The Heiresses Read online

  Still staring at the vision before her, Clio had no idea what he was talking about. “Was I what?”

  “Praying,” he answered evenly, his eyes never leaving hers. “I didn’t think anyone did that anymore in this godless society.”

  Clio sucked her breath in suddenly, shocked by his words. “Well, you might live in a godless society and they”—she motioned downstairs—“might live in a godless society, but I do not. For your information, I was praying, as well I might, because my … I…” Unbidden, the tears welled in Clio’s eyes once more. She felt so strange—her feelings crashing over each other again and again like waves on the seashore. One moment she was almost euphoric, the next, desperately miserable about her current, untruthful situation and her mother’s unchanged one. Oh, how she was sick of these people who cared for nothing and no one but themselves and who played awful, horrible games with one another. He was right—it was a godless society. A godless society she did not care to be a part of. Without uttering another word, Clio turned to leave.

  “Wait.” He rushed up to Clio now and caught her by the arm. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I said that. It was flippant and untrue.”

  Held in his grasp, Clio had no option but to turn back.

  “Come on, then,” he said, a different tone to his voice now, unlike his sharp, pointed words before. “Let’s have a chat. We’re obviously both hiding out up here for a reason. If you tell me your reason, I’ll tell you mine.”

  * * *

  Clio was unsure why she stayed on the rooftop, but stay she did. It might have been something to do with the change in the man’s voice. There was something there—something kind, she thought, that needed to be drawn out. She had heard her father speak of some of his parishioners like this before. “He’s a good man underneath it all, I know it,” he’d say about a man who had just performed some terrible deed or other. “If only I could encourage that other man out of him.” It was as if the failing was his own, rather than the wrongdoer’s. Now Clio knew exactly how he had felt.

  Together, the pair perched on a large stone block, which served well as a bench seat, and talked. They spoke of the party, of London, of siblings, of life in general. There were no details—no names—none were needed. “It’s so beautiful up here,” Clio said, when there was a moment of silence. “If I were you, I would consider staying here forever.”

  There was a pause. “Sometimes I think that might be a very good idea,” he replied. “Sometimes I think being alone for a very, very long time might be a better thing altogether than being alone in the crowds of people below us.”

  Clio turned to look at him, surprised by his words. “I know what you mean. I’m not like them. I could never believe that life is all fun and games, or pretend that I don’t care about the people around me. I don’t like lies and falsity.”

  He did not turn away from her inquiring gaze, but held her eyes steadily. “You see, that’s what worries me sometimes,” he said. “That I am so very good at living that sort of life. At pretense. And games. It’s in the blood.”

  “Oh, I don’t really believe that about you. Though, I suppose I might say the same thing, about things being in the blood, I mean. My father was a vicar. He was the kindest man you could ever hope to meet. He saw the good in everyone.”

  “Then you are very lucky.”

  Clio checked his expression carefully to see if he was making fun of her once more. He wasn’t.

  Clio nodded thoughtfully, thinking of her sisters. Especially Thalia. “I was lucky,” she said. “Very lucky.” For her, it truly was all about luck—about which bundle had been handed to which family. It was nothing but luck in its purest form. Clio’s thoughts halted here, however, as she heard something in the distance. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “Hear what?”

  She listened more carefully. And there it was again—she was right. She stood up, hastily. “Someone’s calling my name,” she said, starting toward the door.

  * * *

  “Where have you been?” Clio found Ro waiting for her on the stairs just after the chapel. “I’ve been looking for you for over an hour. Thalia was wondering where you’d got to as well.”

  “Have I been gone that long?” Clio asked, but then realized that maybe she had. The effects of the champagne and wine seemed to have worn off while she was on the rooftop and she felt something more akin to normal now. At least, the stairs seemed much easier to negotiate compared to before and she was starting to feel tired, which would be right, because it must have been quite late by now. And then, of course, there was the pang of guilt that she felt the moment she set her eyes on her two sisters.

