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  "She's already in the sewing room, Miss." Susan went out.

  Grace stood up, making a rueful face at me. "More fussing. Can you bear it?"

  I wasn't going to let Grace know what I really felt. "Of course."

  "Thank you. You're a love." And she reached up and kissed my cheek. She'd kissed me many times, but, for some reason, today I felt a sudden heat spread over my face.

  Luckily Grace was already on her way out of the room.

  ***

  We found Maud, encased in pink and white satin, looking ecstatic. Aunt Phyllis was watching her younger daughter with a critical frown, while Mrs. Hiddlestone, her mouth full of pins, knelt at Maud's feet.

  As soon as she saw us, Maud crowed, "Look at me. Isn't this heavenly? Put yours on, Louisa."

  Aunt Phyllis hushed her. "Keep still, darling, or you'll have a crooked hem."

  Mrs. Hiddlestone spat the pins into her palm. "Aye, Mrs. Illingworth, you're right there. You don't want to look like a merry-go-round, Miss Maud."

  Maud dissolved into giggles.

  Aunt Phyllis looked at us in mock despair. "Will you try yours on? Give this child a chance to calm down."

  Maud pouted. "No, finish me first. I'll keep still."

  She posed like a memorial sculpture causing Mrs. Hiddlestone to shake her head. "Eeh, Miss Maud, you're a mischief." But she resumed her pinning, while Aunt Phyllis helped us into our dresses.

  I caught sight of myself in the full-length mirror. I was transformed into Maud's twin, albeit taller and gawkier. A crow dressed as a bonbon.

  I looked away, looked at Grace.

  Her bright face, emerging from a cloud of white satin and floating feathers, was like a flower on her slender neck. And again I had the peculiar flipping sensation...

  Maud clapped her hands. Aunt Phyllis regarded her elder daughter with an expression of fond pride. Even Mrs. Hiddlestone paused in her work. Folding her arms across her broad chest, she surveyed Grace, before pronouncing, "Aye, I reckon you'll do, lass." Then she looked at me. "Now then, Miss, your turn next?"

  Thinking she meant a wedding, I felt my face go red. Aunt Phyllis must have guessed my thought for she said, "Why, Lou, have you a secret sweetheart?"

  Everyone laughed and Mrs. Hiddlestone waved her pincushion at me.

  I realised my mistake. She only meant it was my turn to have my dress hemmed.

  ***

  Afterwards we all sat in the morning room. It was so different from our dark, suffocating rooms at home; with its walls papered with a design of pale leaves on a light blue background, it was light and airy. In front of the white marble fireplace stood a screen decorated with irises. Aunt Phyllis's handiwork. She'd even painted violets on the globed shades of the oil lamps.

  Grace and my aunt were checking off acceptances against the list of invitations—and a very long list it was. I had a book in my hand, but I wasn't concentrating. I couldn't stop looking at Grace: her small white hands opening and refolding letters, her animated face, her gold-flecked eyes.

  It was peculiar but I felt as if I was seeing her properly for the first time ... and she was lovely. It gave me a strange, fizzing sensation around my heart; it wasn't unpleasant, but at the same time I felt unaccountably frightened.

  Suddenly Maud, who was idling in the window seat, shrieked, "Grace, Charles is here."

  Grace coloured. "Oh no. He mustn't see me like this." She looked perfect to me, but she said, "Run down, Maud, and tell him I'll be down in a minute." They both left the room.

  Putting down my book, I hastened to the window. Charles was dismounting. All I could see from this angle was the top of a hat and smart riding clothes. Not enough evidence to prove Grace's claim that he was "wonderfully handsome." The next minute Maud had joined him, talking energetically, and waving her arm at the house. Charles looked up and I shrank back.

  Grace had said, "You're sure to like him, Lou." But I felt shy of meeting him. Apart from Tom and my cousin, William, whom I rarely saw, I didn't know any men.

  Occasionally, in the holidays, Tom would bring his friends to the house, but I kept out of their way. I once met one in the hallway and afterwards I heard him say, "Was that your sister, Cosgrove? Didn't you say she was something of a bluestocking?" Tom had made some reply I didn't hear and they both laughed.

  I hadn't heard the term "bluestocking" before, but I guessed it was an uncomplimentary reference to my interest in learning.

  Now I watched as Grace ran to meet Charles and he bent to embrace her. From my angle it looked as though she were being smothered in his arms. Then her face emerged as she raised it for a kiss. My stomach lurched and involuntarily I clenched my hands.

  Whatever was the matter with me?

  I watched them walk off round to the back of the house, Grace's head at his shoulder, her face turned up to his.

