The Last Night in London by Karen White (reading list .TXT) 📕

and facing the pitch-black room, the fear that had chased her all the way from the Savoy finally caught up to her.

“Precious?” A sickly-sweet smell coated the air, the taste of copper heavy in her mouth. It reminded Eva of discovering her mother after her father had left, the smell of blood and despair mingling so that it was impossible to distinguish which was which.

“Eva?” The voice was so weak Eva wondered if it had been her imagination. She stumbled toward the lamp that sat on the bedside table, almost knocking it over. The halo of yellow light illuminated a pale and sweating Precious, lying on the bed, nude, the bed devoid of sheets and blankets.

“It was so fast . . . ,” Precious began, her breath coming in shallow, feverish gasps.

Eva’s gaze slid down to the middle of the bed. What looked like a pile of bloody rags lay between Precious’s legs. A thick grayish cord connected the rags to Precious. Eva stared for one long, horrified moment before she realized what it was.

With an unnatural calm she remembered from the times she’d had to put her mother back together, times that had forced away her fear of blood, she picked up the baby. A boy. Skin slippery with blood, slowly turning blue. She turned him over and smacked him on his little bottom, as she and her friends had seen the midwife do, again and again, as they’d huddled outside cottages while their mothers gave birth.

“Cry,” she shouted at the still bundle. “Cry,” she said again, unsure what she would do if the baby didn’t. She spanked him harder, and this time a feeble sound like a trapped mouse came from the tiny body.

“What is it?” Precious asked.

“It’s a boy.” Eva looked around the room, remembering something else that needed to happen. She ran and fetched her sewing shears, remembering first to cut a ribbon from one of the sheets before she cut the cord. She tied each end with the ribbon, wrapped the rest of the sheet around the baby, and held him against her for a moment to make sure he was breathing, then placed him on Precious’s chest.

Trying to keep the panic from her voice, she asked, “Can you move? We can’t stay here.”

“I can try.” Precious’s voice was no stronger than the baby’s mewling as he rooted at her breast.

“I’m going to find a valise to put the baby in, to keep him warm, and get you dressed. David should be waiting outside. I’ll go downstairs, and he can carry you, all right? Please, don’t worry, Precious. We’re going to take care of you.” She had no idea if David was there, or what she might do if he wasn’t, but she’d cross that bridge later.

Eva didn’t wait for a response, but turned toward the armoire and pulled it open. She yanked a pair of trousers from a hanger and a folded jumper from the shelf and put them on the bedside table for Precious. Quickly, she changed her own clothes, completely unaware of what she slipped over her head.

The small valise Precious had used on her trip to nurse Graham sat at the bottom of the armoire, and Eva yanked it out, meaning to line it with towels and scarves and whatever else she could find to cushion and warm the baby.

“Don’t . . .”

The feeble protest didn’t reach Eva’s ears until she’d already spread the top of the valise wide. She stopped moving, her body swaying as if she’d been speeding and had just hit a wall.

Five familiar envelopes, Graham’s name on the front written in her own handwriting, lay scattered on the empty bottom. She picked them up, spots dancing in her eyes.

“Eva . . .” Precious’s voice cracked. “I’m so sorry.”

Eva looked from the letters toward Precious, then back again, trying to understand. Trying to pretend that “sorry” was enough.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

Eva couldn’t look at her, could only stare at the envelopes. They were still sealed. “You didn’t mean to . . .” She met Precious’s eyes.

“Forgive me, Eva. Please, forgive me.”

“Forgive you . . . ?”

Precious was babbling something, words Eva was sure she should have been listening to, but the roaring in her ears made it difficult to make them out.

“I’m so sorry. I loved him, too. From the first time I met him. I tried not to. I really did. And when I saw you with Alex, and how he gave you all those things, I knew you couldn’t love Graham as much as I did. Because how could you be with Alex if you did? But I couldn’t say anything because you were my friend, and I loved you. You’re like a sister to me, and I would never want to hurt you. But then, when Graham was wounded . . .”

Eva couldn’t breathe. She wanted to throw open the blackout curtains and open the window and allow the freezing air to wake her from this nightmare.

A dim memory came to her, of Precious telling her after Graham had returned that it should have been Eva who’d gone to nurse him and not her. And it finally occurred to Eva why.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the face of the woman saying such hateful things, but she could hear each word like the falling blade of a guillotine.

“I didn’t mean for anything to happen. It wasn’t me he wanted—it’s always been you. But with you so far away, and occupied with Alex, I thought . . .” Precious shook her head. “It was only that one time, because he was so hurt and missing you. . . .”

“One time?” Eva repeated as if Precious were speaking in another language.

“He was so ashamed, he could barely look at me. He never stopped loving you—it was always you, and I was a cheap substitute.” A fresh sob broke from Precious’s throat, and she had to force out the words. “It was your name he called out. Your name.” She shouted the last two words, making the baby startle.

Forgive the