(OOC: Charlotte's last post was in "The Easter Ball")

Slowly, quietly, Christopher slid open the door to his sister-in-law's bedroom. Through the darkness he could spot his wife's silhouette towards the white of Anna's sheets, and even though he had deduced that this must be where she had gone, he felt a certain relief now that he had found her. She was sitting on a chair by her sister's bedside, staring frozenly ahead. Around her shoulders she had wrapped a knitted shawl to keep warm in spite of the dying hearth. He could tell from the jerk in her shoulders that she had noticed him coming in.
"Charlotte," he whispered. He saw her raise an averting hand, but ignored it. "Come. You need your rest."
"No," she said, and her voice was cold and short, but he approached her nonetheless, and crouched down beside her.
"She is fine now, darling -" he began, but she interrupted him.
"I want to be here when she wakes."
"I know you do. Still..." He put a hand gently on her knee, but quickly removed it again as she shied away from him, hissing: "Don't touch me!" Startled, he looked up, wanting to search her face, but she had turned away, so his glance landed instead on the floor and stayed there. He was quiet. So was she.

"I'm... I'm sorry," she muttered after a while.
"I know," he nodded, propping his elbows on his knees, still crouching. Her secrets killed him. Suddenly Charlotte's hand fell from her lap and her arm curved towards him. He hesitated for a moment before carefully wrapping his fingers around hers. Her next words surprised him, but the way they were said shocked him even more. She spoke through gritted teeth in a voice thick with something that sounded like disgust.
"How can you..." She paused for a moment, then lurched forward and covered her mouth with her free hand. He quickly got to his knees to support her, but she held him at a distance. "How can you even bear to be close to me?" she finished, sounding still as if she was too revolted to speak properly. He stared at her. Now, finally, she turned to him so he could se her face. Perhaps because he did not usually see her disquieted, he had expected it to now be stained with tears. It was not. He had expected it to be either pale or red. It was neither. It was stony and cold, but calm, and her eyes - probably mostly because of the dim of night, but it still disturbed him - seemed so deep and dark and somehow far away from him.
"What talk is this? Of course I can - ..." He didn't know what to say, how to react. She was acting so outlandish and he knew so little about what might be her reasons. It pained him every time he had these realizations about how little he really knew her. However, he forced himself to remember that she was still his wife, she was still Charlotte, and tenderly he sought her eyes and said, while stroking her hand: "How could I ever bear not to?" She smiled at him, a sort of pitying smile as if to say "oh, what do you know," and then she shook her head resignedly, turning back to Anna.

Christopher was becoming very concerned. He remained sitting there on the floor next to his wife with her hand in his own, in silence, watching Anna sleep. It was a long while, maybe half of an hour, until he spoke again.
"Was it the murder, Charlotte, that upset you?" She looked at him, blankly.
"Murder?"
"Mallister. Remember?"
"Oh. Right. No. And I'm not upset."
"Charlotte..." He began. He was so tired of begging her to confide in him. He was so tired of the blatant lies. She had promised him "tomorrow," but he could never know, never be sure about anything with her, and he was tired of constantly having to put his trust in someone who so obviously did not respect it, or trust him back. But he loved her so much. The best moments in life were the ones when she laughed and he knew it was he who had caused it. Any time she - or Anna, for Charlotte was happy when Anna was happy - went to bed with cheeks blushing or eyes twinkling with good memories from the day that had passed, Christopher knew that his life was worth something. He could not help it. Maybe it was pathetic to be this patient with them. Maybe some would have called him soft or a tenderfoot. He really did not care, because he knew what he was, and who, and why.

"What is wrong?"
She shook her head quietly. "I am."
"Don't be silly."
"I did it again..." She closed her eyes and her lips quivered. "Oh, my God, Christopher, I did - I promised... - promised - promised myself I would never do it again, and I did, I did - I did it again..."
"Shh," They had been whispering all this time, but her voice was unstable now, and he became worried that Anna might wake up. "What did you do, Charlotte?" She shook her head. "Tell me. What is it you did?"
"I'm horrible!"
"Shhh... Shhh..." He had put his arms around her now, and she let him. She slid off the chair, down on the floor to him, and slumped weakly against his chest.
"I must never have a child. Never. I'm awful. Awful at this. I failed her - I fail her... I... Again and again I... Oh, God, forgive me..."
"What rubbish, Charlotte, you are a wonderful sister and would be a wonderful mother as well. How did you fail her?! She -"
"You don't... You don't know..."
"So tell me!" He kissed her face and heard his whispering voice becoming desperate. "Tell me, Charlotte, please, tell me!" He was doing it again, begging, pleading. He knew it affected her deeply - he had noticed before - and so often he had thought that it was his only hope. She was sobbing quietly now. He felt frustrated tears pressing behind his own eyes. "Hm?" He rocked her. She shook her head.
"I left..." she whispered. "I left her."
"But you thought I was there. It was a mistake. Nothing happened, she was fine!"
"I left... left her there... Oh, God, alone with that... Oh, God, Oh, God..."
"Shhh..." She was not herself. She needed sleep. He had only seen her cry like this once before and that was on their wedding night he thought, feeling a small sting in his chest. "You should sleep. Come sleep."
"No - no. No. No, I want - I need to stay - stay with her."
"That is fine. Stay here with her. But sleep, Charlotte, for me?" She calmed down and looked up at him. He wiped her tears. She nodded. He watched her crawl into her sister's bed and lay herself carefully down beside her. She held her hand over Anna's shoulder for a while, looking like she wanted to caress her, but she dared not put it down, probably for fear of waking her. When Charlotte's head was finally resting on the pillow, her hands folded gently in front of her mouth and her eyes fastened on the back of Anna's head, Christopher retreated to his own bedroom in silence.

"Tomorrow," they had said. He would put his hopes in tomorrow.

Anna had been awake for some time, but she had kept her eyes shut. She had been confused, disoriented, and Charlotte had been sitting with a stone face beside her bed. Anna had not wanted to disturb her. When she was about to work up the courage to pretend to be waking, Christopher had come in. Now he was crouched beside his wife, and there was no possibility of Anna’s waking. She couldn’t face him yet. Only Charlotte. But he didn’t go away, even when Charlotte tried to drive him away. He simply sat, without talking, for the longest time, and Anna concentrated on breathing evenly, as if she were asleep. And then he asked a question, almost to soft for Anna to hear, and the dam burst. Charlotte broke down.

Anna wanted to comfort her. She wanted to say it was all right. She wanted to sit up and say that yes, Charlotte had left her at the Ball alone. But it was all right. Mr Pryer found Anna. He was a man, but she had learned something tonight. She was in his company, without Charlotte, and she didn’t die. She didn’t even faint. She was proud of herself for it. Charlotte didn’t have to be, of course. But she was. Charlotte was right, she was always right. Anna could do this, she could be normal. Not always, and not without Charlotte’s help, but she could. Anna wanted to tell Charlotte that, but she couldn’t for two reasons. One was that Christopher was right there, and the other was that the achievement was hollow and Anna knew she was only distracting herself from what she really was feeling.

She was feeling guilty. Charlotte shouldn’t have to be guilty. Anna was the guilty one. Look what she’d done. She’d made Charlotte cry, because she was so weak that she couldn’t even spend five minutes without her sister. She thought proud thoughts because she managed it, she did do it, at the Ball, but in reality she had spent those five minutes looking for Charlotte and she had only let Mr Pryer accompany her because he was the only one she knew at all. Look what she’d done to Charlotte. Anna’s weakness had made Charlotte feel guilty. This was Anna’s fault, this horrible guilt eating away at Charlotte. It was entirely because she was so dependent, so needy, so completely incapable of basic human normalcy, so worthless that Charlotte was now crying.

And Anna was also feeling jealous. She burned with envy, and there was no one in the world that she could confide in on this matter, not even Charlotte. Her sister would understand, but it was not something Anna was willing to discuss with her. And Christopher would not understand, nor would he likely be pleased to know that it was him she was jealous of. Christopher wouldn’t understand. He wouldn’t understand the gift of trust Charlotte gave him that she didn’t give to Anna. Anna understood. She knew why he had been given it, and not her. He was strong, and she was weak. And Charlotte knew it. Anna had no right to be jealous of him but she was. Charlotte would cry in front of him. Charlotte would cry in front of him and accept his comfort.

