The Heiresses (5 page)

It was not until the very last second before she set off that the woman had paused and looked up. It was as if she sensed Thalia’s gaze because she glanced up at the very window the girl was sitting at. It was only then, and only for a second, that the woman showed a momentary lapse in confidence. She had paused on spotting Thalia, her mouth falling open a little, as if she thought she recognized her, and had then realized she did not after all. After a moment or two, she had composed herself and raised her hand slightly, in a sort of half wave, before she had turned around in her seat once more and driven off, at rather a great and dashing speed, Thalia had thought, leaving a trail of dust to settle on the drive behind her.

Thalia had watched the car until she could see it no longer, green with envy. Imagine! Lovely, fashionable clothes, a smart bob. Lipstick, probably. Maybe even rouge. And a motorcar! Oh, how she wished she had a motorcar! Imagine the freedom! It was a life she could only dream of—only read about in Lydia’s magazines. There was something in her that knew, one day, she would own these things and be able to wear these things and she was bursting with impatience, waiting for that day that never seemed to come.

Just as she was despairing that she would die at Lintern Park an old maid, amazingly, wondrously, with the woman’s visit, it seemed her luck may have turned. For Albert had come bursting back into the library, bubbling with news. “I eavesdropped!” he had said, not at all ashamed of himself. “You’re going to London! Tomorrow! To see that lady!”

As it had turned out, Albert was, yet again, telling the truth. However, later that evening, after speaking to her Uncle Clarence, Thalia still had only the vaguest of ideas concerning why she was traveling to London. It had something to do with the fabulous woman in her car, who Uncle Clarence believed to be her aunt for some reason or another. Thalia had not been sure if this was true. However, Uncle Clarence was a man of few words and many rants and she knew that if she asked too many questions, he might very well change his mind about her traveling to London at all. So, she had simply listened to what he had to say. It came down to the following:

“Your Aunt Hestia wants to meet you in London tomorrow. At the Savoy at one o’clock. James will meet you outside the Savoy just before one to escort you inside. Here is some money. That is all.”

Before he could rethink his position on women catching trains on their own, Thalia had quickly retrieved the money and had taken herself off to her bedroom to figure out what on earth this could all mean. As hard as she tried to work it out, there were simply not enough clues. For a start, which side of the family was this aunt from? Uncle Clarence’s, or Aunt Elizabeth’s? The woman seemed too young to be one of either of their siblings. Not to mention, she thought she had met all nine of their brothers and sisters. Still, Thalia wasn’t about to argue. Meet the glamorous aunt woman for tea at the Savoy? Yes, please!

She had then spent some time deciding upon her outfit for the following day, before moving toward her dresser to think about what she might do with her hair. It was there, sitting down on the matching small stool, that she had remembered something. She silently slid open the thin left-hand drawer and felt around until her fingers met the crinkle of brown paper. Then, quickly, she pulled out and unwrapped the small, round object. James had given her the compact as a tease last Christmas. Sitting it in the palm of her hand, she stroked the light-blue guilloche enamel lid for a moment, before snapping it open and dabbing the tiniest amount of powder onto her nose and chin with the small, round puff. On the other side of the compact lay the almost untouched rouge. No one dared to wear rouge around her uncle, not even Lydia. Her heart was beating loudly in her chest with just the few dabs of powder. Finally, she slipped on the finger ring that was attached by a small chain to the compact itself. “It’s a flapper compact,” James had teased her. “You wear the ring so you won’t lose it when you’re dancing the Charleston all night long, champagne in hand.”

Thalia hadn’t blamed James for laughing. There wasn’t much call for flapper compacts at Lintern Park. Certainly, no one danced anything all night long and she doubted whether a bottle of celebratory champagne had ever been seen at the dinner table. If it had, it had been well over a decade ago. James knew how she loved the fabulous flappers in Lydia’s magazines, however, which was why he teased. James loved to tease and not always in a socially acceptable manner such as this, the sort of tease his fiancée could join in.

