Trembling and gaunt, Rosalie moved around the hotel like a ghost, listening to the sounds of her family as they began to stir. Soft murmurs from Anastasia and John’s room, Drew fussing against Honora’s ministrations, stairs creaking from below. She met Alexander on the landing, sleepy-eyed and hair on end, shirt free of trousers and suspenders.
‘I heard Mr Michaels snoring. They’re back then? Is Florentine all right?’
‘She sleeps,’ Rosalie said. ‘All is well.’ Her words sounded false in her ears.
‘Are you all right, Mrs P? You don’t look like you’ve slept for days.’
Rosalie heard a whisper from James. Eat. Rest.
‘Come down to the kitchen. I’m a whiz at bacon and eggs.’ Alexander started tucking his shirt in, pulled his loose braces up to his shoulders. ‘Come on, Mrs P. Wandering the h