Charlotte never let Anna see her tears. Or rather, she tried ever so hard to keep them from Anna, and when Anna heard them she never acknowledged them. Charlotte slept in a different bedroom since she was married so for six years Anna hadn’t heard the sound of Charlotte’s stifled sobbing. Even before that her sister had cried seldom and only when she was positive Anna was asleep. But Anna had heard it and, coward that she was, pretended to be truly asleep. She had offered none of the comfort that Charlotte always gave her. It wasn’t in Anna to give, only to take—and that was why, when everything was stripped of pretence and disguise, Anna knew that she was a lesser person. It was in Christopher to give comfort. And Charlotte trusted him enough first for him to know that she had the capacity to be hurt—by memories, by people, or as in this case by her own guilt—enough to cry, and secondly she trusted him to be strong enough to withstand the knowledge. That was what Anna was jealous of. That Charlotte knew Christopher was strong where she felt Anna wasn’t. And that it was true.

Don’t think on envy, she told herself. It’s one of the deadly sins. Think about something else. And as her mind replayed the whispered conversation held only minutes ago, as Charlotte’s hand slipped off Anna’s shoulder, Anna remembered why she was here, now, like this, causing Charlotte misery. The Ball. She’d fainted at the Ball, because there had been a murder. Charlotte had murdered again, that was what Anna remembered thinking, and seeing the stone-hard expression on her sister’s face had been confirmation. Anna’s eyes would have closed, had they not been already closed. She had thought her sister a murderess. How could she have? Because Charlotte’s murdered before, twice, pointed out one side of her brain at the same time as the other chimed in with the thought that both of those murders had been justified, after abuse too great to be detailed.

But what was abuse great enough to justify murder? Mallister had not only been rude and drunk in the corridor. Anna had been spoken to in much the same slimy way by him before, only he’d usually been sober. He’d even touched her before, once nearly kissing her before she’d become wise to him and started backing away when he came in the door. Every single time he entered the florist’s shop without Charlotte there to deal with him, Anna had ended up in the back room cowering under a table until Charlotte returned and found her. Anna had tried to keep the cause of those incidents from Charlotte, because she knew of her sister’s long and hot-burning ability to grudge. But had she been successful? Had Charlotte known all along, and considered it great enough abuse to justify murder? Had Mallister simply added the last feather in the corridor?

A movement stirred the air in front of Anna, and she cracked her lids to see Christopher retreating from the room. Anna breathed. Now was the time. She was alone with her sister, she could ask, she could know, she could justify it to herself if Charlotte told her it was, she would not have to wonder. “Charlotte…” Anna’s voice trailed off. What was she going to say? Did you murder Mr Mallister? Was it because of what he said to me? What if she hadn’t? Then Charlotte would be offended, would think Anna had little faith in her ability to control herself, would think Anna thought she had no morals, would be hurt. And what if she had? Would Anna treat her any differently? Would she love her sister less? Would she pray for her salvation any less hard? Would she try and atone for the crimes any less vehemently?

She would not. She would never. Thus there was no point in asking. Anna changed what she had been going to ask. “… what are we going to tell Christopher?”

Charlotte crept closer to her sister and put her arms around her.
"You are awake, you little sneak!" she exclaimed, faking a giggle while playfully digging her face into Anna's hair. She wanted to put her in a better mood, to quickly pull her thoughts away from the weakness that Charlotte had just unwillingly displayed. "I'm sorry." Untangling herself again from Anna's lockes and placing her head gently so that her mouth was by her sister's ear, she whispered. "I didn't mean to wake you." And I didn't mean for you to see that. I want you to think I'm strong, always. I want you to never have to fear anything when you are with me. She squeezed Anna's thin frame closer to her own.

"As for Christopher..." Just saying his name made her chest burn with shame, but also with affection. "We will tell him what he needs to know." What did he need to know? He would want it all, but did he need it? Did he need to know that his wife was a murderess, that she had been lying to him about who she was, where she came from, her relationship to this other woman he was supporting? Yes, he deserved to know. He was a good man. He deserved to know who it was he spent his life loving and tending to. He deserved to be given the choice of whether or not he still wanted her as a wife.

"They will always leave you, sooner or later. You will always chase them away." She closed her eyes. But it wasn't true, that. Not any of it was true, she had devoted her entire life to proving him wrong, and she had done it. Someone did love her, and would never leave her. Anna would never leave her. She would have her sister, no matter what happened, and they would always be able to create a life for themselves. She was not worthless, she was not weak, she was not a worm.
"We will tell him the truth."

But... all of it? Could they not skip just a few parts? Perhaps they could tell him where they were from, what had happened to them, their real relationship, and skip the last part, the part where she tortured and executed human beings? But they were not human beings! They were monsters. She took a tighter hold of Anna. Anna would not leave her. Anna understood. Anna loved her; she would not go away. They could not live with a Christopher any longer without telling him, and telling him everything. It would have to be done properly, if at all, and then it would be over with, and then she would know for certain. And if Christopher did not leave them, then she would have proved Ormsby wrong for real and he could finally die completely. If Christopher hated her... then that was that, and that was what she deserved, and she would still have Anna.
"We will tell him everything."

She could feel Anna growing tense, and her breath had become rather irregular. Charlotte pressed her lips to her cheek. They lay like that for a while. Charlotte was frightened too, and had to wait before she spoke again, or Anna would be able to tell from her voice. When she thought she could control it, she whispered as convincingly as possible:
"It will be fine. You know I will never let anything bad happen to you. No matter what happens, we will come out on top, we always do." She kissed her again. "Hm? Do we not? We always do, and we always will. I promise."

She had put money away already. They were in a drawer in her dresser. Should the worst come to pass and she was sent to prison, Anna would find them there. But that could not happen. It could never happen. He would not do that. Would he? Maybe she should pack some bags in the morning. Maybe it would be wise to be ready to leave if it turned ugly.

They were both worried, but they were also both exhausted, and it did not take too long before they were asleep. Surprisingly enough, Charlotte slept through the entire night without waking a single time. Not even when the sun crept through the curtains and fell in golden stripes across the bed did her eyelids lift.


Christopher pressed down the door handle with his elbow and used his backside to push open the bedroom door. The girls were still not awake, even though it was way past nine in the morning. He had let them sleep. They seemed to need it, and the shop could wait; there were other places for the citizens of Lindebo to buy flowers if they were in a hurry. The reason Mr. Kendall did not use his hands was that they were full. In each hand he was holding a kitten; fuzzy, sleepy and rather confused looking, they made no noise at all, so he was able to sneak up to the bedside and gently put one in front of each sleeping woman. The white one, with a grey spot on its forehead, instantly becan to climb over Anna's face, while the grey striped one looked to be inspecting Charlotte's cleavage. Charlotte did not move at first, but started stirring somewhat when Anna did.
"Morning, ladies."

“You are awake, you little sneak!” Charlotte said, hugging Anna and giggling. Anna could tell that it was forced, but could also tell that Charlotte did not want to be called on it. She whispered, “I’m sorry,” at exactly the same time her sister did, but they were sorry for different reasons, and Charlotte probably didn’t even hear. Anna was sorry for making Charlotte need to hide her distress and Charlotte was sorry for not hiding it well enough. Anna was a little sneak. If only Charlotte knew how right she was, about all those times Anna had snuck away into herself rather than acknowledge Charlotte’s pain and try to help. She was such a little sneak. She closed her eyes on hot tears as Charlotte whispered, “I didn't mean to wake you.”

Charlotte’s mouth was right by Anna’s ear when she hugged her sister again later, saying. “As for Christopher... We will tell him what he needs to know.” Anna wondered. Did he need to know? She was the one who had suggested this, back in the flower shop. She’d been the one that brought it up. But it had only been the result of complications already arising from Christopher not knowing the truth. He suspected something, but he didn’t know what. Did he need to know? Really? Couldn’t they tell him a nice lie? They could say that they hadn’t been sisters who lost everything in a fire. They could say they were sisters who’d been put in the workhouse when their parents died, because their parents were poor and in the workhouse and had no relatives that could care for them. That would give them something to pretend to be so ashamed of, for not having told him, for having to reveal it.

But Charlotte said, “We will tell him the truth,” smashing Anna’s fledging idea. Charlotte knew best. The truth was what they would tell him. They were at an orphanage. Did he need to know more? Did he know they weren’t really related? Did he need to know about the thefts and the lies that had brought them to a place where he would notice them? Did he need to know what had happened to Charlotte? Did he need to know about Mrs Humperdink? Did he need to know about the murders? Did he need to know Anna wasn’t sorry, and never would be? Did he need to know— “We will tell him everything.” Apparently he did. Charlotte was right, of course. She was always right. He needed to know everything. And they’d tell him, all of it. Even if he hated them for it. Which he would.