James had always possessed a cruel streak. Everyone in the family did. Thinking of this, Thalia’s eyes had slid sideways on her dressing table to a small pair of nail scissors. Three years ago, one of James’s friends, staying at Lintern Park as a guest, had entered her bedroom, and her bed, unexpectedly while she slept. When he had again tried this trick the following night, she had stabbed him in the arm with her nail scissors, hidden under her pillow. Awakened to the noise, James was on the landing when his friend emerged from her bedroom. He had done nothing but telephone for the family doctor and hold up his friend’s story about tripping on the edge of a rug while he was trimming his nails. Nothing more was ever said of it between them.

Thalia wasn’t sure why she kept the nail scissors, no longer in use, on her dressing table. With James no longer living at Lintern Park, there were no more young male guests to fight off. In fact, there were no guests at all. She supposed she kept them as a remembrance of sorts. Sometimes, just a glance at those nail scissors was all she needed to be reminded of what she could do if she needed to. That she was self-sufficient. That she was strong enough and old enough now to look after herself. With time, she’d grown more than used to Hugh and James’s tricks and taunts and Uncle Clarence and Aunt Elizabeth’s blatant lack of interest in her. Now she played as well as the rest of the Haigh Parkers. The scissors were tangible proof of this. Thalia had taken the compact and slipped it into her coat pocket with a pat—it was just the thing to take to London.

“Thalia!” Albert’s voice had called out in the hall, as he knocked on her door.

“What now?” Thalia had called out, crossly, turning from her place at her dressing table.

“I have to give something to you. It’s from Father.”

Thalia had run over to the door, scrubbing at her face to rid it of the powder, hoping Uncle Clarence hadn’t changed his mind about her journey. “What is it?” she had said as she tugged the door open and looked down at Albert.

“This,” he had said, handing over the strangest object. Of all things, it was a small, hand-embroidered heart, obviously made with some care and also some time ago, as it seemed slightly faded. “He said you need to take it with you.”

Now, Thalia checked her coat pocket to see if the heart was still there. Yes, there it was, nestled right into the bottom of the pocket. The taxi pulled up with a jolt outside the Savoy, waking her from her daydream about the previous day’s events, and Thalia took her hand from her pocket before paying the driver and opening the door to exit. As she did so, she drew a deep breath and made herself a promise. If this was her out, she was going to take it. No, she was going to grab onto it and run. Run for her very life. No more Lintern Park. No more Uncle Clarence and his odd ways, no more Aunt Elizabeth and her sickroom, no more Albert and his annoyances. Thalia wasn’t sure what her alternatives would be here in London, but surely anything must be better than returning on that train.

James was waiting right where he was supposed to be. As Thalia made her way over to him, she tried to keep her expression blank, not wanting James to know that she had been thinking about the events of the past just minutes before (namely, the scissors incident), or to guess at her excitement regarding running away forever. James had fled Lintern Park as fast as his legs would carry him as well, but while he would understand, he was not to be trusted. He was a Haigh Parker through and through, and would trade on her information as soon as look at her. Thalia knew well enough to keep her cards close to her chest.

It proved difficult, however, to keep this straight face. Even the vaguest thought of being free of Lintern Park forever was too much to suppress. So, Thalia put on a different sort of excited face and, as she ran up to James, she took her hat off and shook her hair out.

“What happened to you?” he asked, eyeing both her hair and makeup.

Thalia grinned. “Let’s just say I had an adventure. You don’t happen to have any money on you, do you, darling? I’ve completely run out!”

*   *   *

Ro, accompanied by her Uncle Henry, arrived at Claridge’s the evening before the meeting at the Savoy. After a late supper and a welcome bath (a proper bath was always most welcome after weeks of squeezing into the tiny baths at Hayfield Abbey), the pair both fell into their beds early.

In the morning, after Uncle Henry had consumed his usual quantity of smelly kippers for breakfast and Ro her tea, toast, and marmalade, Uncle Henry suggested a stroll to Speakers’ Corner in Hyde Park. Ro was immediately wary, having been dragged along to Speakers’ Corner with Uncle Henry on numerous occasions before. “Only if you promise not to make a spectacle of yourself,” she told him, dabbing her mouth with her napkin.

“But I only go there to make a spectacle of myself!” Uncle Henry protested.

Ro shook her head indulgently, placing her napkin on the table before her. “Oh, all right then. We have the time to spare and I suppose I wouldn’t know I was really in London unless we went to Speakers’ Corner so you could interject something or other. Just give me ten minutes. I must telephone the dressmaker about some clothes. I hope that’s all right.”

