The Heiresses (25 page)

But what else was there? What was she missing? Ro kept her eyes closed, but rubbed at her temples with her fingers now, the satin sleeves falling cool around her elbows as she brought her hands to her face. Well, there was the mistress, who Dr. Hollingsworth had mentioned was at the town house in Mayfair on the day of their birth. Even though it made sense, they really shouldn’t assume he had been referring to Charles’s mother. And Mrs. Thompson, the midwife, had thought Dr. Hollingsworth might also know who Clio’s father was. But she couldn’t go back to see him … not when he had been so agitated last time. Perhaps when Thalia calmed down about the memorial portrait, she could make her go instead? Clio, of course, would be hopeless at such a task. Then there was the memorial portrait itself. Ro wasn’t entirely sure how this affected their claim. After all, she and Thalia had no proof that they were the infants in the photograph. Mrs. Thompson could attest to this, but wouldn’t it simply be her word against Dr. Hollingsworth’s? And his word was worth nothing now that he was old and senile. Not to mention Clio did not appear in the photograph at all and, no doubt, had no certificate of either birth or death.

It was all so terribly confusing. Like a jigsaw puzzle with thousands of pieces and no picture to go by in order to start piecing it together. Divine intervention certainly seemed appealing right now.

Ro opened her eyes now and glanced around the room. What was the point of hoping her mother might help? Her mother was long dead. She must help herself, help all three of them, now. So, what to accomplish next? The pile of furniture in the corner was the closest and Ro walked over to it, bending down to pick up one edge of the closest sheet that was covering several pieces. Underneath were several chairs, some resting upside down on the others, and a large side table. Everything was made of thick, heavy wood and the chairs’ upholstery was a rich brocade—amazingly far removed from the light-colored, fashionable pieces that now resided downstairs. The next sheet Ro pulled back revealed a dressing table that Hestia had informed her had been her grandmother’s and a tall oval looking glass on a stand. The looking glass Ro maneuvered until it faced her. She then pushed aside several of the chairs in order to inspect herself in the evening coat, staring this way and that for a time. Finally, she stopped and stared at herself face on, wondering if her mother had stood, twisting and turning in the same fashion.

She sighed. She was wasting time. She really should attack those trunks, which would be the most likely place she would find anything of consequence.

Ro went over and opened the two trunks Hestia had pointed out. One of them opened with a small creak, the other had to be forced back with a terrific shove. There wasn’t much contained within either. A jumble of scarves took up half of one trunk, pushed to one side by three rows of stacked books. Methodically, Ro flicked through each of the books, but found nothing of consequence bar one pressed violet. The second trunk contained several pairs of shoes in various states of disrepair, a tennis racket, two dolls, some lace wrapped up in paper, and a small tin. Opening the tin, Ro saw a small pile of photographs contained within. Eagerly, she sat down upon the floor in a puff of chiffon and satin and began to look through them.

They were mostly family scenes. In many of them she could easily pick out her grandparents, or a young Hestia, or her mother, but others were full of people she did not know. She scoured the faces captured at garden parties, fetes, boating events, and in dress-ups, hoping to catch a glimpse of someone, anyone, who looked even remotely like Clio. She tried not to be too sentimental, or to pause too long and stare at particular photographs. She could do that later. Right now, she needed to be practical.

Several more photographs passed through her fingers until she laid the third-to-last one on top of the pile … and stopped dead.

Dark curls. Dark eyes. Dark complexion. It was him. It had to be.

In one swift movement, Ro jumped up, scattering photographs upon the floor and made for the door, clutching the photograph of the man in her right hand.

“Hestia!” she called out loudly, from the very top of the servants’ stairs. “Hestia!”

As fast as her legs would carry her, she bounded down the flights of stairs, racing across the landing from the plain, wooden servants’ stairs to the grand, wide main ones. “Hestia!” she called out once more.

“Ro?” She heard her aunt’s voice, as well as Haggis McTavish barking, sensing some excitement. “I’m down here.”

Ro clung to the banister for a moment and looked down. Her aunt was at the very bottom of the stairs. She set off again at a fast pace, rounding each corner as quickly as she could, negotiating step after step, and grasping the photograph tightly in her hand.