She tensed, trying to keep from crying, and Charlotte pressed her lips to Anna’s cheek. She gripped one of her sister’s hands tightly, shaking with sobs that she didn’t want to come out and that, after a while, couldn’t come out. It felt like she was a tiny little insect curling up in pain and misery. The only thing that prevented her from being stomped out, she knew, was Charlotte. Charlotte’s support and Charlotte’s love. Her sister whispered, “It will be fine. You know I will never let anything bad happen to you. No matter what happens, we will come out on top, we always do. Hm? Do we not? We always do, and we always will. I promise.” Anna stilled, forcing herself to calm for Charlotte’s sake. An occasional sob still shook her, but the grew less frequent, and she began to breath deep and slow, and pretended to be falling asleep, until Charlotte did fall asleep.

Anna stayed awake for a while after Charlotte was breathing evenly and deeply in sleep. She stared at the dark room, almost unblinking, and she told her sister’s still form, “But I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.” Charlotte didn’t seem to understand why this was so scary for Anna, or at least didn’t say it. Nothing bad would happen to Anna. She knew that; it wasn’t the problem that was keeping her up. The problem was that this time they had someone to lose, not something. This time coming out on top wasn’t everything. They had to come out on top with Christopher. Charlotte would be hurt by losing Christopher, although she might pretend it wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. And Anna didn’t want that to happen. She could bear losing Christopher herself, if Charlotte was with her. But she couldn’t bear for Charlotte to lose Christopher, and then hide the pain and stuff it away small and tight and cold and lonely because Anna couldn’t help her with it.

There must some way to prevent it. There must be. Christopher had to understand. But there must be some way to make him love Charlotte anyway. And then she thought of it, and she was calm, and slept.


Anna awoke in the morning when something licked her face. She opened her eyes and found a pair staring back at her from less than two inches away. She jerked before realising it was a kitten, and reaching up a hand to pet it. She saw Christopher then; he must have been the one that brought the kittens. He said, smiling, “Morning, ladies.”
Anna looked at him seriously. She should tell him, so he knew. She’d never said it before to anyone but Charlotte. But she should tell him now. It would be her last chance. By tonight she’d be banished. She sat up in the bed, decided. “Christopher.”
“Yes Anna?”
“I love you.”
And then Charlotte was awake, and sat up, and her hand was warm and supporting on Anna’s back, and she knew Charlotte understood.

Contrary to all expectations, the day continued. Not well, and not smoothly, but it did. Despite the late hour, they ate breakfast together once Charlotte and Anna had dressed. Anna managed to eat some of everything, including an entire bowl of early greenhouse strawberries. Christopher commented on her appetite, an innocent comment that she liked his strawberries so much, and she smiled and felt guilty. Later she threw up, but it was in the bathroom, in the toilet, and she flushed away the evidence and no one knew, not even Charlotte. After she recovered, she went out and played with the kittens in the drawing-room. She tried to read, but as soon as the page was before her eyes, the words were replaced with memories. Anna, you don’t mean that. This is how I show you I love you. You know that, don’t you? Yes, good girl. You know I love you. Yes, I’m the only one. Yes, that’s why, little Anna. You do know. No one else but me will ever give a damn about you.

No one else but me will ever give a damn about you. But she wasn’t right. Charlotte gave a damn. Christopher gave a damn. But Christopher gave his damn to a liar and a little sneak. He didn’t know who she was. A sneak. Sneak sneak sneak. She was sneaking now. She sneaked past Christopher in his study, sneaking a peek at him as well, but he saw it, he saw her, the sneak. She giggled uncontrollably. Sneak! She could try and sneak but he could always tell she was there, sneaking, he just didn’t know what she was sneaking, why she was sneaking. She sneaked back and forth just to see if he would see her. Sneak! He saw that one. Sneak! He saw that one too! Sneak! Oop! Caught again! On the eighth sneak he came out and asked if she were all right, and she sneaked off without answering.

He must think she was crazy. She giggled again. Crazy Anna! That was better than Anna the Sneak. Then she slumped on a couch in the drawing-room and started to cry. She was both. Crazy sneaky Anna. She wasn’t worth his damn. She heard someone come into the door of the drawing-room, but didn’t look up. If she didn’t see him, he wouldn’t see her. And he would go away. He did go away, and Anna cried more. He was going to go away forever. Forever, and ever, and never come back. Except there was someone again, someone here. She risked a sneaky glance—because she was a sneak! She was a sneak! It was Christopher, he’d come back with Charlotte. Charlotte hurried to Anna and just held her, and Christopher looked and then went away. Anna cried until she couldn’t cry anymore and fell asleep in Charlotte’s arms because she was too exhausted to stay awake.

When she woke up again she was still on the couch, but there was a couch-pillow under her head and a throw over her, and there was a kitten under her arm sleeping as well. She had to smile, petting the kitten softly. It woke up and attacked her finger gently, as only a kitten could, and she tickled it. And then she took the kitten and snuck back past Christopher’s study, only this time she looked in and told him she was sorry before she went all the way past and upstairs. Charlotte was packing, upstairs. Anna didn’t even ask why. She knew why. But she couldn’t help. Charlotte was going to be fine. Anna was the one that wasn’t, but that was okay, she hadn’t been any help in this family yet, so tonight she would be, and then only she would have to go. She’d find something somewhere. She could live somewhere else once Christopher hated her.

For the rest of the day, Anna couldn’t do much. Christopher never even brought up that both of them should have been at the flower shop. He could sense the mood. It wasn’t hard, even from a sneak like her. Anna didn’t look at him whenever he passed by her, even if he said something. Best to stop seeing him. Best to get used to him not being there. And then came dinner, and it was the most awkward time yet. Anna barely even picked at her food, Charlotte talked too much and a little too loud, and Christopher talked too little and too soft. Anna knew. They were pretending. They were good at it, nobody else would have noticed. But they were pretending. Charlotte was worried and Christopher was worried because she was worried. Finally the time came when Charlotte looked at Anna, and they both knew. Charlotte turned to Christopher: “Let’s go into the parlour. And talk.”

Christopher stood at once. He looked excited, happy, strained. They went into the parlour, in a silent line: Charlotte, then Anna, then Christopher. Charlotte and Anna took a sopha built only for two, and Christopher took an armchair and brought it up close, facing them. Silence pressed down for a long moment. Christopher didn’t push. Charlotte and Anna were silent, Anna at least gathering her courage. Finally Charlotte said softly, “We must talk.”
Christopher said gently, “What did you want to tell me?”
Charlotte looked down, and then up, and began to say something, and Anna knew now was the time. Now or never. Do it! You have to! And so before Charlotte could say anything, Anna burst up with, “I—!”

They both looked at her, and she shrank into the sopha, staring at her feet. She grabbed for one of Charlotte’s hands, and Christopher leaned across to pat her knee comfortingly, so she grabbed that one too, in a grip so tight that his fingers began to whiten. “You must understand! You must!” She began to babble, thinking that perhaps this was not the way, but what other way was there? She had to say it, he had to understand! “It’s my fault. I-I-I didn’t want to tell you, I didn’t, it was all my fault!” More, more! He has to believe you, say the rest, he’ll believe you! “I didn’t, I d-didn’t! I thought you would h-hate me! Because I l-lied about b-being a sister and and and you supported me, and Charlotte w-was only p-protecting m-m-me and she d-did everything f-for m-m-me because of me—it was my fault! It was my fault! You should hate me!”

The last sentences came out vehemently, but Anna shrank away from Christopher at the same time, releasing his hand and clutching to Charlotte. It was done now; now he would hate her and not Charlotte. He would understand that she was the bad one and Charlotte was good, that he could still love her. But he didn’t understand, because he tried to take her hand again, and said, “Anna…”
He had to understand that he couldn’t leave Charlotte! She had to make him hate her. It had to be done. So she slapped his hand with all her might and shouted at him, “Don’t touch me! You don’t k-know what I-I’ve done! You d-don’t know w-who I am! You will hate me!” It was a command and a despairing prediction, a desperate attempt to draw it to her and bleak plea for understanding at the same time. Anna curled into Charlotte’s side and didn’t look at him any more.

