The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,255

second strike against Beatrix, so she has to be more careful in the future.’

‘That could have been Stella who got attacked, just because of the colour of her skin. What kind of world do we live in . . .?’ Cecily said softly to herself now.

A world that benefits you, her mind replied. And why was that? Simply the fact that she was rich and privileged and white.

Please stand with us, Beatrix had said to her.

Cecily looked out of her bedroom window where she could see snow covering Central Park in a downy white blanket. Everything looked at peace in this small part of New York, but now that she had been exposed to another side of it – one marred by suffering and oppression – nothing could ever be the same again. She remembered seeing the pictures of German concentration camps liberated by American soldiers at the end of the war, her tears of shock falling onto the newspaper, her mind scrambling to comprehend such cruelty. And yet now she knew that, just like in Kenya, only a short drive from her front door, people’s lives were filled daily with similar injustice.

‘People believe it’s the land of the free, and yet we don’t do a darned thing about righting the wrongs for them once they’re here,’ she whispered.

As she ate her toast, a bubble of tense energy filled her chest and she felt desperate to speak with Rosalind and Beatrix. She couldn’t imagine discussing any of these thoughts with her sisters, let alone her father – or worse, her mother. If only Dorothea had seen her at the protest, standing shoulder to shoulder with the ‘Negroes’ – whose babies she worked to raise money for, but who were no more welcome in her home as a guest on an equal footing than the average fat sewer rat.

‘But it’s true, I’m not one of them,’ she reminded herself, as she drank her coffee. So why did she feel this fire, this need to fight for justice for what she had witnessed in Harlem two days ago?

Because you love the child you call your daughter, her senses told her. And you must fight for her and others like her, because she cannot . . .

Later that day, Cecily took a few hesitant steps and found that her ankle could bear weight again. While her mother was taking her afternoon rest, which had grown longer and longer in the weeks since Kiki’s death, Cecily dressed Stella in her room and let the little girl admire herself in the full-length mirror.

‘Where are we going, Kuyia?’ Stella asked as she adjusted the collar on her red coat.

‘A school, with lots of other little children just as bright as you. Would you like to meet them?’

‘Yes!’ Stella squealed. ‘Can I take Lucky to meet everyone too?’ She gripped the stuffed lion by its mane.

‘Of course you can,’ Cecily said.

Archer brought the car to a halt outside of Rosalind’s brownstone. The snow had only recently stopped and had not yet had a chance to turn to slush, so Stella laughed in delight as she made small, perfect footsteps up the stoop to the front door.

‘Thank you, Archer.’

‘No problem, Miss Cecily. I’ll be waitin’, so whenever you’re ready,’ he said, giving her a wink. It seemed that the secret between them had also forged a bond.

Cecily lifted Stella so she could use the heavy bronze knocker. Rosalind opened the door and greeted Cecily with a warm hug.

‘Welcome, sister,’ she whispered into Cecily’s ear. ‘And you must be Stella,’ she said, crouching down and extending her hand.

Overcome with shyness, Stella hid behind Cecily’s legs.

‘It’s okay, honey,’ Cecily encouraged her. ‘Rosalind is a friend of mine, and she’ll introduce you to all the other children.’

Hesitantly, Stella took Rosalind’s hand and allowed her to lead them through to the back of the large house, until they reached an airy room with French doors that opened onto a small patch of garden. It had been converted into a schoolroom of sorts, with a blackboard faced by five small wooden desks. Bookshelves filled with exercise books and primers, stationery and toys lined one side of the room, whilst another wall was dedicated to times tables, a map of New York and pictures of animals drawn by childish hands.

‘Who’s your friend, Stella?’ Rosalind asked.

‘This is Lucky,’ Stella said, lifting the lion.

Rosalind petted his fur appreciatively. ‘He’s very beautiful, I’m honoured that you brought him. Now, have you been to a school before?’

‘No, but