The Heiresses Read online

  “I don’t see what’s so funny…,” he said, rather churlishly, as he busily wrapped the towel he had discarded around himself.

  As for Ro, she rose from bed now and, avoiding his gaze, crossed the room, clearing her throat as she went. “This way,” she said as she opened the door, then walked two doors down the corridor and turned the doorknob without knocking. “I think you lost something,” she called out, into the depths of Thalia’s bedroom. And she was just about to turn and gesture for the young man to make his way inside, when Hestia’s voice boomed down the corridor.

  “Girls! What on earth is going on here?”

  * * *

  The following morning, Clio paused outside the town house door, wondering whether to ring the doorbell, or to use the key Hestia had given her. She decided that she should probably use the key, having been entrusted with one, but then wavered again about entering, knowing there would be questions about her mother’s health, which she did not feel like answering right now.

  Before Clio had left, Hestia had cornered her and pressed money upon her, insisting she must have at least enough to return home and come back again. To start with, Clio had refused any more than this, knowing full well her mother would be too proud to accept her aunt’s charity. However, in the end, Clio had pushed aside these concerns to ask her aunt for just a little more so that she might take her mother to see a more specialized doctor, in Oxford.

  Hestia had been more than willing to give her the money and had even telephoned the doctor herself, using her name and connections to convince the doctor that he must call upon their house to visit Clio’s mother the following day. Clio had been shocked that such a thing was even possible. She had expected that her mother would have to wait months to gain an appointment to see this much-respected doctor and here he was readily offering to drive to their very village the following day. Simply because Hestia had said he should! “You know you need only ask,” Hestia had said as she kissed her cheek and waved her good-bye.

  The doctor had paid his visit to Clio’s mother the following afternoon. The news was not good. It was obvious that her mother’s bronchitis was getting worse, her lungs were deteriorating steadily, and it seemed the only thing that might help her now was a move to a warmer, damp-free climate, such as Africa or Australia. The doctor had said this all quite matter-of-factly, as if all of his patients had the money to simply up and move to wherever they pleased at a moment’s notice. Which, Clio knew, they probably did, considering his clients mostly consisted of people like her aunt. As she saw him out to their front gate, he had told her something else as well, out of her mother’s hearing: if such a move was not made, her mother would most likely be dead within a year or two at best.

  Now, taking a deep breath, Clio squared her shoulders and entered number 32, using her key without hesitation. This was why she had come back. For her mother. She must do what she needed to do. A move to Africa, or Australia, might not be possible, but even a small amount of money from Charles might mean she could remove her mother from the damp cottage she was living in.

  “Hello?” Clio called out, after she had fully opened the door. She stood just inside the hall and placed her small case on the floor. “Hello?”

  A groan came from the direction of the dining room before someone (Hestia, as it turned out) appeared. “Oh, Clio, there you are. I thought you should be arriving soon. Why don’t you leave your things and come have something to eat. I know it’s a little late for breakfast, but we are having a discussion of sorts.” With this, she retreated out of sight once more.

  “I’m coming!” Clio replied, making her way up the hall. When she entered the dining room, with its clean lines and glossy wooden furniture, she was surprised to find Thalia in her dressing gown, a piece of untouched toast before her, decidedly the worse for wear. On the opposite side of the table sat a very normal-looking Ro.

  “Hello!” Ro said, with a smile, spying her. As for Thalia, she only made a noise again—a similar groan to the one Clio had heard from the hall. “A party,” Ro told Clio, by way of explanation.

  “I see,” Clio replied. Her eyes moved beyond Thalia’s discarded toast, to where a number of items lay strewn across the center of the table. It took her some time to work out what the items were. But when she did, she blushed furiously. “Oh!” she said, not being able to help herself.

  “There was an incident last night,” Ro said, in an even voice. “Thalia had a … friend over to stay.”

  “Oh, for goodness sake, don’t be such a baby.” Thalia removed her head from her hands to look up at Ro.

  Ro simply shrugged. “At least I won’t be having a baby.”