  “Come on.” Ro grabbed her hand. “We’d best find Thalia. She should still be downstairs.”

  The pair made their way down the final bend of the staircase and came into view of the party once more. Even though the music had become louder and louder as they had descended, Clio’s ears recoiled at the level of noise she was greeted with on turning the final bend. There was music—in the background—but it was the foreground noise that was truly painful. A cacophony of shrill screeching, crazed laughter, and hooting. Glasses littered every possible surface, the fire roared to new heights, and, in pockets, people danced (or worse—Clio wasn’t entirely sure what a couple in one shady area of the room were doing, but she could guess).

  “There she is.” Ro pointed and Clio looked ahead to see Thalia crossing the floor toward them. With her came Venetia. And, as they got closer, Clio sensed the two girls were on a mission. As for Thalia, her expression changed the closer she got to the stairs. At first she had looked mildly annoyed. By the time she reached her sisters, her expression could only be described as thunderous.

  “Edwin!” Venetia’s high-pitched voice carried over the noise of the room. “You are naughty. Where have you been all this time?”

  Confused, Clio followed Venetia’s eyes to the point they were focused on—behind her. Turning, she realized that her friend from the rooftop had followed her back downstairs. And that he was, in fact, Edwin.

  Thalia’s Edwin.

  “It seems you’ve befriended a truncheon thief!” Ro whispered in her ear, conspiratorially.

  “I … never…,” Clio started, only to glance over at Thalia and be met with yet another murderous look. Thalia obviously believed she had kept Edwin hidden away, all to herself, for the entire night, on purpose.

  “I was busy being naughty at the top of the castle for a change,” Edwin replied to his sister, with that different tone to his voice again—the one Clio did not care for. “And I had an accomplice. Though I’ve just realized I don’t even know your name…” He glanced at Clio now, who, despite her reservations, could not help noticing how he was even more handsome in the light of the room.

  “Clio,” Clio whispered.

  “What was that?” Edwin leaned forward in order to hear better, placing his hands on Clio’s shoulders.

  “That is my sister, Clio.” Thalia barged forward now, grabbed Clio’s hand, and veritably pulled her down the final step. “And I’ve been looking for her everywhere, because it’s time to go home.”

  * * *

  “Why did we have to go?” Clio asked as the motorcar pulled away from the castle, leaving the party behind. It wasn’t as though she was desperate to stay, but she had enjoyed the distraction of the party, as well as talking to Edwin. At least, she had enjoyed talking to the Edwin she had known on the castle’s rooftop. Not the one that had appeared once more when he had rejoined the party, or the one that had made the comment regarding her prayer.

  “Why did we have to go?” Thalia practically spat. “You didn’t even want to come tonight! And now you’re asking why we had to go?! Ugh, this stupid hamper…” She kicked the hamper with one foot, while Ro placed both feet upon it, searching for a little more room for her legs.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Ro asked her.

  “Nothing,” she retorted, “nothing at all. Unli
ke your lipstick.” She eyed Ro’s lips and Ro put a hand to her mouth in shock. “It’s more than obvious what you’ve been up to.”

  But Clio knew full well what the problem was. “I didn’t know it was Edwin I was talking to. He didn’t tell me his name.”

  “I said nothing was wrong, didn’t I?” Thalia replied.

  “Why couldn’t Clio speak to Edwin?” Ro defended her sister. “You seemed to be entertaining yourself without his presence perfectly well,” she told Thalia, busy wiping off the remnants of her lipstick with a handkerchief. “I found her exiting the chapel.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively at Clio.

  “Ugh!” Thalia expelled yet another frustrated noise from her throat. “And so what?! As I said, it’s obvious what you were up to with your odd little doctor.”

  “Vincent isn’t odd!” Ro retorted.

  “Oh, no.” Thalia shook her head. “He only followed our motor-car for an hour and a half from London to turn up at a party he had no invitation to, but was dressed for. That’s not odd at all.”