Christopher and Charlotte sat for a few moments merely looking at each other, Christopher sending his wife one of his many inquiring looks. Charlotte held her sister tight and after a while she shook her head with a soundless sigh of resignation.
"Well... None of that was true," she muttered, and overlooked Anna's attempt to protest. So did Christopher.
"Right," he said. "Well, first of all: Ow!" He shook his hand demonstratively and Charlotte's lips twitched in melancholy smile. She would miss his humor. "Second: I will be the judge of who or what will hate and when or if I'll hate anything or anyone at all." He paused, but only for a second, looking puzzled, maybe at the idea of hating. Charlotte thought it likely that he had never felt such emotions before in his life. Tonight might just be the first time anyone would give him a reason. "And third: I realize that that your intention just now was to deliver an admission of guilt, but I feel inclined to remind you both that I'm still oblivious as to what exactly it is you claim to be guilty of." He leaned forward and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Charlotte wanted to reach out for him, but her arms were around Anna; she was rubbing her as if she were cold.
"We will tell you now," she assured him softly instead. He heaved a deep sigh.
"Thank you," he whispered down into his lap. Charlotte drew her breath. Here we go.

"We are not... We have not told you the truth about our background," she said.
"B-because I didn't w-want to!" Anna peeped. Charlotte merely rubbed her more firmly. She knew her husband would overlook that comment.
"We are not who we said we were." She waited after this, because she was not sure if he would like to react. He raised his glance from his hands and looked up at her.
"I gathered as much already, Charlotte." he said, sounding a tad overbearing and impatient.
"Yes. Ahem." She cleared her throat. She had thought he might have, but she was still relieved. "Well, we... We didn't come from a wealthy family. We're not even..." No, she could not bring herself to say that they weren't sisters. They were. "We are not biologically related." He straightened up, attentive now, seeming to realize that it was in fact finally happening. He looked from one of them to the other as if he was examining their features, seeing them for the first time. "We didn't have the same parents. In fact... we don't remember much about any parents at all. We are orphans, and that was how we met. At an orphanage." He held up a hand.
"Wait, wait, slower..."
"All right."

He closed his eyes and reopened them, gave his head a little shake and then drew a deep breath. He was taking in her information, making sure he got it all. She felt herself giving him loving smile and quickly wiped it off her face.
"Go on," he finally said, and now he was leaning towards her with a kind, understanding expression on his face. She would have expected him to be mad by now. He wanted this to work out so much. He had no idea what was coming. The effort it took her not to start crying just then caused her to bite her inner cheek until she started bleeding.
"I c..." She swallowed. "I came there when I was eight. My father was executed for robbery then and my mother I never knew." Christopher furrowed his brow. She wished he wouldn't. If he looked pained at this, how much worse would it not become? "Anna arrived four years later, she was two then, I was twelve."
"This was where?"
"Oh, in London. Yes... Whitechapel in London."
"I see." How much had he guessed? Had he already expected them to tell a story somewhat like this? He did not seem too surprised at all.
"We..." She had gone through this in her mind several times, but it was hard now that he was right there; his searching eyes, his thoughtful posture, the hands, the face she adored so much. She noticed she was bleeding from a second spot in her mouth and decided that biting her lip was not very helpful right now. She would start with Anna. It was easier that way, not because it hurt less, but because the thought of Humperdink awakened her anger and hatred, which made Charlotte feel stronger. "One of the directresses treated Anna horribly," she said. He nodded, as if he had known that this, too, would be coming. "She taught her the worst of lies. She tyrannized and tortured her." Charlotte felt nauseous and could hear her own voice turning cold and disgusted. "She violated her in every imaginable way..." She could not bring herself to say it, and her face twisted into a grimace that made Christopher's do the same for a split second.
"Wait, every... But you said she, this was a w...?"
"A woman, yes, she would be, if she were human," Charlotte said icily. "These people don't qualify."

He stared at the floor for a moment, then at Anna, then back at his wife.
"These people?"
"I noticed because I knew the signs." Charlotte explained. "Because a priest was doing similar things to me."
"Oh, Charlotte..." His face had a pinched look to it, as if he wanted to tell them how sorry he was but couldn't bring himself to speak. She didn't care about that now; she didn't care about his pain. In fact she wanted him to feel more of it. She wanted him to realize just how attrocious these crimes had been, so that he would understand - and not only understand; preferrably condone - what she had done, what she had to do.
"He used the Bible, you know," she spat bitterly, "Verses from God's own Holy Book, to teach me how insignificant I was, how unlovable and deplorable I was, and how he had every right in the world to beat me - the Lord had given him the right - to beat me, to whip me, to burn me, to f*ck me." Chrisopher covered his face for a moment, probably a rather instinctive act, before he lowered his hand again and reached out to her. He looked overcome with frustration. "She was worse though," Charlotte continued, feeling nothing and ignoring his outstreched hand. Her eyes, her voice and her heart had all turned to stone. "Humperdink was her name - she was worse. Because she took a girl, two years old, a toddler who had nothing and no one, no memories of anything other than the world created for her at the time, and she created Hell. And Anna... She was just a baby!"

Christopher's hand had landed on her knee. It felt so good, and at the same time so invading. She brushed it off with a swift, hard movement and regretted it the second she had done so. He got to his feet and started pacing. Charlotte bent over her sister and kissed her head. "Oh, God, I'm so sorry," she whispered. She sensed her husband pausing now and then to look at them before he continued his restless walk around the room.
"Who are these people?" he asked finally, "Who were they? Are they still alive?" Charlotte jumped at the sound of the anger in his voice. He had never sounded like that before, not that she could remember.
"No. They were murdered," she said silently. He stopped and looked at her.
"Well, good!" he erupted all of a sudden, and Charlotte jerked again. This was unlike him. "Did they ever find out who did it?"
"No."
"That's a shame. I would have liked to have a chat with him; share my appreciation," he said, and he sounded almost as bitter as she had done a few minutes ago.

This was it. This was the point of no return.

"You can." She felt her breath quickening and she could hear nothing but her pulse seemingly pounding against the walls of her head. "But you might not appreciate it so much when you find out who did it, and it's not a him. It was a woman who killed them."
"A woman? You know her? You know who k -" He stopped mid-sentence because he had turned towards her and spotted her face. She was hard, pale, surprisingly collected, but her lips were trembling.

"You did," he said, more to himself than to her.
"I did."

Anna thought that Christopher might have believed her. She didn’t look, but he was silent, like he was trying to decide what to say. And then Charlotte decided to be unhelpful and go and ruin her effort by telling Christopher, “Well... None of that was true.” Anna pinched her sister where she was curled into her side, hard, but where Christopher wouldn’t see. Did Charlotte have to tell him? Didn’t she realise what Anna was trying to do? They could tell him all the truth that needed to be told, and then they’d tell him it was Anna’s fault, and then Charlotte would be safe. So Anna tried again, telling Christopher, “Yes it was! It was all true!” But she said it into Charlotte’s side, because she couldn’t look at Christopher.

There was a moment of silence, and then Christopher said, “Right.”
Anna looked up hopefully. He believed her! She was about to tell him that he was correct and just as soon as they finished telling him she would leave, since he would then hate her, and that she didn’t mind because she understood that and hoped he would have a happy life with Charlotte when he shook his hand and added, “Well, first of all: Ow!”
Anna gasped. She’d hurt him! Why did she do that? She was always like that, hurting the people she cared about, just by existing. And this time she’d slapped him and done it on purpose. “I—I’m sorry!” Anna squeaked. “I—I didn’t m-mean, no I—I did, b-b-but I’m sorry!”
He ignored her completely, as did Charlotte, and Anna curled back into her sister’s side as Christopher refused to hate her out of hand. Neither of them knew what was good for them! She was expendable! It could be blamed on her!

Their words became a muted buzz in Anna’s ears. She heard them, but nothing registered. Why couldn’t they see? It was best if she was at fault. It was better for everyone. Finally, Charlotte drew in a breath, and began to tell Christopher about them. “We are not... We have not told you the truth about our background.”
Anna seized the opportunity. “B-because I didn't w-want to!” She wished her voice weren’t so soft and scared, and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. She needed to be believed. She needed to be believable. Anna watched Christopher’s face as Charlotte continued. Christopher believed her. She needed to be like Charlotte here. There were tear-tracks on Anna’s cheeks, but her face was calmer underneath, and she began to emulate her sister as Charlotte continued.
“We didn't come from a wealthy family. We're not even... We are not biologically related.”