  As Clio stood quite, quite still, surveying the items on the table (what would her father have said?!), Hestia let out a long, weary sigh. It sounded as if they had been battling this out for a while. “None of us needs to be having a baby, thanks to the modern contraceptive products upon the table here. I’ll have you know that Margaret Sanger is a good friend of mine and thanks to her, and other enlightened women campaigners, we have many items here from which to choose.” Hestia, standing behind Thalia, reached forward to touch each item as she spoke. “We have Lysol douche, cervical caps, diaphragms with diaphragm introducers, and…”

  “Oh, Hestia,” Thalia groaned again. “Please, don’t.”

  “My dear, this is nothing to entertain silly girlish notions about. I certainly don’t wish to live in a world where women feel they must induce abortions and then die of septicemia because of an unwanted child, rather than simply preventing conception in the first place. And don’t think you need a man to take care of these things, for even if you find a decent one he is likely to take care of one thing only—his own pleasure.”

  Thalia groaned a louder groan.

  “Yes, anyway … I will place all these items in the upstairs bathroom, so you need not ask me for them, but will know where they are,” Hestia continued in a businesslike manner.

  “Thank you, Hestia,” Ro replied for all of them, as Hestia scooped up the items and left the room. Then Ro laughed as she caught Clio’s expression. “You look as if you’d like to die!”

  “I’d like to die,” Thalia piped up. She propped her head onto one hand and looked up at Clio. “So, you decided to come back?”

  Clio frowned. “But of course. We did agree to work together…”

  “I think what Thalia means is, how is your mother?” Ro asked.

  “Quite well this morning, thank you,” Clio responded. It was the truth. Clio had been quite heartened on seeing her mother this morning, after spending half the night tossing and turning, prepared to see her much worse for not having already moved her to sunnier climes. Perhaps her mother was putting on a good show because it was she who had coerced Clio into returning to the city, concerned with her waning health and that Clio would not have enough money to live on after her eventual demise. Clio had not wanted to hear any of this kind of talk, of course, but still yearned for money in the hope of improving her mother’s condition.

  “Excellent,” Ro said, with a decided nod. “Now, you had better sit down. We have news for you. As it turns out, I have discovered that we may be sisters after all…”

  * * *

  It took some time for Ro to explain what she learned at the university and slightly longer again for this information to sink into Clio’s head. “But that’s…” Clio sat at the table now and shook her head.

  “Amazing?” Ro finished for her.

  “When you said that—at the Savoy—that we couldn’t be sisters…”

  “I’m sorry.” Ro stretched her hand out toward her, across the table. “I didn’t know. It might only be the three of us who have any idea.”

  “Oh, and we haven’t told Hestia,” Thalia added, quickly. “In case you were thinking of discussing it with her.”

  Clio thought about what both girls had said for a moment or two. She stared at the grain of the wood on the highly polished table and, the longer she
stared, the more she realized something didn’t feel quite right. Suddenly, she looked up. “No,” she whispered, glancing from Thalia to Ro. “Hestia already knows, or has guessed.”

  “What?” Thalia was instantly on the attack. “How do you know that?” she hissed, glancing quickly over her shoulder to see if Hestia was returning.

  “The other day, when we were looking at the photographs, she told me I was ‘the image of my father.’ Don’t you remember? There was just something about the way she said it. It was as if there was more to it. And there is. I mean, all of us could see that I look nothing like the man in the photograph she was showing us. Nothing at all!”

  “Clio’s right,” Ro told Thalia. “It was strange.”

  Looking slightly less sorry for herself, Thalia began to eat her toast. “That’s it, then. If Hestia knows that much, or at least guesses that much, then there’s probably more she hasn’t told us, too.”

  Clio bit her lip, hoping that this might mean a speedy resolution to this standoff situation with Charles. “What do we do now?” she asked quietly.

  Thalia glanced at Ro before speaking. “I say we start by getting every last piece of information we can out of Hestia. Ro’s already been working on her.” Thalia turned to Clio.

