The Heiresses Read online

  Amazingly, she found she was right. However, as Clio entered Belgrave Square itself, she wasn’t sure whether she should feel relieved or more wary of what was to come. Finally, she found herself at number 32. The town house was awfully big and awfully grand, towering above her. Staring upward at its many floors, she blindly placed the no-longer-needed piece of paper with the address on it into her coat pocket. As she did so, she felt something else in there: the small embroidered heart her mother had given her just this morning, before she had set off on her journey. She hadn’t entirely understood its meaning, but her mother had said she had been asked to bring it today and that was all that mattered. Now, standing beside the entrance, with its large, ivory-colored columns with their ornate tops, Clio was suddenly unsure of whether she should ring the front doorbell, or take the stairs beyond the spiked iron railings on her left that led to the trade entrance down below. But no, she had been invited here to visit her aunt. She must be brave, climb the three steps up toward the neatly trimmed boxwood trees in their smart iron planters, and ring the front doorbell next to the glossy black door.

  Clio took yet another deep breath, which made her slightly lightheaded, and stepped forward, clutching her case tightly in her left hand. She rang the doorbell far more decisively than she would have thought possible, surprising herself. And then she waited for the inevitable. When a maid finally opened the door, she caught a glimpse of the interior of the town house—so lush and superior, with its wealth of marble, shimmering upholstery, and gleaming surfaces, that it all made her feel momentarily dizzy, as if she were in the middle of a dream. Finally, she managed to speak up. “I’m Clio Silsby,” she said. “I believe my Aunt Hestia is expecting me.”

  London

  Thalia caught the early train into London from Kent. When she alighted at Victoria Station, there were still several hours before she was due to meet this strange aunt, who had appeared, seemingly, from the shadows. Arriving early was, of course, exactly how Thalia had meant things to happen, but now that she was actually in London, she was unsure just what she was going to do with her time.

  As she made her way outside the train station, Thalia tried not to stare too wistfully at all the fashionable young women around her. She couldn’t help herself, however. It was difficult not to run up to every second girl her age and beg them to tell her where she had purchased that stunning boxy dress with its stylish ecru lace trim, or the exquisite knotted rope of green glass beads. She knew she didn’t look terrible—no one was going to stop and stare or point—but dressed in the latest fashions she was not. This much was obvious.

  It had taken her an age to choose her outfit the previous evening. She had laid the items that could be paraded in public without complete shame on her bed and set about trying to assemble something passable. It hadn’t been an easy task. The few items that would at least not have everyone in the city pitying her had been begged, borrowed, or stolen from the much more fashionable Lydia, her brother James’s fiancée, on Lydia’s very few visits to Lintern Park (most likely the ones she could not avoid). Thalia had finally opted for her black shoes with the three straps and the smart little heel, a gray check skirt, and a cream silk blouse with a large black bow at the neck, which Lydia had given, swearing it had never fitted her properly. (Thalia had guessed that she was lying and that it was sheer charity, but she couldn’t be too choosy.) On top went her dove gray wrap-over coat, a hand-me-down from Aunt Elizabeth, which was presentable, though a little on the large side. Her hat, however, was hideous—the brim far too wide to be fashionable. No matter how she had adjusted it in the mirror, there was no getting past the fact that it was truly ugly, though she knew full well it would have to do as she had nothing else.

  Thalia would have been embarrassed to admit to any of the girls now passing her by (and she was sure they were all staring at her hat) how long it had been since she visited London. There had been one trip, last year, to meet Aunt Elizabeth’s older sister, Lady Hemingford, for tea at the Dorchester. That meeting had cost Aunt Elizabeth weeks of planning and worry before she found the courage to attend, so scared was she to leave the comfort of her bedroom. Even when she had finally decided she must attend, she had tried to cancel the meeting at the last minute. It had taken Lady Hemingford’s absolute insistence that the two sisters meet as planned. There had also been numerous trips every year when Thalia was younger, before Uncle Clarence’s and Aunt Elizabeth’s oldest son, Hugh, had died in the Battle of the Somme when she was eight years old and Hugh just turned eighteen. Before then, even though she was not her uncle and aunt’s child by blood, she was the only girl and, as such, Aunt Elizabeth had enjoyed dressing her up and parading her in the latest fashions (not that Thalia had cared—back then she was far more interested in clambering Lintern Park’s iron gates to perch on top of the stone urns). But on Hugh’s death, Aunt Elizabeth had retreated into herself, rarely exiting her rooms on the second floor of the vast house.