Anna had to clarify that one for Christopher, in case he missed Charlotte’s intent. “We are sisters,” she said calmly.
Charlotte continued. Christopher stopped her. He had to have time to take it in. Everything he had thought he knew about them was wrong. Who could blame him? They were sneaks, but at the end of this, Anna was determined, he would only think it of her. Not Charlotte. Eventually, Charlotte went on. Her voice broke right before she admitted, “I came there when I was eight. My father was executed for robbery then and my mother I never knew.” Anna, sitting straight beside Charlotte now, patted her sister and squeezed her hand. She could not do this well. She sat like a stone beside Charlotte, practising for the moment, and not one tear fell from her eyes as Charlotte told of what had happened to Anna at the orphanage.

But there was blood on Charlotte’s teeth. Anna saw that her sister was not as composed as she seemed. It was understandable. Anna would be crying now, if she had to tell this part herself. But hearing Charlotte say it, knowing that Charlotte felt nothing of disgust for Anna while she did, only love for her sister and hatred for Humperdink, was calming. It was not as horrible as she had expected, for Christopher to know this. Looking at Christopher, Anna suddenly knew why. Christopher would not hate her for something she had not done. He would only hate her for her own actions. A great burst of love, nearly what she felt for Charlotte, welled up in her heart. He was such a good man. And he could not be allowed to leave Charlotte.

The story continued, and Anna only listened. Finally Christopher came to a part that was so shocking to him, he asked for clarification. “Wait, every... But you said she, this was a w...?”
Charlotte replied, “A woman, yes, she would be, if she were human. These people don't qualify.”
Anna agreed. They did not. They were like animals, but worse. No animal would purposefully cause such senseless pain. They were demons, needing to be exorcised. But unfortunately for Charlotte and Anna, there had been no herd of pigs to cast them into, only an orphanage of children, and there they had wreaked their havoc.
And Charlotte told Christopher exactly what havoc had been wreaked. “…to beat me, to whip me, to burn me, to f*ck me. She was worse though. Humperdink was her name - she was worse. Because she took a girl, two years old, a toddler who had nothing and no one, no memories of anything other than the world created for her at the time, and she created Hell. And Anna... She was just a baby!”

Christopher covered his face with his hands, but it wasn’t because he was ashamed to know Charlotte or Anna. Anna could tell. He was ashamed that he had not known, that all this time he had not known. It was that unspeakable feeling, that even though there was no way he could have known, he should have; he should have understood their pain. His hand landed on Charlotte’s knee as he looked up, but she cast it away.
“Oh, God, I'm so sorry,” she whispered immediately afterwards, and kissed Anna’s head; even Anna could not tell if it was to Christopher, or to Anna.
Christopher got up and began to pace. Anna calmly watched him circle the room. It would come soon now. His love would force him to ask. And it did: “Who are these people? Who were they? Are they still alive?”
He was angry. Somehow, Anna was not afraid. He was not angry at them. And he would not be. He would only be angry at her, later.
Charlotte was startled and jumped, though. Finally, she answered the truth. “No. They were murdered.”

Now Christopher would know. He would know, and it was time that Anna began to take responsibility. But he spoke before she could. “Well, good! Did they ever find out who did it?”
Anna stared at him. How could he not know? How could he not? Everything pointed at them. Did he think that they thought so little of him that he would out of hand dismiss them for being orphans, even once with such ghastly backgrounds? But then she realised. It wasn’t in him to suspect. He simply did not think that way.
Charlotte answered, “No.”
“That's a shame. I would have liked to have a chat with him; share my appreciation,” Christopher said bitterly. He was angry. He was angry at what had been done to them. But he still didn’t suspect, because he was too much in love, or too naïve, or too good.
And then Charlotte said, “You can.” Anna’s breath hitched. No, no, she should not tell him like this.

But her sister continued, “But you might not appreciate it so much when you find out who did it, and it's not a him. It was a woman who killed them.”
Anna’s eyes closed, calmly. It was done. He would know now. And now she would lie, and take the blame. Everything would be fine. It really would. Charlotte would be okay, Christopher would remain married to her. She opened her eyes, and saw it on his face before he even spoke. “A woman? You know her? You know who k—” He knew.
“You did,” he confirmed softly.
Charlotte admitted guilt just as quietly. “I did.”
Anna could feel her sister tremble with fear. She was so scared, so scared that Christopher would leave her. Anna knew that was the problem; Charlotte was resourceful enough that she would have no fear of escaping the authorities, no fear of starting over again. She was only afraid of losing Christopher. Anna looked at her brother-in-law.

No. No, he couldn’t think it was Charlotte. He couldn’t be allowed to believe that. Now was the time. This was it. This was what all those years of trying to be strong had been in preparation for. This was where the penny dropped on Christopher, but that penny had to land on the side, avoiding Charlotte. Anna had to change its trajectory. This was where she had to be believed. She would be believed. Summoning all the imagination she had, all the facts she had, and all the examples of strength that Charlotte had given her in a lifetime, Anna mixed them together to create a story. She loved to tell stories, and now her sister’s marriage depended on it. She would tell the most convincing story ever; she would tell their story, but she would make it her own. Calmly, strongly, Anna sat on the sopha and spoke to Christopher, putting an arm around Charlotte so that her sister could have someone to lean on. Her voice was cool, and steady.

“No, she didn’t. It was me. I did it. Because I hated them. I hated them, do you understand? I laughed when they died. You can’t know what they did to us. Charlotte is your wife. You’ve seen what was done to her body.” Anna slipped forward to the edge of the sopha, reaching underneath her skirt to unhook her stocking. Pulling it down, she extended her leg past her skirt, so that Christopher would see the ankle. And the white scars there, small, but readable. “Do you see that? Corinthians 13:4. She wrote that there with a scalpel, so that I would always remember. So that I would never forget. I haven’t forgotten. ‘Love suffereth long, and is kind; love envieth not; love vaunteth not itself, is not proud.’ Corinthians 13:4.” Anna pulled her stocking back up and sat back on the couch, her back straight and without any tears in her eyes. She looked directly at Christopher, meeting his gaze until he dropped his.

“I have those all over me. Song of Solomon 8:6. ‘Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.’ It’s on my left breast, over my heart. 1 Peter 4:8. ‘Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins.’ That one is on my back. There was one for everything. Every time she needed me to believe something. I said I loved her, but I hid? Look on your left thigh, Anna, what does it say? 1 John 3:18. ‘Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth.’ She hurt me, and she knew I was afraid of her. What to do? Look at your tummy, Anna dear. Do you remember? 1 John 4:18. ‘There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love.’ One for everything.”

“You hear me, Christopher, and you think how horrible it is, but you can’t really know what it was like. You can’t really know. They deserved to die. So I killed them. But I didn’t just kill them. I laughed when I did it. Do you understand? I laughed. I tortured them and I laughed. I cut those same verses into Humperdink. I stuffed carrots and cucumbers in her, and when she couldn’t fit anymore I cut new holes. A hairbrush in her leg. A burning candle in her arm. And when I was finally done, I cut a new verse, this one on her forehead. 1 John 3:17. And I kissed her lips, and whispered, ‘And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.’ I kissed her, and then I stabbed her through the heart. You can’t imagine how happy it made me, to know she was dead. You can’t imagine.”

Anna looked straight into Christopher’s eyes, pouring all the honesty she could muster into her gaze. It was a truthful look; if she had simply had the courage to do it, that would have been her story, and not a concatenation of Charlotte’s and Anna’s own imagination. She would have done it. She told Christopher, “I killed them. And I am not sorry.”

Charlotte had always known that her sister had it in her to be strong and brave when she needed to be. Anna herself had not always let it come to the surface. It was hard work - Charlotte knew that better than anyone - and with such a large portion of already built-in self-loathing and self-doubt, she understood very well if her sister felt the need or preferral to hide behind her rather than to stand up for herself. However, there had been incidents lately, during which Anna had surprised her surroundings by displaying a courage that impressed Charlotte. One of these incidents was her comforting Mr. Pryer, the other when she had started telling the Brooks-boy a story. Yesterday she had even dared to confront the Lord Wothersham, which, if you asked Charlotte, would be a considerable challenge for anyone.

But this... This was something new and different altogether. Charlotte watched and listened as if in a dream while Anna calmly showed Christopher her scar, cited verses from the bible and presented to him some of the disturbing truths about her chlidhood. She had never seen her sister act anything like this before. Combined with the anger that had so suddenly manifested itself in her husband only moments ago and with the overshadowing fear she was experiencing at the thought of losing the man she loved and the life she had come to know, Charlotte was petrified. She could not move, and she could not interrupt when Anna began - very convincingly at that! - describing gruesome details from murders she had never committed.