  “I wouldn’t put it quite that way,” Ro said with a sigh. “I need to get the full names of the other people who were present at our birth. Hestia has been … reluctant to give them to me, but I think she’ll tell me. Eventually. It might take a little time, though.”

  “What do we do in the meantime?” Clio asked.

  “Well, Thalia busied herself buying a car. And a dog,” Ro replied, rather cryptically, Clio thought. “Where is Haggis McTavish, by the way?”

  “Asleep on my bed,” Thalia said. “And it’s Sir Haggis McTavish.”

  Ro saw that Clio was looking more than slightly confused. She waved a hand. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Mmm…” Thalia waved a hand as well, her mouth full of toast. “I forgot to tell you. You’ll never guess who I met at the party last night. That girl. From the Savoy—the one who wanted our cucumber sandwich. Venetia Saville, her name is. And she’s fabulous. So much fun! She’s invited me to another party—tonight,” she said, triumphantly, as she looked from one sister to the other. There was a pause. “I suppose you could both come. If you’d like.”

  Ro rolled her eyes. “You’re obviously dying for us to say yes to that invitation, so I’ll say no, thanks.”

  Clio merely shook her head.

  “Maybe we could take a walk this morning?” Ro tried.

  “Fascinating.” Thalia licked some honey from one finger. “How about we skip the walk and go for a motor around town instead. Then we stop and I treat you both to a new outfit. Heaven knows you both need at least one. And don’t act all offended because you know you do. Desperately.”

  Clio didn’t seem so sure. “But what about finding out the truth?” she asked, obviously still thinking only of her mother.

  “Ro has that covered,” Thalia answered quickly. “She can’t ambush Hestia, can she? Give her some time, Clio! Anyway, it won’t hurt you to live a little while you’re here. You know, it might even be good for you.”

  * * *

  Thalia took Clio and Ro on quite the drive. Ro was surprised to find that Thalia was actually a reasonably good driver—adept at ducking and weaving the large motorcar through the crowded streets. It was a beautiful spring day and they took advantage of the sun and the crisp, but not too chilly, air, driving up by Hyde Park and around Kensington Gardens. Ro had to admit, as she sat in the back of the car with Clio and watched the world go by (Sir Haggis McTavish sat in the front, of course), that buying a motorcar might not have been a wise choice on Thalia’s part, but it was a fun one. She still wasn’t quite certain which relative Thalia had begged the money from, or why the relative had been ready and willing to hand the money over, but with Thalia, the fewer questions asked, the better. Next came the fast pace of Knightsbridge, the even busier Piccadilly, and then Regent Street and the shops. “Here we are,” Thalia said as she pulled the car over and Ro looked up to see the distinctive black and white Tudor façade of Liberty, before turning to Clio. Clio, however, was busy looking rather confused. It seemed she had gone to undo her coat and a button had come off in her hand. Now, she held it up for Ro to see. “Perhaps Thalia was right after all,” she said with a small smile.

  * * *

  “It’s like another world,” Clio said in awe, as they paused in the middle of the store to look upward. Floor after floor of thick, dark wooden panels, with intricately carved columns supporting the next level, framed the view all the way to the contrasting light-filled glass roof. The three stood in the midst of a sea of sumptuous silk scarves and rich fabrics and admired their surroundings before making their way to the ladies wear department.

  There, Thalia immediately enlisted the help of two salesgirls. “We are going to need two entire outfits. Coats, shoes, stockings, the lot…” Under her direction, the salesgirls scurried off to collect a variety of clothing items.

  “I don’t really understand,” Clio said, as they stood, waiting. “Why did this relative give you all this money?”

  “Because I’m so devastatingly charming, of course,” Thalia told her.

  * * *

  Over the next hour, Thalia coerced the pair into several different outfits, many of which the girls hated. Inside her dressing room, trying on yet another dress, Ro called out to both of them. “I’m not coming out in this one,” she said.

  “No, I want to see it!” Thalia called back.