  Now, as she followed the general flow of people and exited onto the street, Thalia paused for a moment to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. She stood with her back to a brick wall, watching the general public bustling by: the men in their suits and hats, carrying their morning newspapers; the women all fresh-faced, their smiles welcoming the day ahead. Thalia thought of her Aunt Elizabeth once more, as she looked on. All these women. Surely they had also lost their own sons, nephews, husbands. Yet here they were—dressed, walking down the street, talking, laughing. Living. For the last nine years, Aunt Elizabeth had been a shadow of a woman, waiting to die, as her eldest son had died. It was odd, but, living at Lintern Park, this didn’t seem so awfully strange. It was simply the way things were. But now Thalia saw how it truly was: a waste of a life. As hard as it might be, others had chosen to live. And here they were, doing just that. She wondered how it came to be that some made one choice and others the opposite. Thalia’s jaw suddenly set as the realization hit her that many of these women would have made such a choice because of their children—because they had other children who needed them to move on with their lives. Why could Aunt Elizabeth not have made that choice also? It was a selfish decision she had made. Selfish and self-centered. That was the Haigh Parkers all over, though. Selfish and self-centered was the unofficial family motto.

  Breaking her thoughts, a dark-haired woman in the most fetching scarlet cloche hat and matching coat paused near Thalia. She peered to her left, then stepped forward, closer to the road, and hailed a taxi.

  Thalia watched the woman with interest as she went about her business. It was just that she looked so awfully in control of her own destiny. Thalia suddenly ached to be her. So much so, the longing felt almost like a knife to her stomach. To have that control, that … independence. To be free. As the taxi drove off, Thalia fingered the money in her coat pocket. Then, before she could think too hard about it, she stepped forward herself, copying the woman’s hail. To her surprise, a taxi stopped almost immediately by her side, making her jump. After a moment, she reached for the door handle, and slid into the backseat.

  “Where to, miss?” the driver asked her.

  “Why … I don’t know,” Thalia replied. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. She was still rather stunned that the taxi had stopped for her at all.

  The driver sighed. “You don’t know.”

  Thalia chastised herself. Here she was, with a scrap of the independence she so craved and she was doing little to nothing with it. The woman with the scarlet cloche hat would know exactly where she wanted to go at all times, Thalia was sure of it. “I suppose I’d like to see the things everyone else has seen,” she said. “Like Parliament. And Westminster Abbey. Oh, and Marble Arch and Tower Bridge.” Uncle Clarence had been surprisingly generous with the amount of money he had given her and Thalia had found she had quite a bit left over even after she had bought her train ticket.

  In front, the driver nodded. “Why didn’t you just say so, Miss? Sounds like you know where you want to go after al
l. How about we swing past Regent’s Park, then see Marble Arch and Hyde Park, then cross over to Westminster?”

  “That sounds lovely!” Thalia smiled as the taxi pulled away from the pavement. She hadn’t known exactly what she was going to do in London with the few extra hours the early train afforded her, but now she knew. And she couldn’t have planned her excursion any better if she had tried.

  * * *

  “Stop the car!” Thalia called out suddenly. “I have to get out here. Right here.” As quickly as she could, she paid the driver the money he requested. He had earned it well, giving her a wonderful tour of the sights and putting up with all her inane questions. Thalia had viewed everything she had asked to see and more besides, as they twisted and turned their way throughout London, dodging the swaying two-story motor buses and alerting unwary pedestrians to their presence with a toot of the taxi’s horn. Thalia had adored every minute of it, but now a sign had caught her eye as the taxi waited for a policeman to give them the signal to drive on.