  Recently, often when I was supposed to be studying, I'd catch myself thinking about Grace. At night, she visited me in my dreams, a smiling mysterious presence, and I woke up and felt strangely bereft when I realised she wasn't with me.

  Now it was coming home to me what her marriage meant. Although we only met now and then, in future it just wouldn't be the same. It was as if she was travelling away from me—I was losing her.

  I jumped as my aunt put her arm round me. "Don't fret, Lou. Your turn will come."

  Pulling away, I blurted abruptly, "I'm not fretting, Aunt. I don't want to be married." I blushed. What on earth had made me say that?

  But as I thought about it, I realised it was true. In my plans for the future I'd never included a husband.

  My aunt smiled indulgently. "You used to say that when you were a little girl. You're still young, but one day—"

  I cut in. "I'm sixteen. I'm not a child any more. I know what I want and it's not marriage."

  I was sorry immediately. I hadn't meant to be so sharp. My aunt stepped back, obviously disconcerted. She smiled tentatively and said, "But—how would you be happy without a husband or children to care for?"

  I thought about this. I had a sudden vision of Mamma, with a furrowed brow, discussing mutton with Mary; the slow ticking of the clock in the airless parlour as she dusted the heavy dark furniture; endless afternoons spent visiting...

  I said, "I should think it would be boring, spending your day fretting about tradesmen and laundry and meals, looking after small children and waiting for your husband to come home."

  My aunt laughed and relaxed. "That does sound boring. But if you're lucky in your husband, as I'm sure you will be, you'll have servants to do that for you, and you may please yourself."

  I didn't want to hurt her feelings—it was her own life she was describing—but I knew I wouldn't be satisfied. I wanted more than to fill my house with pretty, useless things, like the ones around us: pictures made from seaweed, boxes covered in shells, flowers made from feathers.

  I chose my words carefully. "I want to be useful."

  Aunt Phyllis nodded. "There are many opportunities for charity work."

  I blurted out, "I don't want to do charity work. I want to be a doctor!" I stopped. I hadn't meant to tell any one yet.

  "A doctor?" She half-laughed but I saw that I'd shocked her again.

  "Yes." I spoke with more conviction than I felt. Hearing myself say it, it sounded absurd.

  My aunt sighed and patted the sofa. "Come here, my dear."

  I went and sat beside her. She regarded me seriously. "I know that some women are taking up nursing as a profession—"

  I interrupted. "Yes! Papa has told me all about Florence Nightingale and her work in the Crimea. And I've read about her school for nurses at Saint Thomas's hospital. But—"

  My aunt held up her hand. "It's admirable, of course. But those women have few other options, poor things. Whereas you—"

  "That's it, exactly. I can choose. And this is what I want."

  The more I'd read Papa's books and talked to him about medical matters, the more convinced I was that I wanted
to follow in his footsteps. Since I'd found out there was a medical school for women in London, I'd been very excited, but so far I'd kept it to myself. I was sure Papa would like the idea, but I was equally sure Mamma wouldn't, and I didn't know if Papa would let me do something that would upset her.

  My aunt was shaking her head. "I'm sure you could do anything you put your mind to. You're such a clever girl ... It's just—you don't need to work at all. It doesn't seem right that you should be thinking of it. You will gain such satisfaction from using your gifts to educate your children and support your husband in his career."

  I was shocked. I'd always thought Aunt Phyllis was, like Papa, very open-minded, not stuffy at all. And here she was sounding just like Mamma!

  In an effort to convince her, I said, "I've been out with Papa on his rounds and watched him. I've helped him sometimes."

  "You haven't!" My aunt's eyebrows shot up.

  "Yes. So, you see, I do know—it's what I want to do more than anything else."

  Aunt Phyllis rose and went over to the window. She stared out into the garden. "Oh, Edward," she said, half to herself, shaking her head regretfully. Turning back to me she said, "You've discussed this with your parents, of course?"

  "Um—no," I admitted.

  My aunt looked at me gravely. "But you will?"

  I sighed. "Yes, I'll talk to them about it when I go home."

  ***

  The candles in their silver holders threw a flickering pattern of light and shadow over us. In a dreamy rhythm, I moved the ivory-backed brush up and down the bright fall of red-gold hair spread over Grace's shoulders.

  It seemed just like the old days when we were children, but it wasn't.

  For one thing, the nursery was now a young lady's bedroom. Bead-encrusted boxes full of silver necklaces and bracelets lay on the dressing table before us. Crystal bottles and jars glittered in the candlelight. Before we could climb into bed, Grace had to remove quantities of cushions from the lace counterpane.

