A wave of bone-deep fatigue hit her, making her sway on her feet. Usually, Kate enjoyed the rest of the Unit. Even Maud’s antics were entertaining in their own twisted way. But tonight, she had no energy for any of it. She just wanted somewhere dark and quiet. It was so hot in the gray salon, with all the bodies, people galloping up and down the dance floor, a fire blaring in the great hearth. The foresters had no shortage of wood at their disposal, it seemed.
Kate escaped through a lightly gilded door into a room that seemed, mercifully, unoccupied. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she could just make out the shape of furniture, and golden lyres molded onto the panels of the wall. Her hand was throbbing terribly. Kate peeled back the bandage, wincing as the scab stuck to the linen.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” demanded a voice out of the darkness. A shadow detached itself from one of the settees.
“Julia.” Kate clutched at the bandage. “What are you doing out here?”
“I don’t like dancing.” Julia hadn’t danced at the luncheon for the engineers either, Kate remembered. She’d disappeared as soon as the music started. “Show me that hand.”
Kate put her hand behind her back. “It’s just a scrape.”
Julia leaned against the carved back of the settee. “It’s festering, isn’t it?”
“I cleaned it.”
“It’s something in the soil. Cuts don’t heal properly. The soldiers call it Boche button. Don’t ask me why. Come to the dispensary tomorrow and I’ll dress it for you.”
“There’s no need.”
“There is if you want to keep your hand.” Without changing tone, Julia asked, “Why aren’t you and Emmie speaking?”
Kate stared at her, startled. “We’re speaking.”
They sometimes exchanged as many as two sentences in a row.
Julia let out a short, harsh laugh. “I went to Miss Porter’s for two years. I know not speaking when I see it.”
“We’ve had . . . a disagreement.”
Julia raised her eyes to the ornate ceiling. “Because no one has ever had one of those before.”
“Never mind,” said Kate, turning to go, but her knees felt like rubber and she had to grab the edge of the settee to steady herself.
“No. Wait.” Julia wiggled herself up straight, her voice changing, becoming almost serious. “Emmie is the nearest thing I have to family. As opposed to her usual air of sickening cheer, she currently exudes misery. I want to know why.”
As Julia sat up, Kate caught a strong whiff of spirits. “Did you get into Alice’s sherry?”
“That rubbish?” Julia raised a silver flask. Even in the gloom, Kate could see that it had a coat of arms on it, old and elaborate. “This is brandy, my child. Want a slug?”
“I’ll pass,” said Kate drily. No need for Julia to know that she already felt dizzy and that a sip of brandy might put her under entirely.
“Suit yourself.” Julia waited a moment and then asked, “What happened?”
It was too much trouble keeping it to herself. And it was dark and the thump of feet and tinny din of music echoed from the next room, adding to the general feeling of unreality.
Kate lowered herself onto the other end of the settee, folding her hands carefully in her lap. Her fingers felt as though they didn’t belong to her. “Emmie’s been paying my board without telling me.”
“Is that all?”
Kate’s head felt very heavy. She lifted it just enough to glower in Julia’s general direction. “What do you mean, is that all? She had no right—”
Julia shrugged. “She likes to do things for people.”
Kate shifted against the surprisingly lumpy cushion. “What if people don’t want them done? I know you think I’m Emmie’s charity case, but—”
Julia lowered her flask. “Emmie’s what?”
“Charity case,” said Kate tightly. “Those were your own words. That’s what you said. To Nick Penniston. In Newport. You called me Emmie’s latest charity.”
“Oh, yes,” said Julia after a long moment. “I’d forgotten that.”
“I hadn’t,” said Kate bitterly. It felt very real, just then, that long-ago moment, coming down the stairs to find those two golden heads together. “Why did you hate me so much? Was it because you thought I was sponging off Emmie? I wasn’t, you know. I never took a penny from her, not then, anyway. Or”—it was something she had always wondered, deep down—“was it because of Nick?”