  “He didn’t really follow us,” Ro said, then thought about Thalia’s words a little harder. “Did he?”

  Thalia simply rolled her eyes at her sister’s stupidity.

  “But why would he do that?”

  “I don’t know, Ro. Why don’t you tell me?” She shook her head. “He doesn’t know about us, does he?” she added quickly. “Why we’re in London? And about Charles?”

  Ro thought back to the moment in the doorway to the castle. “No, I don’t think so. At least, I didn’t tell him anything specific either the other day, or this evening. I’m sure he worked it out for himself that you and I are related somehow, looking as we do. Still, that’s all a bit rich coming from you, who’ve been using the name Craven-Towneley all over the city!”

  Thalia only hmpfed.

  “Speaking of Vincent, he said there was cocaine in that wine of Venetia’s, you know.” Ro looked at both of her sisters in turn.

  “Truly?” Clio said, eyes wide.

  “Truly?” Thalia mimicked, giving both of them yet another look that told them exactly how naïve they both were.

  And then the three proceeded to bicker all the long way back to London.

  * * *

  The following day, Hestia came to Ro with an address for her—the address of the midwife, which the private detective had tracked down for her. “I’m afraid her niece is living in Birmingham now, but I don’t believe she would have had any more information than the midwife would have. She was quite specific, however, that you are never to go to this address. But if you write to her and suggest a time and place, she might be amenable to a short meeting.”

  Ro took the address and hurriedly wrote to the woman—a Mrs. Ellen Thompson—who lived in Brixton. As she was residing in South London, Ro suggested they meet at the refreshment rooms at Battersea Park, in two days’ time. When she was finished, she ran out and posted the letter first class. And then she waited. The following day, she had her reply. Yes, Mrs. Thompson would meet her.

  Half an hour before their meeting, Ro made her way to Battersea Park. As her taxi twisted and turned its way through the streets of London, Ro thought hard about what she wanted to gain from this encounter. First of all, she knew she needed to make absolutely sure this midwife had seen three children born to her mother. If she had, Ro wanted to know what they looked like. Did one look different? Were they healthy at birth? These were the crucial things she needed to know. The most simple of facts.

  When the taxi dropped her off, Ro found she was early. But a slow stroll through Battersea Park calmed her nerves. She took in the rustic bridge and the bandstand, deserted today. She sat on a bench for a while and watched the squirrels’ antics. And then, when it was almost two o’clock, she made her way to the refreshment rooms and waited outside. The refreshment rooms were quite busy since the day was pleasant. Visitors to the park were enjoying the weather—most choosing to sit outside on the upper floor, basking in the sunshine.

  Ro was looking up at the happy groups when a voice spoke in front of her. “Oh, my,” it said. “You do look like your dear mother. And your aunt.”

  Ro turned her gaze to find a small, kind-looking woman before her. “You must be Mrs. Thompson,” she said. “Thank you so much for coming. Shall we go inside and have some tea?”

  * * *

  Mrs. Thompson was hesitant about discussing the day of the girls’ birth at first, but by the time she had imbibed a second cup of tea, she was starting to warm to the idea of sharing what she knew.

  “I’m sorry, I know I seem anxious.” She placed her cup on her saucer in rather a shaky manner. “It’s only that it is difficult to believe…”

  “That my father is finally dead?” Ro leaned forward slightly across the table. “It’s all right to say it. Hestia told me the hold he had over you and your niece and I’m very sorry for it.”

  Mrs. Thompson nodded. “That’s very kind of you, miss.”

  The pair looked at each other for a moment, before Ro sighed. “I suppose I wanted to ask you here today as it seems you and your niece were the only impartial witnesses to our birth. We’ve been told so many untruths so often, or information has been withheld from us, that it’s become difficult to know what is real and what is not. I’d like to ask you a few questions about that day, if I may?”