“Oh, well…” Her uncle looked slightly taken aback, which was odd. Usually he encouraged Ro to take care of such matters, so he himself did not have to bother about them. “Only I think I must have misplaced the dressmaker’s bill last time and they have … well, let us say they are not encouraging us to return, I’m afraid.”

“Oh, Uncle Henry,” Ro said. “You should have told me!’ Although an unusual state of affairs, Aunt Charlotte had taken care of all matters concerning money before her death, not only those matters concerning the household. She’d had to, for obvious reasons. “Let’s not worry about it now. We’ll simply go out. Come on, then. Get your coat.”

The pair took their time walking through Mayfair and down Park Lane to Hyde Park Corner. As soon as Uncle Henry encountered his first speaker, he immediately began pooh-poohing arguments, picking apart theories, shaking his head rather too vigorously, and calling out his favorite catchphrase, “Logic, man! Where is the logic?!”

Ro stood back and leaned on a railing until Uncle Henry had had his fill. Then, when she could bear the shouting no more (Uncle Henry’s, that is, not the poor speaker he was listening to, who was having trouble getting a word in), she went and grabbed his arm and dragged him past a few other speakers until she found the small sign that said
CATHOLIC EVIDENCE GUILD
. There, she stopped. “Ah, the Catholic Evidence Guild,” he said, calming down slightly on viewing the sign. “Lot of poppycock of course, but always dash good speakers, I have to say. Dash good speakers!”

After ten more minutes, Uncle Henry had returned to something approximating his normal state. “That was refreshing,” he said, returning to Ro’s side and offering her his arm.

“Only you could call arguing with several people straight after breakfast ‘refreshing.’” Ro smiled at her uncle. She checked her white gold and diamond Bulova watch—a gift from Uncle Henry on her fifteenth birthday. He had bought it for her while on a speaking tour in America. “I suppose we should be heading back soon.”

“So you can powder your nose?” Uncle Henry said with chuckle as he indicated that they should walk in the direction of Claridge’s once more. He undoubtedly guessed Ro had never powdered her nose in her life and he was right. She wasn’t about to start, either.

“Now, are you going to tell me what this business at the Savoy is all about?” Ro gave her uncle a “let’s be serious” flash of her eyes as they set off.

“Well, I honestly don’t know…”

“Uncle Henry…”

“Oh, dear.” He faltered in his step. “I knew you would have it out of me. Your Aunt Charlotte would be so cross that I’m telling you anything at all. That I even let you come to London.”

Ro waited, silently. Finally, her uncle sighed, giving in as he always did to the women in his life.

“You know how much your aunt wanted to have children, but that it was not possible…” His face flushed with embarrassment. “Well, after many years of hoping and waiting and … nothing, you were offered to us. On one condition—that we tell you your mother had died, that your father had died also, and that you had no siblings. Ro, the truth is that by the time you were offered to us your Aunt Charlotte would have taken a two-headed monkey from the devil himself. She would have agreed to anything and she made me her accomplice, I’m afraid.”

Ro paused for a moment or two, unsure of how far she could push her uncle toward the truth. “You have told me before that my mother had died.”

Uncle Henry coughed. “Yes, that much has always been quite true, Ro. Unfortunately.”

Ro thought about this. “But last night you mentioned that this aunt appearing is all to do with my father’s recent death. So
that
was not true…” Ro endeavored to piece together the few facts she had. “Did he not want me because my mother died having me?”

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think it was like that at all.”

Uncle Henry seemed extremely uncomfortable with where this conversation was headed, so Ro changed the topic slightly. “In our meeting with Mrs. Burley the other day, she knew who my aunt was. She knew the name Hestia Craven. She said she was ‘progressive.’ What did she mean?”

“Ah, well. Lady Hestia is … how should I put it? Quite a political woman. She was very involved with the WSPU before the war, for a start. Her parents had no sons—only two daughters—and with your mother gone, your grandfather made a special request that his remaining child be able to take his title after he died, thus making her a viscountess. Since her parents’ death of Spanish flu, she has been fiercely campaigning to take her father’s seat in the Upper House. She is basing her case on some act or other. The Sex Disqualification Act, I believe. All very complicated.”