Finally, she made her way down the last flight of stairs, huffing and puffing as she came to a stop in front of her aunt. Oddly, Hestia seemed equally as breathless. “Oh!” she said, not even having spied the photograph Ro held in her hand. “Oh.” Turning, she sat herself down on the bottom step, looking quite pale.

Ro stared down at her, confused. “Whatever’s the matter?”

Hestia took another moment, shaking her head slightly before looking up at Ro with a wan smile. “You don’t even realize, do you?”

“Realize what?” Ro frowned.

Hestia took a deep breath before slowly rising again. She placed one hand on the banister as if to steady herself and took Ro in from head to toe before replying. “That evening coat was your mother’s. She wore it on the very evening she told me her doctor had discovered she was having not one child, but three. It’s just that … well, when you called out and came down the stairs just now … I don’t think you realize how alike you are. It’s worse with Thalia. Sometimes I will catch a glimpse of the back of her head, or her profile, and for a moment I can let myself believe…” Hestia shook one hand. “But I really shouldn’t talk like this.”

“Why not?” Ro asked. “I know it must be difficult, but we need to know. She wasn’t as tall as Thalia, though, was she?”

Hestia shook her head. “No. Just your height. Exactly your height. And with your voice, but more of Thalia’s looks.”

“And Clio?” Ro asked.

Hestia smiled once more. “It’s odd, but I see so much of Demeter in Clio, even though her looks are not there at all.”

Ro remembered her mission then. “I found this. Don’t you think he looks awfully like Clio?” She passed the photograph to her aunt.

Hestia recognized the man in the photograph immediately. “Why, now that you mention it, they do look rather similar, don’t they? But that is certainly not Clio’s father, I’m afraid. That’s our cousin George. Oh, I do miss him. He was awfully funny. Always making us laugh as children, the little monkey. He was terribly naughty and always in trouble, even at school. He was killed, however. At Ypres. Like so many others.” Hestia’s face took on a clouded look and Ro saw for the first time just how many deaths Hestia had suffered.

“But couldn’t he—”

“Ro, he’s not Clio’s father.” Hestia shook her head, sadly. “He simply isn’t.” Ro’s disappointment was obviously palpable. “I’m sorry. I can see why you became excited. They do look rather similar. The hair, the eyes, the coloring…”

“What is his background?” Ro took the photograph back from Hestia, who offered it to her.

“That’s an interesting question. His mother was Spanish, I believe, from quite a noble family. That’s where his good looks came from. He was an awfully striking man. And didn’t he know it.” She laughed affectionately, remembering. “He did like the ladies and the ladies quite liked him in return.”

“Maybe that’s something after all, then,” Ro said, nodding thoughtfully as she stared for a final time at the photograph. “If your cousin looked awfully like Clio and was half Spanish, perhaps Clio is, too?”

Hestia leaned forward to view the photograph as well, frowning slightly as she did so. “You know, I think you might be right. That is a very distinct possibility indeed.”

*   *   *

“Edwin!” Clio opened the door to the town house the following day, having returned from visiting her mother, who fortunately seemed healthier than she had in a long time. “What a lovely surprise.” She paused, only then remembering his other life, the one that Clio had no part of. “I suppose Thalia is expecting you?” Of course, he must be here to see her.

“No, no. Quite the surprise visit, I assure you. My friend and I…” With this, Edwin reached back and grabbed a man who stood two steps down. “This is Mr. John Hobson. Do say hello, John Hobson…”

“Hello, John Hobson,” the man said with a grin and Clio couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the comedy duo as Edwin continued on, introducing her to Mr. Hobson.

“As I was saying,” Edwin continued, with a nod of his head. “Seeing as it’s such a lovely day, we were on our way to Hyde Park to take in a little boating and I thought we might just be able to make up a foursome, depending upon how many of your charming sisters are at home this morning.”

“That sounds perfect.” Thalia appeared in the doorway, jostling Clio to one side and avoiding looking at her whatsoever. Thalia had not spoken to her at all since the incident with the memorial portrait. “Now, where’s Ro?” she asked no one in particular, but obviously expected Clio to give the answer.

“Out,” Clio said shortly.

“Well, then, it seems we have our foursome!” Edwin replied cheerfully.

