“Ah, here is our Gemma now,” Grandmama says.
Father rises from his chair by the fireplace. “Dear me, could this beautiful and elegant young lady be my daughter?” His voice is weaker, his eyes do not quite twinkle as they once did, and he is still very thin, but his mustache bends with a broad smile. When he holds out his arms, I run to him, his little girl again. Sudden tears threaten and I blink them back.
“Welcome home, Father.”
His embrace is not as strong as it once was, but it is warm, and we shall fatten him up as soon as possible. Father’s eyes soften. “You look more like her every day.”
Tom sits sulking in a chair, taking tea and biscuits. “The tea has most likely gone cold by now, Gemma.”
“You shouldn’t have waited for me,” I say, still holding on to my father.
“That is what I said,” Tom complains.
Father offers me a chair. “You used to sit at my feet when you were a child. But as you are a child no more but a young lady, you shall have to sit properly.”
Grandmama pours tea for us all, and despite Tom’s grumbling, it is still hot. “We’ve been issued an invitation to dine at the Hippocrates Society in Chelsea this week, and Thomas has accepted.”
Scowling, Tom drops two fat lumps of sugar into his tea.
“How nice,” I say.
Father allows Grandmama to pour milk into his cup, turning it cloudy. “They’re a fine bunch of fellows, Thomas—mark my words. Why, Dr. Hamilton himself is a member.”
Tom bites into a biscuit. “Yes, old Dr. Hamilton.”
“It’s far more suited to your station than the Athenaeum,” Father says. “It’s for the best that nonsense is done with.”
“It wasn’t nonsense,” Tom says sullenly.
“It was and you know it.” Father coughs. It rattles in his chest.
“Is the tea too cold? Shall I see about more? Oh, where has that girl gone to?” Grandmama stands, then sits, then stands again until Father waves her off, and she takes her seat again. Her nervous fingers fold her napkin into neat tiny squares.
“You do look so like her,” Father says again. His eyes are moist. “How did we get here? Where did it go wrong?”
“John, you’re not yourself just now,” Grandmama says. Her lips tremble.
Tom stares at the floor miserably.
“I would give my soul to forget,” Father whispers through his tears.
He is broken, and the fault line runs through us all. I feel that my heart will break. It would take only a little magic to change the situation.
No, put that thought out of your mind, Gemma.
But why not? Why should I allow him his suffering when I might take it away? I cannot spend another wretched week in their company. I close my eyes and my body shakes with its secrets. Far away, I hear my grandmother call my name, confused, and then, time slows till they are a strange, frozen tableau: Father, his head in his hands; Grandmama stirring her worry into her tea; Tom with a scowl on his face that speaks to his discontent with us. I say my wishes aloud, touching them each in turn.
“Father, you shall forget your pain.”
“Thomas, it is time for you to be less the boy and more the man.”
“And, Grandmama, oh, do let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?”
But the magic isn’t finished with me yet. It finds my own fierce longing for a family I once had but lost to tempests I could not control. For a moment, I see myself happy and carefree, running under blue Indian skies. My laugh echoes in my head. Oh, if I could, I would have that happiness back again. The power of that desire pulls me to my knees. It forces tears to my eyes. Yes, I should like to have that back again. I should like to feel safe. Protected. Loved. If magic can buy me that, then I will have it.
I take a deep breath and let it out shakily. “Now, let’s begin again.”
Time rushes forward. They raise their heads as if waking from a dream they are glad to be rid of.
“I say, what were we discussing?” Father asks.
Grandmama blinks her large eyes. “It is the strangest thing, for I can’t remember. Ha! Ha, ha, ha! Dotty old me!”
Tom takes another biscuit. “Fantastic biscuits!”
“Thomas, how do you think our men will fare against Scotland today in the championship?”
“England shall be victorious, of course! Best cricket in the world.”
“That’s a good lad!”
“Father, I’m hardly a lad anymore.”
“Right you are! You’ve been in long trousers some time now.” Father laughs, and Tom joins him.