  NOTHING BUT BOBS! IT READ. CASTLE BOBS, FINGER WAVES, MARCEL WAVES, SHINGLE BOBS! BE FREE AND EASY TODAY WITH A BOB!

  It took only seconds for Thalia to scramble from the taxi and into the salon. “I want to get a bob,” she said, her words tripping over one another in her eagerness to get them out, as soon as she had caught one of the hairdressers’ eyes. “Please, right now, if you can.”

  “Certainly, Miss.” The woman directed her into a waiting chair and took her coat and hat from her as Thalia struggled to regain her breath. “Do you have an idea of what sort of bob you might like?”

  “It doesn’t matter. As long as it’s short. Quite short,” Thalia said, nodding decisively.

  An older woman approached the pair. “If I may?” she said to Thalia, reaching for her hair. Thalia nodded and the woman undid Thalia’s diamanté clasp, handed it to the younger hairdresser to place with her coat and hat, and brought Thalia’s hair out to rest on her shoulders. “You do have lovely fair hair, my dear. If I may suggest it—a shingle bob would be perfect for you. Your hair is perfectly straight. This style really is made for you.”

  “Is a shingle bob short?”

  “Yes, rather short.” The woman smiled back at her. Obviously she had seen many a girl set to shock her family and friends in her time.

  “Good,” Thalia said with a nod. “Then I’ll take a shingle bob.”

  Halfway through Thalia’s haircut, the girl sitting next to her had her style finished up. She inspected it carefully in the mirror (it looked lovely), paid, and then proceeded back to the mirror to do something Thalia had never before seen in her life. Right there, in public, she proceeded to powder her nose and apply lipstick! Bright red lipstick—the reddest red lipstick Thalia thought she had ever seen in her life. When the girl was done, she turned to Thalia with a smile. “Would you like some?” She offered the gold metallic tube to Thalia.

  Thalia stopped gawking and remembered her manners. “Oh, no. But thank you very much for offering.”

  The girl popped the tube into a smart little ruby-colored leather purse, which she closed with a snap. Thalia became bolder. “Could I ask where you bought that lipstick?” she asked. “It’s just that it’s such a beautiful color.”

  “I think I bought this one just around the corner from here, at Selfridges.” She snapped open her bag once more to inspect the lipstick. “Yes, I did. I remember it clearly now. It’s Helena Rubinstein, see? Just ask for Cupid’s Bow. The girl will know exactly what you mean.”

  * * *

  Even with the hideous hat back on her head, Thalia felt modern and sophisticated, her short hair brushing in a strange sensation against her cheeks, as she made her way around the corner to Selfridges. Inside, she inspected the lipsticks on offer closely. There seemed to be a staggering array of shades available, more than she ever thought possible. She bought the lipstick the girl in the salon had recommended and was just about to pop to the loo to apply it when she realized she was meant to meet her brother James in five minutes’ time.

  In the middle of Selfridges, Thalia stood, torn. She so desperately wanted to apply her lipstick, but a woman was now using the mirror at the counter next to her and there was no time to go elsewhere. She would just have to wait until she was at the Savoy with this aunt person. She raced out to the front of the store and onto Oxford Street. Just as she was about to step forward and hail a taxi as she had done this morning, she saw her. A girl, just like the one in the salon earlier, was applying her makeup in full public view—in the reflection of the store’s window, of all things! Thalia almost laughed out loud at her daring. London was certainly a different place than the city she remembered.

  Immediately, she joined the girl in the window, located her lipstick, and began the application process. It was more difficult than she had realized and several smudges and mistakes needed to be wiped away. When she was finished, she dug out her compact and powdered her nose as well.

  “What a beautiful compact,” the girl beside her said, looking at it appreciatively.

  “Thank you. It was a gift. From my … brother.” Thalia never felt comfortable using the term. Hugh, James, and Albert, the latter of whom was only six years old, were not her brothers. Uncle Clarence and Aunt Elizabeth had made that abundantly clear for almost as long as she could recall. She was raised as a favor, to repay a debt to a cousin. And as far as Uncle Clarence and Aunt Elizabeth were concerned, that was all she needed to know.