  Mrs. Thompson nodded. And, over the next few minutes, Ro learned what she had needed to know for some time. To begin with, yes, there were most definitely three babies born that day.

  “The third I had to help on its way.” Mrs. Thompson glanced away for a moment, remembering. “For your mother had already passed. The doctor was no use. I’m afraid it was quite a vicious birth. One of the worst I have ever attended. The child was hurt in the process—on her right temple. She may still have a scar.”

  “And who witnessed the births?”

  “Well, there was me, of course. Then there was the doctor—Dr. Hollingsworth—and his Lordship. Your aunt arrived after the first two babies had been born and she fainted before the third child was born, if I recall correctly. My niece was in and out—she was running after another doctor, who was at first turned away. There were others in the house as well, of course, servants, but, naturally, they did not witness the births—other maids, his Lordship’s valet, the housekeeper…”

  Ro made a mental note of this. “No one else? No other lady?”

  Mrs. Thompson shook her head. “No, miss. Not that I saw.”

  Ro paused, thinking for a moment. “And that third child—did it look different from the others?”

  Mrs. Thompson looked slightly taken aback with the question. “Well, yes,” she replied slowly, not quite meeting Ro’s eyes, which Ro took note of. “Quite dark, with curls, the third one was.”

  “And what happened after the births?”

  Over the next few minutes, Mrs. Thompson told Ro the ins and outs of the following few days. How she had cared for the babies and begun to think everything was not quite right when she had been called upon to help with the memorial portrait. When Hestia had not reappeared and she had started to realize the babies were to be sent away, she had quickly embroidered the small hearts and pushed their names inside. She knew that babies given into the care of the Foundling Hospital were often left with small tokens, and it was this knowledge that gave her the idea of making the hearts, which she had hidden inside their swaddled clothes before they were sent away.

  “Your aunt and your mother were very insistent upon those names. And they seemed like such good, kind women, who wanted the best for you. I knew I had to do something.”

  Even though she knew it was improper, Ro reached forward and grasped Mrs. Thompson’s hand. “Thank you so much. I know how difficult that decision made your life. Truly, thank you from all three of us. We have only just now found each other again. We never would have done it if it weren’t for your actions. But I must ask you something. Can you explain about this memorial portrait? I’m not
sure I understand about that.” Ro had no idea what Mrs. Thompson had meant by this statement.

  Mrs. Thompson seemed surprised that she was asking about this. “Well, it was to prove that you and the other fair baby were both dead, I suppose, for that was what his Lordship ended up telling the world—that your mother gave birth to twins, who died along with her, and that a third child never even existed. I mean, honestly! I never thought he would get away with such a terrible lie, but he did, obviously, right up until his death! The day of that portrait was a difficult one indeed. His Lordship was quite insistent that it only be the fair babies posed with the mother and that they both be asleep. It was only later I realized exactly what was going on.”

  Ro’s slight smile froze as she realized exactly what Mrs. Thompson was telling her. So, the three of them had not simply been sent off to relatives in the country—William had lied about their very existence. He had claimed she and Thalia had died at birth and covered up Clio’s birth altogether. That was what Dr. Hollingsworth had been referring to the other day when he’d called Clio the “third one.” And it also explained some of the strange comments Charles had made when they had met—about being surprised to see three of them and how they didn’t really exist. She supposed that Dr. Hollingsworth had helped to deny the very fact that Clio had been born at all. And most likely signed the death certificates for herself and Thalia, along with their mother, she would hazard a guess. Her father’s actions took her breath away as she struggled to maintain her focus on Mrs. Thompson and what she was saying.

  Now Mrs. Thompson simply smiled a kind smile at her, not knowing what she had just revealed. “I only wish I had been able to help your mother. But triplets, in those days—even now, it would be very dangerous.”

  Ro tried very hard to gather her thoughts. “You must have so much experience. Can I ask you something else? Have you ever seen twins or triplets before that look different? I mean, extremely different? Like us?”