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the twins were born she was growing old。 her hearing was poor； her sight poorer； and although she didn’t like to admit it； there was much she couldn’t manage。
the missus knew how children ought to be brought up： regular mealtimes； regular bedtimes； regular baths。 isabelle and charlie had grown up overindulged and neglected at the same time； and it broke her heart to see how they turned out。 their neglect of the twins was her chance； she hoped； to break the pattern。 she had a plan。 under their noses； in the heart of all their chaos； she meant to raise two normal； ordinary little girls。 three square meals a day； bedtime at six； church on sunday。
but it was harder than she thought。
for a start there was the fighting。 adeline would fly at her sister； fists and feet flailing； yanking at hair and landing blows wherever she could。 she chased her sister wielding red…hot coals in the fire tongs。 the missus hardly knew what worried her more： adeline’s persistent and merciless aggression； or emmeline’s constant； ungrudging acceptance of it。 for emmeline； though she pleaded with her sister to stop tormenting her； never once retaliated。 instead； she bowed her head passively and waited for the blows that rained down on her shoulders and back to stop。 the missus had never once known emmeline to raise a hand against adeline。 she had the goodness of two children in her； and adeline the wickedness of two。 in a way； the missus thought； it made sense。
then there was the vexed issue of food。 at mealtimes； more often than not； the children simply could not be found。 emmeline adored eating； but her love of food never translated itself into the discipline of meals。 her hunger could not be acmodated by three meals a day； it was a ravenous； capricious thing。 ten； twenty； fifty times a day； it struck； making urgent demands for food； and when it had been satisfied with a few mouthfuls of something； it departed and food became an irrelevance again。 emmeline’s plumpness was maintained by a pocket constantly full of bread and raisins； a portable feast that she would take a bite from whenever and wherever she fancied。 she came to the table only to replenish these pockets before wandering off to loll by the fire or lie in a field somewhere。
her sister was quite different。 adeline was made like a piece of wire with knots for knees and elbows。 her fuel was not the same as that of other mortals。 meals were not for her。 no one ever saw her eat； like the wheel of perpetual motion she was a closed circuit； running on energy provided from some miraculous inner source。 but the wheel that spins eternally is a myth； and when the missus noticed in the morning an empty plate where there had been a slice of gammon the night before； or a loaf of bread with a chunk missing； she guessed where they had gone and sighed。 why wouldn’t her girls eat food off a plate； like normal children？
perhaps she might have managed better if she’d been younger。 or if the girls had been one instead of two。 but the angelfield blood carried a code that no amount of nursery food and strict routine could rewrite。 she didn’t want to see it； she tried not to see it for a long time； but in the end she realized。 the twins were odd； there were no two ways about it。 they were strange all through； right into their very hearts。
the way they talked； for instance。 she would see them through the kitchen window； a blurred pair of forms whose mouths appeared to be moving nineteen to the dozen。 as they approached the house； she caught fragments of the buzz of speech。 and then they came in。 silent。 “speak up！” she was always telling them。 but she was going deaf and they were shy； their chat was for themselves； not for others。 “don’t be silly；” she told dig when he told her the girls couldn’t speak properly。 “there’s no stopping them； when they get going。”
the realization came to her one day in winter。 for once both girls were indoors； adeline had been induced by emmeline to stay in the warmth； by the fire； out of the rain。 ordinarily the missus lived in a blur of fog； on this day she was blessed by an unexpected clearing in her vision； a new sharpness of hearing； and as she passed the door of the drawing room she caught a fragment of their noise and stopped。 sounds flew backward and forward between them； like tennis balls in some game； sounds that made them smile or laugh or send each other malicious glances。 their voices rose in squeals and swooped down in whispers。 from any distance you’d have thought it the lively； free…flowing chatter of ordinary children。 but her heart sank。 it was no language she had ever heard。 not english； and not the french that she had got used to when george’s mathilde was alive and that charlie still used with isabelle。 john was right。 they didn’t talk properly。
the shock of understanding froze her there in the doorway。 and as sometimes happens； one illumination opened the door to another。 the clock on the mantelpiece chimed and； as always； the mechanism under glass sent a little bird out of a cage to flap a mechanical circuit before reentering the cage on the other side。 as soon as the girls heard the first chime； they looked up at the clock。 two pairs of wide green eyes watched； unblinking； as the bird labored around the inside of the bell； wings up； wings down； wings up； wings down。
there was nothing particularly cold； particularly inhuman about their gaze。 it was just the way children look at inanimate moving objects。 but it froze the missus to the core。 for it was exactly the same as the way they looked at her； when she scolded； chided or exhorted。
they don’t realize that i am alive； she thought。 they don’t know that anyone is alive but themselves。
it is a tribute to her goodness that she didn’t find them monstrous。 instead； she felt sorry for them。
how lonely they must be。 how very lonely。
and she turned from the doorway and shuffled away。
from that day on the missus revised her expectations。 regular mealtimes and bathtimes； church on sunday； two nice； normal children—all these dreams went out of the window。 she had just one job now。 to keep the girls safe。
turning it over in her head； she thought she under