Anthony promised me when he returned from speaking to Papa that he would visit soon enough. I tried to believe him, truly I did, but I knew very well that Mrs Lovett wouldn't allow it. When I asked about her, Anthony took no hesitation in agreeing that he thought her a horrid thing.

"But the I forget," he said calmly, almost repentant. "She thinks you a son, does she not, Toby?"

"My mum left me at the workhouse after she started lifting up her skirts," he said musingly, looking to the floor. "I never had much luck. I don't know why I should have expected it now."

"Mrs Lovett doesn't do that," I exclaimed. "And this isn't a workhouse. It's my bedroom!"

Toby smiled half-heartedly, nodding.

"Yes, you're right," he said slowly. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"She might as well, though," I muttered to myself. I attempted to pull my knees below my chin as I did when I was vexed, but groaned in disappointment as I realised my stomach was far too large to allow me to do so. I reviewed this though in my head, and shrieked in annoyance.

"Anthony, this is far too frustrating!"

"Your father will come again soon, Johanna," he told me softly.

"But my stomach, Anthony," I reminded him, looking down at it. I plucked the my nightgown, which was starting to become tight against my skin. Anthony bit his lip.

"It is nothing to worry about."

"You say that all the time."

"And I mean it. When the time comes, I shall tell you."

"What if I want you to tell me now?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that." I groaned, irate by this point.

"You're hiding something from me, Anthony."

"Johanna, please, calm yourself."

"I have no reason to be calm when I am faced with your secrets!"

"There are no secrets here, Johanna, I only-"

"You're with child," Toby said finally, his voice clear and loud. We both stared at him. I tilted my head, watching his expression.

"What?"

"You're going to have a baby," he said in the same, even, clear voice. Anthony's breathing became heavier, more incensed.

I looked at Toby clearly for a moment.

And then, I laughed.

"That's silly, Toby!"

"It was the easiest answer to give," he told me, although he might have been speaking to Anthony, who immediately returned to normal. Toby smiled lightly at him, nodding proudly.

I just about forgot about why I was so worked up after that. There was no point in being angry if I had begun to laugh. We chattered mindlessly for a while, unable to stick to a subject. At least, I could not, and Toby and Anthony both followed my lead.

A fair amount of times I heard voices outside my door, and waited expectantly for Papa to appear.

He never did.

That night went by without my Papa, again. And so did the night after that. In fact, it felt like weeks had gone by since I had last seen him. I soon began to loose hope in the idea, and instead concentrated to the best of my ability on the fact that I had always Anthony or Toby by my side.

Though it simply wasn't enough, I was subsided with the fact. I had grown to love Toby dearly, and could not imagine a stronger bond than the one I had with Anthony. Love could not describe the way I felt for him. He was my brother, my uncle, my lover, my friend. He was everything I needed.

Except a father.

Anthony seemed to take much more care with me since Papa disappeared from us for a second time. Each night he cradled me in his arms as Toby learned to read slowly, telling us a small story from one of the books we had. I sometimes grew impatient with the slow pace of it all, but whenever I opened my mouth to speak Anthony would press a finger against my lips.

It did not escape my attention that my stomach still continued to grow, even in mere weeks. It made me fret an awful lot, but I was far too hungry all the time to pay much attention to that. I also seemed to be constantly tired. And ill, if I might say so.

Still I had no explanation.

One night, I found myself lying in my crib, Anthony stroking my hair gently in an attempt to soothe me into my sleep. Toby had long curled up on the floor, clutching at a blanket Anthony had lain out for him. I felt as if I had a dog rather than a brother now. He refused to sleep anywhere else other than in our company.

"Why must you have so much trouble with sleep?" Anthony asked me wearily, almost pained.

"It irritates me as much as you, Anthony," I told him truthfully.

"You have no reason to fear the thought so much," he murmured, speaking to himself mostly.

"How does Toby manage to rest so easily," I moaned, staring at him.

"He's only young, I'm sure he just wears out easily."

"It's not fair," I muttered, plucking a strand of my hair.

"Perhaps not, but it can not be helped."

I turned my head from Toby, jealous by this point. Anthony's caressing hand had become hypnotic by this point, and instead of sending me to sleep merely put me in more of a trance, unable to speak fully.

There was enough energy left in me, though, to listen carefully to Anthony's soft murmurs. I think I preferred it to his careful touch. He did not murmur words, as such, but instead hummed a small tune. I remembered Anthony telling me of it a long time ago, what seemed like months now. My tune, he said it was.

"Green finch and linnet bird…" he whispered into my ear, his voice enveloped in the song. "Nightingale, blackbird, how is it you sing…"

All of a sudden, I screamed.

The song stopped abruptly, and Toby shot up in his small 'nest'.

"Johanna!" Anthony said frightfully, his trembling hands gripping my shoulders as I thrashed about. "Johanna, please, what is it?"

"Anthony…" I groaned, the discomfort flooding my head. I could not explain it, but there was something unpleasant originating from my stomach.

"What's happening?" Toby asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"M-my stomach, Anthony, it's-" I gasped aloud again, my arms wrapping themselves around me.

"Lie still," I was told firmly, a hand pushing my shoulder back to the bed. I attempted to wriggle from him as his hand gently pushed the blanket from me and placed it on the bloating on my stomach. I winced, still uneasy with the idea of his hand touching me.

"It's moving," he murmured, his voice serious for a moment. I stared at him, the room in sudden silence. All of a sudden, Anthony laughed uproariously.

"What is it?" Toby asked again, his voice more eager.

"It's moving," he said clearly, blushing with excitement. Toby stood up immediately, tripping over his own feet to sit by my head.

"Anthony?" I asked quietly, my voice barely audible. Yet he still heard it.

Without another word, he took hold of my hand and placed it next to his. I winced, feeling exactly what he had felt. And yet, I soon realised it was…not unpleasant. If anything, I felt slightly elated. More so than I could have imagined.

"Can you feel it?" Anthony asked me, his voice more hushed as it breathed into my ear.

"It's so strange," I said, my voice without breath. I believe it had been knocked out of me.

"It's yours."

I stared up at him, my eyes in slight awe.

"Mine?"

"Both of ours."

"How?"

"I'm sure that we'll tell you another time."

This usually would have made me question him more, but I was far too amused to care. Anthony rested his cheek on the top of my head, laughing softly, in awe himself.