I’m awoken by the sound of Mother’s hacking cough reverberating down the empty halls. I reach her bedside quickly, braving the dampness of the mid winter air. Her features are gaunt and contorted with pain, as her teeth chatter from the room’s chill.

I stoke the dying embers in the fire, and turn my attention to the bowl of tepid water by her bedside. Soaking a cotton rag, I gently dab at her fevered face. Slowly her grimacing subsides, and her pained gaze meets mine. “Sophie, my darling, is that you?” Her voice is thin as her milky white eyes search mine. “Yes Maman, it’s me.” I pause to brush a damp curl from her brow, “I’m here to take care of you.”

I wash her arms and then her hands, humming as I go about my work. Silver white tears roll down her cheeks, even as her mouth curves in a sentimental smile. She reaches for me, brushing at my curls, stroking my face with reverence. “I missed you my darling.”

“I am right here, Maman.” I give her a comforting smile in return, clasping her hands in mine as our voices join, and our haunting melody fills the cold morning air.

As I think she might be drifting asleep, a knock sounds on the bedroom door. Without invitation, the household staff file in, pushing open curtains and filling the room with the scent of fresh baked bread and jam. A matronly woman hoists my mother upright, stuffing a large cushion behind her back.

“Good morning, Lady Daventree,” she chirps in a cheery tone, “what’s that lovely tune you’re humming?”

“Oh”, my mother responds, as her longing gaze meets mine, “it’s a song my daughter used to sing for me.”