  With a sigh, Ro opened the door and exited. Thalia sat on a wooden chair, already examining an outfit Clio had on. Ro laughed when she caught sight of her. “You look as if you’re about to join the Royal Navy. Or at least dance the sailor’s hornpipe.” The dress consisted of navy blue, sky blue, and white check, with a large sky blue bow on the chest. Clio had to agree. It was—she struggled to find a suitable word—a busy dress. A dress where your eye wasn’t sure where to look.

  “That’s what I was trying to tell Thalia,” Clio said with a grimace.

  “Well, don’t worry, I don’t look much better,” Ro said grimly.

  One of the salesgirls stepped forward, obviously feeling the need to “explain” Ro’s dress. “It’s Belgian lace, Madam. We call the color ‘wave crest green.’”

  “Really?” Ro replied. “I call it an abomination of lace. I’m not even sure why I agreed to put it on. I abhor lace.”

  Thalia snorted. “You abhor lace. How can anyone abhor lace?”

  “Well, I can,” Ro replied. Clio thought Ro looked as if she was trying very hard not to stamp one of her feet. “It’s so fussy and awful.”

  “Oh, go on, then.” Thalia shook her head in despair. “Why don’t you both go and pick something out yourselves and we’ll see how you fare?”

  Ro and Clio looked at one another. “All right,” Ro said and Clio nodded along with her. As they headed back toward their respective dressing rooms, Clio gave a small laugh. “We certainly couldn’t look any worse.”

  * * *

  “Are you ready?” Ro called out to Clio. She took a final look in the mirror. It had taken them both quite a while to choose the items that took their fancy, but Ro thought she looked quite smart. She had chosen a soft, low-waisted dress in French blue with loose sleeves and a loose tie at the neck that fell to just on her knee. There was a matching wraparound coat with black accents and a matching felt hat, as well. The color set off her skin and her eyes nicely, making them seem brighter and bluer than ever before.

  “I’m ready,” Clio called back.

  “Oh, do hurry up!” Thalia told them both.

  Ro exited her dressing room at exactly the same moment as Clio and they took each other in. If Ro thought she looked smart, then Clio looked—simply dashing. She had chosen a very plain navy coat, wraparound, similar to Ro’s, but it was set off beautifully by the hat she ha
d paired with it—a ruby red fitted cloche dotted with navy felt flowers. It was sweet and lovely and altogether Clio. “And look!” Clio opened up the coat to reveal its lining, which was flowered and matched her hat beautifully.

  “That red is simply perfect for you, Clio,” Ro said.

  “With your dark hair and skin, madam, red will always be an excellent choice for you,” one of the salesgirls added, before busying herself once more with the girls’ discarded clothes when she caught Thalia looking at her.

  “Thank you,” Clio said, brushing away the comment about her hair and skin. “I love the blue. It’s very pretty.”

  “What do you think?” Ro grabbed Clio’s hand and brought them both before Thalia. “Maybe we’re not as bad at this as you first thought.”

  Thalia stood up from her chair and circled the pair. “Maybe not. I do like that hat on you, Clio. And the blue is … fetching,” she told Ro. “That’s decided. Now, let me pay,” she told them both, “and we’ll find a cream tea. I’m absolutely starving after all my hard work.”

  * * *

  It had made Clio happy to play dress up and push away her cares for an hour or two, but as the threesome sat, demolishing their cream teas, she found her problems came back to haunt her in full force. As Ro talked endlessly about her theories on what Hestia might be hiding from them and Thalia scanned the room for young gentlemen who might go nicely with their outfits, Clio began to fret and worry once more about her mother and how she might possibly change her situation before her bronchitis worsened yet again.

  By the time the girls returned to the town house, it was beginning to become dark and Thalia was starting to talk about leaving for the party that she would attend that evening. Finally, they pulled up outside and clambered out of the car, clutching their many bags and a worn-out Haggis McTavish, who had been taken on a long, healthy walk by a boy Liberty obviously employed to do such things.