‘It’s a beautiful day. Maybe you would fancy a stroll in the garden later?’ I shook my head. The thought of fresh air and birdsong and the mocking yellow of buttercups on the lawn filled me with loathing. I had not been able to look out of the window since that day and preferred the curtains to be kept closed. But I knew Mary would be so happy to see me take some air. To see some colour back in my cheeks. ‘Mary,’ I said. I was nervous and tried to keep my voice from shaking. ‘Please come and sit by me for a moment.’ I patted my bed. ‘Of course, miss. What is it?’ She sat beside me and I reached for her hand. The warm roughness of her skin soothed me and I took a deep breath. ‘I know the truth, Mary.’ ‘The truth, miss? What truth is that?’ ‘Jacob told me,’ I said, looking at her dear face. ‘Jacob told me that I am not my mother’s child.’ Mary went still. Her face seemed to crumple and she gripped my hand tight.