Neither, it appeared, could Christopher. He was quiet, attentive, grave. He lowered his gaze a couple of times, particularly at the points where Anna reminded him that he could never really know - never imagine - what it had been like, but most of the time his eyes met hers without awkwardness. She ended her little speech by saying she was not sorry.
“I killed them. And I am not sorry.” Charlotte wanted to hold her, and to tell her that she did not have to sacrifice herself like this. She understood, now, what Anna meant to do, but it would not happen like that. Charlotte would never let Anna take the blame, and Christopher would never believe her anyway. Would he? She eyed her husband, still unable to speak out of sheer tension. What would she say, anyway? It was his move now; this was when they would know his reaction. It did not matter which one of them he believed. They would know within moments.

Christopher shifted his weight and raised a hand to scratch his chin, but said nothing for a long while. It seemed like time had frozen. For moments, maybe minutes, he simply regarded Anna with an expression on his face that told them nothing at all about how he would respond. He turned to his wife after that, not to seek help or explanation this time, but merely - it seemed - to observe her as well. Charlotte wanted to stand up and shake him, to embrace him or beg him or cry at him, but she was numb with fear. She could do nothing but wait.

Then he cocked his head to the side looking contemplative and wondering, and she realized that he was viewing the two of them with newfound fascination.
"Charlotte," he said abruptly, and she blinked in response because she could bring herself to do nothing else. "Do you remember what I said to you at the ball yesterday, when you told me to 'leave off'?" She remembered that very well, but she still could not find her voice. "Or did you forget it? Did you hear me at all?" he asked. He moved to the chair now and sat down. She cleared her throat and finally regained her ability to speak.
"I heard you," she rasped. "I will never forget what you told me."
"Good," he looked pleased and gestured towards Anna, but kept his eyes on Charlotte. "Tell Anna." Charlotte swallowed. She had been clinging to those words ever since he said them, despite trying not to. ”What is it you think will happen when you tell me, Charlotte?" he had asked, and she had ignored him. "Mm? What will happen, Charlotte? Will I leave you? Is that it? Will I ridicule you? Or despise you?" It was only twenty-four hours ago, but it seemed like a lifetime now. "I will never leave you. Whatever they might be, your secrets. Know that, at least. I wouldn’t. Not for any reason.”
"H-he said..." she had taken Anna's hand in her own. It took her long to form the words.
"Go on. What did I say?"
"He said he would never leave m-me... us?" she looked nervously at Christopher.
"You both," he confirmed. "I don't know which one of you did what. I know you promised me to tell the truth today, and maybe you have, maybe you are both guilty and each is trying to take the whole blame, but please..." He took their hands and a "Goodness, you're cold" escaped him before he continued. "Hate you?! I could nev... - The simple fact that you have told me this... If it's all..."

He sighed and sank forward to look at his knees again. "Tell me one thing truthfully."
"I will not lie tonight, I promise. I will not lie again." Charlotte had found her voice, finally, although it was still shaky. A tiny hope was growing in her chest.
"Did you marry me... to...?"
"I married you because I loved you! I love you!" she could hear herself sounding desperate, but she did not care. He had to understand this, he had to believe this, if nothing else. Damn her for not remembering to say this first of all! "I love you!" Charlotte slid down from the sopha and landed on her knees in front of him. "I never lied about that!" He looked at her and his lips quivered slightly. Then he nodded. "Do you believe me?" she whispered. "Please believe me..." He nodded again. She turned to Anna. "We love him, don't we Anna, we love him?"
"Shhh, easy, easy..." He took her and squeezed her to his chest. Then he reached his other arm out for Anna. "I love you too, and I meant what I said yesterday. I would not leave you for any reason, and I would never hate you. You're my girls." He smiled at Anna. "Right?"
Charlotte sobbed uncontrollably into his waistcoat.

Anna watched, holding her breath and trying very hard to be like Charlotte. But it was so very hard to stay like this, to meet Christopher’s eyes. How did her sister manage to do it all the time? If he would just believe her, if he would just say something so that she knew he would stay with Charlotte, it would be easier. Her sister shifted under her arm, just slightly, and Anna knew that Charlotte had figured it out now. Anna could not send her a glance, since she had to keep up appearances and her eyes were glued to Christopher, but she hoped desperately that Charlotte would do herself a favour this time and not say anything. A long, long moment passed, and nobody said anything. Christopher only put his hand to his chin, and Charlotte remained quiet. Anna hoped. She would be believed. Charlotte was not going to protest, and Christopher… Christopher would do what he would do. And she would accept it, since he would stay with Charlotte.

She couldn’t read his face. He was considering her, and looked at her silently for a long time before turning to her sister and doing the same thing. What was he thinking? Did he hate them? Did he want them to suffer the same fate that Anna had invented about Humperdink? Was he going to turn them in? Or just make them leave? Christopher tilted his head to one side, and then began to speak. “Charlotte. Do you remember what I said to you at the ball yesterday, when you told me to ‘leave off’? Or did you forget it? Did you hear me at all?”
He sat down, and Anna silently followed the conversation between the two of them.
“I heard you. I will never forget what you told me.”
“Good. Tell Anna.”
“H-he said...”
“Go on. What did I say?”
“He said he would never leave m-me... us?”

Anna hoped so hard that a pain started in her chest, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to stifle it. Really? Would he really let them stay? Would he really not turn them in? Christopher said, “You both. I don't know which one of you did what. I know you promised me to tell the truth today, and maybe you have, maybe you are both guilty and each is trying to take the whole blame, but please...—Goodness, you're cold—Hate you?! I could nev... - The simple fact that you have told me this... If it’s all...” Anna’s ears stopped functioning. She looked at the hand that Christopher had taken, that he thought was cold, and didn’t hear anything over the rushing of blood in her ears. He would never hate them. Never hate them. She pulled her hand free gently and raised it before her eyes wonderingly. He touched her willingly. He took her hand and noticed it was cold, and didn’t throw it away. He didn’t hate her, or Charlotte. Charlotte was—oh, Charlotte was talking.

“…don't we Anna, we love him?”
“What?” Anna blurted out, the question making no sense except that she knew it was addressed at her. “No! Yes! I d-don’t—maybe! Why? What? He won’t leave! Oh God, Charlotte, he won’t leave!”
Anna noticed that Christopher was holding his arm out to her and she was off the couch in a flash, by his side and hugging him desperately, kissing his cheek and begging him, “P-please stay f-forever.”
His arm wrapped about her and she buried her face in his shoulder and cried into it. His voice was almost in her ear as he said, “I love you too, and I meant what I said yesterday. I would not leave you for any reason, and I would never hate you. You’re my girls.”
Anna tried to calm herself. Charlotte was crying, and if she cried too Christopher might be overwhelmed. No, no he wouldn’t be, he was too strong for that. But he might get annoyed and make her leave. Or something else even worse. She looked up, the fear that she had hoped too soon in her eyes, and he must have seen it because he smiled the most gentle smile she had ever seen and asked, “Right?”

Anna searched for any untruth in his eyes, looking for some lie, and there wasn’t any. There wasn’t even a speck. They could stay. He wouldn’t leave. They were his girls. Yes, his girls. That was what they were. Calmly she agreed, “Yes. We are. We will always be. I told you for the first time this morning, but it will not be the last. I love you, Christopher. You are my brother.” And then Anna could no longer hold back all the tears that wanted to come out, and they began rolling in floods down the previous tear-tracks on her cheeks. She’d been so bad to Christopher, she’d lied to him for six years, she’d been useless to him and he’d supported her anyway, because of the lie they had told him about her relationship to Charlotte, and she’d hit him, and she was such an awful person, she had better apologise right away. Her tears making her voice ragged, she sobbed, “And and and I-I’m s-so s-sorry I-I-I hit, hit y-you, I d-didn’t wa-h-h-h-ant y-you to to to…”

Anna’s feet gave way, no longer supporting her, and she sagged to the floor beside Christopher’s chair. His arm had been around her; it followed her but could not stay around her at that distance and ended up with only a hand on her shoulder. She seized it and kissed it and hugged both it and as much of his arm as she could reach to her. She continued to cry, sometimes taking ragged breaths right in the middle of words and making her apology thoroughly miserable. “…to h-hate Charlotte. I-I-I know i-it was wr-wrong, but but but I-I’m s-sorry! I’m s-sorry we l-l-lied to, to y-you. I-I’m s-sorry! I’m so so s-sorry! I-I-I d-didn’t w-want y-you t-t-to, to th-think Charlotte wa-h-h-h-as bad, I-I-I d-didn’t, oh I’m s-so g-g-glad you d-don’t. Th-thank you. Thank-thank-thank y-you. I-I’m s-sorry. I d-didn’t mmmurder th-them, b-but I w-would h-h-have. I w-would have and, and and I-I-I w-was h-happy they d-d-died. I-I’m a b-bad p-person I know b-but p-p-please, please ffforgive mmme. Charlotte w-was only d-doing jus-justice, i-it w-was only me th-that w-was b-bad, bad. P-please love mmme. Please. I-I-I’m s-sorry. S-sorry. S-s-sorry…”

Christopher found himself with one woman kneeling on each side of him, both of them holding on to him with a certain desperation, and both of them crying. A few years ago the mere thought of such a situation would have completely thrown him. He would not have known how to handle it; what to say, how to behave. Now, however, it surprised him how calm he felt. It occurred to him for the first time at the age of 41: He was no longer young.

