We both watched Raphael, his eyes never leaving Francesca, though he talked to his sisters.
‘Them a odd pair. The grey-hair seem more his mama, she so old. They no pretty like him.’ Pearl frowned. ‘Mebe, no easy for them, dat.’
‘No,’ I agreed. Perhaps that might explain their taunting to some extent. ‘And their mother certainly looks little older than Artemisia. I’m grateful to her, though. That poor child has haunted Raphael for seven years. It’s hard to believe he has her now, after thinking her dead all this time.’
‘He look like he ‘spec to wake any time soon an’ find he been a-dreaming.’
I smiled. ‘He does.’ I looked down at my suckling infant. ‘So, he has another sister.’ I saw she watched me now. ‘He slept through the night. He needs less from me.’ I held her shrewd gaze. ‘Is tha
