“Your father told me that he was sitting by your mother’s side, trying to hold her hand as she passed. It wasn’t a gentle death, I’m afraid. Lung disease often isn’t.” Mary looked up. “My mother died the same way. I know. The end wasn’t peaceful. She was gasping for breath, suffocating before my very eyes.”
Mary swallowed convulsively, then trained her eyes on Kate’s. “I can only assume,” she whispered, “that you witnessed the same thing.”
Anthony’s hand tightened on Kate’s.
“But where I was five and twenty at my mother’s death,” Mary said, “you were but three. It’s not the sort of thing a child should see. They tried to make you leave, but you would not go. You bit and clawed and screamed and screamed and screamed, and then…”
Mary stopped, choking on her words. She lifted the handkerc