Since Charlotte was on her knees with her face buried in the left part of his waistcoat and Anna was on the floor crying on his hand, Christopher deduced that he might as well quit his seat as well. He pushed the chair backwards and followed his wife and sister-in-law's example. They were all on the floor. Charlotte was now curled up on all fours her head still in his lap. He kept his arm on her, but adressed Anna when he first spoke.
"You don't have to grovel for my love, Anna. You've got it." He freed his hand from her grip and lifted it to her face to wipe her cheeks. It was rather useless, as his hand was already wet, but the point of the gesture was not really to dry her face. "Now, about you hitting me..." He cocked his head and gave her a crooked smile. "If that is the hardest punch you can muster you may feel free to hit me any time you feel like it." He nudged her. "I was only teasing, Anna, when I pretended it hurt me. I am not mad about that." Now that she had let go of his hand, he put his arm back around her and pulled her to his side. "You are not a bad person." He felt a deep sadness as he heard himself say the words. They had told her similar things so many times before. It was so hard for her to believe them. "But now I know why you believe that you are. It makes it easier for me to understand you. It also makes more valid my assurances that you are not. You can no longer think "Oh, but he doesn't know what I have done."" He winked at her.

There was a pause before he continued, and when he did, the teasing tone in his voice was gone. "I appreciate the apology for the lies." At this point there was a whimper from Charlotte who had been crying rather quietly while he spoke. "And I accept it." He gave Anna's shoulder a light squeeze."Do you know - ? It's funny; I think this might be the first time while I have known you - that I can remember anyway - that you have apologized for something that actually warranted an apology." A snort was heard from Charlotte. She was laughing and crying at the same time, and it made her husband smile. He let his hand glide over her curved back and she reached around his waist and pulled herself even tighter towards him.

"I am not mad about that, either," he continued calmly. "The lies, I mean. I knew you had secrets. I knew before I took you into my home that you had not told me the truth about your identities." He felt his wife's fingers digging into his lower back. She had nails, and she was no weak woman, so it caused a stinging pain that Christopher tried to ignore. "I made the decision then that it did not matter, that I would overlook it, that I would wait. I made the desicion then that I trusted you to be good people, that you had your reasons, and that in time you would trust me as well. This is - by the way - why my aunt has been somewhat chilly towards Charlotte. She was convinced that there was something off with the two of you. I said I knew, and that I loved you regardless. - Charlotte?"
"Yes!"
"Are you hearing th - Be gentle, are you hearing this?"
"Sorry. Yes." He had reached around to his back and taken her hand in his to prevent her from piercing his skin. She was still leaning forward in his lap, but her tear-stained face was looking up at him. He had never seen her look this... small.
"Good," he said mildly. Her eyes were so large and her face so pale and thin. She looked like her sister. Except they were not really sisters, not in the blood. Right now, though, no one would have guessed. Her mouth kept opening, like she wanted to say something, but nothing came out. Christopher turned to Anna again. "For what it's worth," he said, "I am glad they died too. And I don't see myself as a bad person for it." Charlotte began kissing the hand he had in hers. He observed her in silence for a moment.
"I love you," she whispered.
"And I am the luckiest man in the world for it," he replied.
"I love you," she repeated.
"I love you too. What are you doing?" She had begun kissing his chest, moving down towards his waist and started fiddling with the button on his trousers. "Charlotte!" He removed his arm from around Anna, took his wife's hands in his own and pulled her upwards.
"I love you," she sobbed again, and he sent Anna a startled look before forcing Charlotte to meet his gaze. She was crying, and even though she looked right at him he felt like she was not seeing him.
"Shhh," He got to his feet and tried to make his wife do the same thing. "There, there. It's been an exhausting day for you both, hasn't it?" Charlotte clung to him for dear life, but he found his balance and hoisted her legs up into one of his arms and carried her to her bed.
"Don't leave me," she whispered as he laid her down.
"Never."


The chilly sheets felt soothing against her back, and the not yet heated air in the bedroom cleared her mind somewhat. For a moment there she had not known where she was, who she was, when she was. Now she did.
"Christopher..."
"Right here. - Martha!" He was calling for the maid. Charlotte shook her head in protest, but he did not see that. He was removing her shoes.
"I'm sorry, I meant... I didn't mean -"
"Shhh, I know." Now he moved on to remove her hairpin.
"I thought... - I was confused..."
"I know, love. - Martha!"
"Is Anna...? Where is Anna? I don't need Martha, I need Anna."
"She's here, sweetheart. One second." He disappeared from her side, and to her own great surprise it caused a new wave of tears. She did not want to be alone. Why was she this weak? She was never afraid to be alone, and she was in her own home! Had she really been that afraid of losing him? Was she really that exhausted? What had she just done - and in front of Anna?! How could she? She must really be that exhausted. She must really have been that afraid. She had not realized, until now, how much she loved him, how attached she had gotten to him. Anna had seen it. Anna had known.
"Don't leave me... Anna...?" She reached stupidly out into the darkness. She did not want him to go find Anna; she wanted him to stay and call Anna, like he had called Martha. Why didn't he stay with her?

But she would not lose him. Be sensible, she reminded herself. She would not lose him, because she had not lost him. He knew she had murdered, he knew she had lied - for years she had lied to the man she loved so much! - and he still held her, he still said he loved her back. She had yet to tell him her greatest shame in life, but if he could handle this, he could accept that as well, and she would not lose him.

They were safe. She wanted Anna. She wanted to be relieved with Anna, to hold Anna.
"Anna?" The voice sounded like it came from afar. "Could you come with? She is asking for you."
"Anna...?"

Anna grovelled anyway, even though Christopher sat down on the floor beside her and her sister and told her that she didn’t have to. He wasn’t mad, and he loved her. She would grovel to anyone who loved her, because anyone who could love a bad person like her was certainly someone so good that they should be grovelled to. Christopher seemed to hear her thoughts, because he said sadly, “You are not a bad person.”
Anna opened her mouth to protest, but nothing came out. Christopher just looked at her and added, “But now I know why you believe that you are. It makes it easier for me to understand you. It also makes more valid my assurances that you are not. You can no longer think ‘Oh, but he doesn’t know what I have done.’ ”

She was going to protest even then, but still nothing came out. He was right, she realised. He did know what she had done. And he still said she wasn’t a bad person. He hugged her to him and embraced her just like he had always done when she let him. He loved her. No one would hug a bad person to them, would they? They wouldn’t love a bad person, would they? They would cast out a bad person and hate her. Christopher continued to hold Anna, and said he accepted her apology, and many other things, but she didn’t really hear. The words just drifted into her memory, and she might think about them later, but she didn’t truly hear them. She was not a bad person. Christopher thought she wasn’t a bad person, and he knew about her now. He knew everything, maybe not the details, but he knew the big picture and that was everything her. And Charlotte had never thought she was a bad person.

They were the most important people in the world. And both of them thought she wasn’t a bad person. They weren’t both wrong, were they? A fragment of what Christopher was saying grabbed her attention: “I am glad they died too. And I don't see myself as a bad person for it.”
Well, of course not. Christopher was a good person, that was one of the reasons she loved him. She didn’t think it was possible for him to be a bad man. Not Christopher. He was so kind, and so gentle. He never hurt anyone, and he always was understanding, even when people hurt him—like they had, her mind said, by lying to him and not trusting him—and he loved Charlotte so much, and he wasn’t leaving her, and he loved Anna, and… it wasn’t possible for him to be bad. So it must not be a bad thing that he was glad they had died.