  The thought of her uncle and aunt reminded her of James, and Thalia turned away from the window with a start (and, she was thrilled to see, the frown of one older lady) and hailed a taxi. Just as before, one immediately began to pull into the curb. However, it stopped a few feet farther down the street—for a handsome young gentleman who’d also raised his hand at the same time. When this man saw her, he grinned and waved the taxi on, walking the few steps to meet her. “You must take it,” he said to her. “Someone as beautiful as you shouldn’t be made to wait for anything at all.”

  Emboldened by her hair and lipstick, Thalia laughed. He really was very handsome, with his dark pinstriped suit and slicked-back hair. “Thank you very much,” she said. “I will steal it from you, for I’m awfully late.” Then, on a whim, she stood on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. And then, just like that, she jumped in the taxi and was gone, without so much as a wave good-bye.

  As the taxi pulled away with a jerk, Thalia tipped back her head and laughed out loud at her boldness. What fun! She couldn’t remember when she’d ever had such a good time (the reason for this was because she was quite, quite sure she had never had such a good time before). With a smile, she righted her head and looked out the window at the wonderful world passing by.

  It only took a moment or two before the smile slipped from her lips. The world outside that window truly was passing her by. Every day. She thought of the woman again—the one she’d seen this morning in the scarlet cloche hat who’d hailed a taxi. Other women and girls, girls just like her, lived their lives like this every day. Exciting lives. Filled with things to do and places to be. Thalia lived her life by the ticking clock. Waiting. But waiting for what? There was no knight in shining armor who was going to come galloping down Lintern Park’s drive one day. Thalia bit her lip then, thinking. Maybe this was it? Her one chance of escaping dour Lintern Park forever? She would have to be her own knight in shining armor and rescue herself.

  As the taxi wove its way to the Savoy, Thalia thought back over the past twenty-four hours and wondered at how quickly things could change in a life where no change had occurred for what felt like hundreds of years. The excitement had all begun just yesterday afternoon. “There’s someone here!” tiny, pudgy Albert had exclaimed as he burst into the library, causing Thalia to start in the large, overstuffed leather chair she had been just about to doze off in.

  “I very much doubt that’s true, Albert,” she had replied with a yawn. No one ever came to Lintern Park. An
d, if they were silly enough to, they tended to leave again as soon as they realized their mistake. Especially if they met Uncle Clarence roaming the grounds with his shotgun, as he was wont to do.

  “It is true!” Albert’s eyes had widened. “I saw them myself. Her, I mean.”

  “Her? You mean a woman?” Thalia’s mouth had twisted in disbelief. Albert was prone to make-believe, not that she could blame him for his embellishment of life. There was little else to do at Lintern Park than read and make up stories.

  “Yes! And she drove herself. In a motorcar!”

  Thalia had known then that Albert was most definitely lying. A woman driving herself in a motorcar! If anything of the sort had dared even approach Lintern Park’s large iron gates, Uncle Clarence would surely have shot it on sight. Uncle Clarence did not believe in many things where women were concerned—education, for one. Thalia had been privately tutored in French and had endured many a piano lesson, but this was where he drew the line at gaining any sort of knowledge and that included skills such as driving a motorcar. Thalia had stared at Albert, assessing his words for a moment, before throwing her book to one side, then jumping up and racing over to grab Albert by the scruff. She had dragged him over to the window as he continued to squirm and make noises of protest. “See!” he had said, pointing, when the pair finally reached the window. “It is true!”

  Thalia had looked down onto the gravel drive expecting to see nothing at all, but there it was in all its glory—a Rover Eight two-seater in a smart, glossy chestnut brown. It was exactly the sort of car that Thalia would have chosen for herself—that she had chosen for herself from many a magazine she had cajoled from James’s fiancée, Lydia, who was allowed the luxury of such things by her family. As she had looked at the motorcar in awe, her grasp on Albert had loosened and he wriggled free. “I told you so!” he paused to say from the library doorway. He then made one of those ghastly rude noises only small boys can make before running off to no doubt cause trouble elsewhere in the house. Thalia, however, did not move. She had eyes only for the magnificent beast of a car.