  But the most important thing that had changed, in a way I didn't understand, was me.

  I had always been happy, if a little shy, to share Grace's bed, but tonight, sinking into the feather mattress and breathing in the smell of lavender from the linen sheets, I was painfully aware of her body lying next to mine. If I moved a fraction of an inch, we would be touching. Touching.

  I couldn't relax. There was a tension in the pit of my stomach, my skin prickled as if an electric current were running through it, and my heart was beating fast.

  To distract myself, I said, "What are you thinking?"

  She turned her head towards me. "Mmm?"

  I repeated my question.

  Grace looked embarrassed. "You'll think I'm silly, but I was just telling myself, Soon I'll be Mrs. Charles Sedgewick."

  "Oh." It was all I could manage.

  She smiled. "I'm so glad Charles has met you. I want you two to become friends."

  I thought this unlikely.

  Charles had stayed for tea and I was shocked when I went into the drawing room and saw him: he seemed so old, a middle-aged man, not at all the gallant admirer I had imagined from Grace's description. When we were introduced, he nodded at me rather stiffly across the teacups. Afterwards he came across and said, "Grace tells me you're quite a reader."

  There was something in his tone I didn't care for. Wanting to make sure he realised I didn't just read novels, I told him what I'd been studying lately. Rather than looking impressed, he frowned and said, "Hmm." Then he took his leave of me and went to sit beside Grace, leaving me struggling with painful feelings I couldn't untangle, except for the knowledge that I felt alarmed. Could my cousin really love him?

  Impulsively I asked, "Do you think you'll be happy?"

  Grace smiled. "Yes, I think I shall." A faint pink flush appeared on her cheek.

  Unbidden, the diagrams in a section of one of Papa's medical textbooks referring to "the act of sexual congress" appeared in my mind.

  The first time I'd come across them, I'd stared at them, fascinated and yet with a creeping feeling of unease. I couldn't imagine the reality represented by the diagrams. And soon Charles would be occupying my place in bed beside Grace ... my stomach lurched again and I felt slightly sick.

  Pushing the thought from my mind, I made myself say, "I'm happy for you then."

  Grace leant over me and I felt her lips brush my cheek. "Thank you, Lou. You're a dear. And now we must go to sleep. There's so much to do tomorrow." She turned away from me and blew out the candle. "Goodnight."

  "Goodnight."

  Soon her breathing deepened into sleep.

  I lay still, aware of the warmth of her body beside me, of that strange, sweet feeling in the pit of my stomach. I had the oddest desire to put my arms round her and hold her close. I felt such a longing, a painful, lovely feeling that we might be like this always, that we might never be apart. And suddenly with a hot rush it came to me: I love Grace, I love her. In a confused way I knew I didn't just love her as cousins do. This was different, this was ... I felt ... I felt about her in the way that she felt about Charles!

  My heart stopped. Then it sped on, as if I was running a race. I was trembling as if I had a fever and I tried to calm myself, to think, but my thoughts scattered like beads of mercury from a broken thermometer.

  I told myself: It can't be true, it can't.

  But even as I was denying it, I knew I was deceiving myself.

  ***

  "What do you think, Lou?"

  "Sorry?"

  "Should we have salmon and lobster?"

  It was the next morning. We were all sitting in the morning room and Aunt Phyllis and my cousins were discussing the wedding meal.

  I shrugged, trying to smile. But I really didn't feel like smiling. I couldn't stop thinking about Grace—and me.

  I kept telling myself that I must be mistaken. Of course I loved Grace, that was natural. We were cousins...

  But this was different. This was ... I didn't know what else to name it. This was being in love. But how could I be in love with her? If it were true, what did it mean? And what would Grace think of me if she knew?

  I'd lain awake for hours, not daring to go to sleep in case I accidentally moved too close to her and gave myself away. Now I felt tired and wretched and the questions wouldn't stop chasing each other round and round in my head.

  I dragged my attention back to the conversation.

  "We must have jellies, blancmange, and fruit tarts." Maud had abandoned her efforts to be grown-up for the moment.

  Aunt Phyllis laughed. "You won't be able to eat all those. You'll be sick."

  "And don't forget there'll be the cake," Grace put in. She glanced at me, smiling, but I couldn't meet her eyes. What if she saw the truth in mine?

  "But there'll be so many people," said Maud. "And it's very grand to have a choice."

  She put her nose in the air as she said this, and everyone laughed. I joined in but I didn't feel like laughing.

  Without warning the door opened and Susan burst in. Her cap was awry and her face was flushed.