And then the penny dropped for Anna. He hadn’t known Humperdink or Ormsby. He hadn’t any reason to be glad they were dead except that they had hurt Anna and her sister. So, technically, it would be an even worse thing—it would make him a bad person—for him to hate them, wouldn’t it? But it didn’t. So why was she a bad person for being glad they were dead, either? She might be a bad person for imagining killing them herself, and she might be a bad person for lying, and being a sneak, and any number of other things, but she wasn’t wrong here. As Charlotte began to reassure Christopher of her love, Anna whispered to herself, “I am not a bad person. Not for that.” The words seemed to help, and she determined that she would not apologise for hating Humperdink again. She turned her face into Christopher’s shoulder, and said into his clothing again, “I’m not a bad person.”

Just then he removed his arm from around her and she looked up worriedly. Did he change his mind? But no, he just went to hold Charlotte, because Charlotte was miserable as well, not just Anna. Miserable and crying and… kissing Christopher near… near there? Anna saw Christopher look at her and looked away. What did he want her to do? What did Charlotte want her to do? This wasn’t supposed to… it was… what could she do? She couldn’t do anything. Except leave. She thought her legs might work, if Charlotte wanted to… to… to do that now. She stared stupidly at the floor for a moment, and then realised that she should go now, if she was going to go. She gathered her weight to rise, but before she got halfway there, Christopher stood up and then picked Charlotte up. He was really strong, wasn’t he? Anna knew he was strong, of course, but the casual display sent shivers down her back. Imagine if he had not loved them after they told him. Imagine if he was not a good man.

Oh, they were gone. Anna stared at the door before staring at the floor in front of her knees again. Charlotte wouldn’t want Anna now, not at the moment. She’d better not follow them. Charlotte wouldn’t want Anna to see her crying any more. She didn’t trust Anna to be able to cope with that. She was probably already regretting having let Anna see her break down. She’d only want Christopher now. Want… Anna’s mind trailed back to Charlotte’s extremely disconcerting behaviour. Why did she do that now? Wasn’t she upset? Wasn’t she crying? Why would she want to do that with Christopher now? Anna figured she must have been doing that before, because married people did. But wasn’t that for the night? When it was dark and you couldn’t see what it was that was happening to you? And only when you were made to? Wasn’t it something you avoided if you could?

She’d always assumed that women did that with men because they had to. To have babies or because the men wanted to. After all, if women wanted to do that all the time like men did, there would be male prostitutes walking the streets, wouldn’t there? And Mrs Humperdink—never mind Mrs Humperdink. But the old ladies at the church had told her that it was a woman’s duty to lie still and let her husband do as he pleased. Suffer in silence, they had said, sharing the wisdom of elders to a group of young women that included Anna, and hope he gets it over with quickly—they said that bit right before she fainted. But it was just confirmation of what she already knew; namely, having things… doing… being penetrated was hurtful. But Charlotte wouldn’t try and get Christopher to hurt her on purpose. Anna knew Charlotte was very intent that no one would hurt her or Anna.

Anna’s eyes opened wide. So then it must be because Charlotte liked to do that. Which would mean it didn’t hurt, at least not with Christopher—Anna hadn’t ever asked, but she assumed it must be different from Ormsby because she knew he did hurt Charlotte. That was why Charlotte had killed him. Maybe Charlotte loved Christopher so much that it didn’t hurt but was actually a comfort? If Anna thought about it, they would be very close. It would be easy to feel held, wouldn’t it? Like you wouldn’t be left? For the first time, Anna considered what it would be like to have a husband that loved her as much as Christopher loved Charlotte. Would she love him back enough that it would no longer be doing that with him, but instead be only one more expression of love? Would she ever have someone that she loved as much as Charlotte loved her husband? Would she be able to talk to him? Would she be able to be held by him? Would she be able to caress his face?

One of Anna’s hands rose to cradle her own face, and she imagined that it was someone else’s face, just to see what it would feel like. But there were no features on the face, and try as she might, it felt exactly as if she were holding her own face. Her own very wet face—had she cried that much? And then suddenly Christopher’s voice came from in front of her: “Anna? Could you come with? She is asking for you.”
She stood up at once, reflex terror making her hide her hands behind her back. “I’ll come!” she peeped. She’d been caught. She was being asked for—how many times had Humperdink sent an orphan from another ward to find her, to avoid everyone in Anna’s ward from knowing she was “getting special treatment” (not that they would have wanted it if they knew what it was, Anna thought bitterly), and the other child had summoned her with those words? She is asking for you. She is asking for you. She is she is she is… the sentence rang in her head.

And then she blinked, and two realisations hit her over the head. One, Christopher didn’t care if she held her own face, and two, she was asking for Anna, and she was not Humperdink, she was Charlotte. A beaming smile burst over her face, shining through the wetness that covered it. Charlotte was crying, but she was calling for Anna anyway! She was going to trust Anna as much as Christopher! She was trusting that Anna was that strong! Anna bounced on her toes and clapped her hands together ecstatically, exclaiming, “She wants me! Christopher, she wants me!” She flung herself at Christopher, hugging him tightly for the briefest moment, before kissing him on the cheek and flinging herself on down the corridor, running headlong for Charlotte’s bedroom and leaving him far behind. She was barely able to check her momentum in time to sit gently beside Charlotte instead of falling on the bed beside her sister. She immediately slipped one hand into Charlotte’s and began to stroke her sister’s hair with the other.

Squeezing Charlotte’s hand, Anna told her, “I’m here. It’s all right Charlotte. Christopher is still here. It’s not a sign of weakness to cry. It only shows that you’re feeling the emotion when it’s there. That’s a good thing. It’s living. It’s all right. Christopher is still here, you don’t have to worry.” Despite that her voice emerged tremulously, she had chosen to emulate the most comforting person she knew in order to comfort Charlotte—which happened to be Charlotte—and she tried to project as much of a sense of support for her sister as she could.

“I’m here." Anna's gentle voice and her thin hand in Charlotte's had an amazing effect. It always did. Anna could make her feel so strong, and yet sometimes also so powerless. She used to be the only person who had this ability, but this evening had made Charlotte realize that Christopher could make her feel just as weak. He, however, did not make her feel as strong. Maybe someday he would. But Anna had been her life for so long. Anna had been her reason. She still was.

"It’s all right Charlotte. Christopher is still here." A lamp was lit nearby to underline that point. Christopher carried it to the nightstand and stood beside his sister-in-law. Anna continued, and Charlotte recognized her own words from a few days ago in the flower-shop: "It’s not a sign of weakness to cry. It only shows that you’re feeling the emotion when it’s there. That’s a good thing. It’s living." She smiled through her tears. Anna had paid attention and remembered. Maybe the words had even comforted her a little? They must have, since she used them now herself. Charlotte nodded through the tears and pressed Anna's hand to her mouth. "It’s all right. Christopher is still here, you don’t have to worry.” He was. He was still there. She didn't have to worry. They would be fine.
"I love you. Thank you." It sounded silly, but she couldn't think of anything else to say. She made room beside her on the bed. "Climb in?" she offered, and Anna did. "Oh, and I'm sorry, I behaved badly in there, didn't I? I didn't mean to. I hope I did not scare you, sweetheart."

The bed was large enough for all three of them to fit in it, and she gestured for Christopher to climb in on the other side of her. He smiled his little crooked smile and took off his shoes.
"One big, happy family." he remarked jocularly as he also discarded with his waistcoat and propped himself next to his wife.
"One small, happy family," corrected Charlotte.
"Ah, yes. We are not so very big. Yet."
"Not yet." She stroked his cheek and noticed that it frightened her just a little bit less now, the thought of having a child. Six years had passed without anything happening, however, so there was a chance that nothing would - that nothing could - happen. None of them had dared to mention it out loud. She knew how fond he was of children. She feared that it would break his heart if she could not have them. It never once occurred to her that perhaps he could not have them.

"Martha never showed up?"
"I gave her the evening off after dinner. She must have gone out."
"Good."
Christopher leaned his head on Charlotte's shoulder and Anna was on her other arm. Charlotte had stopped crying. She was tired and peaceful and thought that this was one of those moments that made all the problems in the world seem insignificant.

(OOC: Charlotte and Anna's next posts will in a new thread. Link will be edited in.)