“Yes,” Thalia said, looking entirely unimpressed. “It seems we do.”

*   *   *

The foursome, with Haggis McTavish trotting along with them, walked slowly up toward Hyde Park and the boating lake, enjoying the late spring sunshine the day offered. Summer was most definitely on its way and Clio was looking forward to it. It had seemed like an endless winter this year, with her mother being so very ill.

“What a beautiful day,” Clio said, as they stopped to watch some of the rowers already on the lake. “Oh dear,” she continued, looking on as one of the female passengers seemingly panicked out on the water and almost toppled out of her boat. “As beautiful as the day is, I can’t say I fancy a swim.” Her face took on a worried look. “I’m not terribly good with boats and rowing, I’m afraid.”

“I am,” Thalia boasted, her back turned to Clio. “We were always out on the lake at Lintern Park.”

“Well, I know for a fact that John here is the worst rower I’ve ever seen. Was kicked off the team at Eton, much to his father’s dismay.”

“It’s true,” John said as he nodded, not looking in the least bit upset about it. “Thank goodness. All those early mornings. A vile sport, really.”

“That settles it then,” Edwin said, decisively. “Thalia, you take John, and I’ll take Clio.”

Thalia’s eyes reluctantly flashed from Clio’s to Edwin’s, realizing she’d been outmaneuvered. “But … I…”

“Don’t worry.” Edwin grinned at her. “He doesn’t bite. Not so soon after breakfast, anyway.”

*   *   *

“There you are,” Edwin said to Clio, when the pair reached the center of the lake. “You haven’t fallen out.”

“Yet,” Clio said wryly, staring out at the vast expanse of water around them. Thankfully, Thalia and John were on the other side, making their way clockwise around the lake. She wondered if Thalia would ever speak to her again. First the memorial portrait and now this. She was sure Thalia thought she’d stolen Edwin away yet again. Clio didn’t see how Thalia could possibly think that she had had any part in this, but she would.

“Now, just sit back, because I have been wanting to do this for some time,” Edwin said.

Immediately, Clio clutched at the sides of the wooden boat. “What? What?!”

Edwin simply laughed and rummaged in one of the inner pockets of his jacket for something. “This!” He brought out a small sketchbook and a dark pencil. “You needn’t be quite so concerned. What did you think I was going to do?”

“I … don’t know,” Clio said, blushing slightly. She was never really quite sure what was going to happen next in London, especially when Thalia was involved. And, of course, Edwin was part of that set—the kind that had parties in castles where people … well, where people did the kind of things Clio could only guess at.

“Oh, come on. I’m not
that
bad. Despite what the newspapers said this morning.”

There had been quite the piece about an odd “nursery” party someone or other had held, where guests came dressed in larger-scaled versions of clothes they had worn in the nursery, or as nannies, and everyone drank from bottles and ate children’s food. Several people had ended up being arrested. Clio hadn’t been able to understand why anyone would want to do this, or how it could lead to being arrested. Thalia hadn’t been one of them, thank goodness, but Clio guessed this was probably due to sheer luck, more than anything. “It sounded like a very odd party indeed,” Clio answered.

“It was really rather dull, to be honest. All these parties seem to blur into one,” Edwin replied.

“Then why do you keep going to them?” Clio asked him.

Edwin shrugged. “What else is there to do?”

Clio thought about his question for a moment. “All kinds of things—read, study, draw…” She looked at his sketchbook pointedly. “Do you draw much?”

“I do. Or I used to.”

“Used to?”

“Yes, Mama is furious that I’ve almost given up. She was hoping I’d turn into my grandfather—he’s quite the famous artist, you know. In the National Gallery and so on.”

“Why did you give up?”

Once again, Edwin shrugged that infuriating shrug of his. “What’s the point?”

Clio frowned slightly. “Well, you’re good at it, aren’t you? Obviously quite good. That should be the point—cultivating a talent.”

“Which means I could spend years perfecting my art only to go to war, like all those before me.”

For a moment Clio thought she had not heard Edwin correctly. “What are you talking about? The war’s long over.”

“Is it really, though? Everyone in the know says there’ll be another one. This is simply a lengthy ceasefire.”

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Edwin gave Clio an odd look. “It’s what my uncle believes.”