you. I think you want to keep Violet to yourself!”

“Come.”

The door, as it opens, reveals a deluge of papers. The floor is strewn with discarded pages covered in Father’s handwriting. The curtains are half-drawn against the light, and it takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the semidarkness. Father is behind his desk, surrounded by books. There are books lining the shelves on the wall behind him, books lying open in front of him, books stacked in precarious towers at his feet. He looks up as I enter.

“The accounts, Father.”

I hold out the ledger. He takes it from me and scowls. His eyebrows knit together as his finger traces the lists of figures it has taken me many hours to construct. His finger stops at one of the entries.