Mirror Image (3 page)

"What is it, Petrie? What's wrong? " she asked matter-of-factly.

He looked totally disheveled, and completely flustered.

"I have to see your father right away, miss, " he said, obviously near
tears, as she tried to lead him away from the library before he
disturbed her father in his meeting.

"I'm afraid you can't. He's busy. Is there something I can help you
with? " she said gently but firmly.

He hesitated, and then looked around, as though afraid someone would
hear him. "It's the Ford." He looked terrified as he told her.

"It's been stolen." His eyes were round with tears, he knew what would
happen to him when word got out. He would lose the best job he could
ever have, and he couldn't understand how it had happened.

"Stolen? " She looked as startled as he did. "How is that possible?

How could someone come on the property and just take it, and no one
notice? "

"I don't know, miss. And I seen it just this morning. I was
cleaning it. It was all bright and shiny like the day your father
bought it.

I just left the garage door open for a little while, to air the place
out, because it gets so hot, you know, with the sun directly on it, and
half an hour later, it was gone. Just gone." His eyes filled with
tears again, and Olivia put a gentle hand on his shoulder. There was
something about his story which had struck her.

"What time would that have been, Petrie? Do you remember? " Her voice
and her manner were extremely calm, most unusually so for a girl of
twenty, but she was used to handling minor crises on the estate daily.

And this one had a particular ring to it.

"It was eleven-thirty, miss. I know it exactly." Olivia had last seen
her sister at eleven. And the Ford he was so distraught over was the
car her father had bought the year before for staffpurposes, errands
into town, missions to be carried out in something other than the
Cadillac Tourer he was driven in whenever he left Henderson Manor.

"You know, Petrie, " Olivia said quietly, "I think you ought to let the
dust settle for a moment. It's entirely possible that some member of
the staff might have borrowed it for an errand, without thinking to
mention it to you. Perhaps the gardener, I asked him to look at some
rosebushes for me over at the Shepards', perhaps he forgot to tell you.

" She was suddenly certain that the car hadn't been stolen, and she
needed to stall him. If he told her father, then the police would be
called, and that would be terribly embarrassing. She couldn't let that
happen.

"But Kittering can't drive, miss. He wouldn't have taken the Ford to go
look at your roses. He'd take one of the horses, or his bicycle, not
the Ford, miss."

"Well, perhaps someone else is driving it, but I don't think we should
tell my father just yet. Besides, he's busy anyway, we'll wait until
dinnertime, shall we? And we'll see if anyone brings it back. I feel
sure they will. Now, would you like some lemonade and cookies in the
kitchen? " She had led him slowly in that direction, and he seemed
slightly mollified, though still very nervous.

He was terrified he'd lose his job when her father found out that he'd
let the car get stolen right out of the garage. But Olivia continued to
reassure him as she poured him a glass of lemonade, and handed him a
plate of the irresistible cookies, as the cook watched them.

She promised to check in with Petrie later in the day, and made him
promise not to whisper a word of it to her father in the meantime, and
then with a wink at the cook, she hurried out of the kitchen, hoping to
avoid Bertie, whom she saw advancing on her from the distance.

But Olivia was faster than all of them. She slipped out a pair of long
French doors into the side garden, and sighed as she felt the crushing
heat of the NORTHERN New York summer. This was why people went to
Newport and Maine. It was unbearable here in the summer and no one
stayed, if they could possibly help it. By fall, it would be lovely
again. And in spring, when the endless winter finally came to a close,
it was always idyllic. But winters were brutal, and summers were more
so. Most people went to the city in winter, and the seashore in summer,
but not her father anymore. They stayed here in Croton-on-Hudson all
year round now.

Olivia wished she had time to go swimming that afternoon, as she walked
absentmindedly down one of her favorite paths toward the back of the
property, where there was a beautiful, hidden garden. She loved to come
riding here, and there was a narrow gate to their neighbor's property
which she would often slip through in order to enjoy her ride on his
property as well, but no one minded.

They all shared these hills like one happy family, and the good friends
they were who had built here.

In spite of the heat, she walked a long way that afternoon, no longer
thinking of the lost car, but oddly enough, she found herself thinking
of Charles Dawson, and the story her father had told her. How awful to
lose your wife so tragically, and so dramatically. He must have been
sick with worry when he first heard. She could just imagine it, and she
sat down on a log finally, still thinking of him, and as she did, she
heard the rumble of a motorcar in the distance. She sat very still for
a minute then, listening, and looked up to see the missing Ford scraping
through the narrow wooden gate at the back of their property, with a
sudden grating noise, as the driver took the rubber and the paint off
the side of the running boards just to get through it. But despite the
obviously tight fit, the car didn't slow for a moment.

Olivia watched in astonishment as the car chugged into full view, and
her sister grinned at her from behind the wheel, and waved. And in the
hand that Victoria waved at her was a cigarette. She was smoking.

Olivia didn't move from where she sat, she just stared at her and shook
her head, as Victoria stopped the car and continued to smile at her, and
blew a cloud of smoke in her direction.

"Do you realize that Petrie wanted to tell Father that the car was
stolen, and he would have called the police if I'd let him? " Olivia
was not surprised to see her there, but she wasn't happy either.

She was all too familiar with her younger sister's exploits, and the two
women sat looking at each other, the one perfectly calm, and obviously
not pleased, the other greatly amused at her own indiscretion.

But the most remarkable thing of all was that except for the difference
of expression, and the fact that Victoria's hair seemed looser and more
windblown than Olivia's, the two women were totally identical.

For each of them, it was like looking in the mirror. The same eyes, the
same mouths, the same cheekbones and hair, right down to the same
gestures.

There were infinitesimal differences about each of them, and there was
an aura of easygoing good nature about Victoria that more than bordered
on mischief, and yet one would have been hard-pressed to tell them apart
if one had to. Their father often made mistakes when coming upon one of
them alone in a room or on the property somewhere, and the servants
mistook them constantly. Their friends in school, when they'd gone and
hadn't been tutored at home, had absolutely never been able to tell them
apart, and their father had eventually decided to have them taught at
home, because they caused so much consternation at school and attracted
so much attention. They switched places whenever they chose, tormented
their teachers mercilessly, or at least Victoria did, or so Olivia
claimed. They had a wonderful time, but their father seriously doubted
that they were getting an education. But being tutored at home had left
them isolated, and with only each other's friendship.

They had both missed going to school, but their father was emphatic
about it. He was not going to have them behaving like circus freaks,
and if the school couldn't control them, Mrs. Peabody and their tutors
could.

In fact, Mrs. Peabody was the only living person who unfailingly knew
exactly who was who. She could tell them apart anywhere, back, front,
even before they spoke. And she also knew the single secret from which
one could distinguish them, one small freckle which Olivia had at the
top of her right palm, and Victoria had identically and equally minutely
on her left one. Their father knew about it too, of course, although
none of their friends did, but it was too much trouble to remember to
look for it. It was easier to just question them, and hope they were
telling the truth about their identities, which they usually did, now
that they were older. They were totally identical, mirror twins, and
had caused a furor all around them since birth, right up till the
present.

It had turned their presentation to society in New York into a total
uproar two years before, and it was why their father had insisted on
bringing them home that year even before Christmas. It was just too
difficult having that much attention everywhere they went. He felt they
were being treated as curiosities and it was far too exhausting.

Victoria was crushed to have to come home, although Olivia didn't mind
it. She had been ready to come back to Croton. But Victoria had been
chafing at their life ever since, and all she ever seemed to talk about
anymore was how incredibly boring life was on the Hudson. She wondered
how any of them could bear it.

The only other subject that truly inspired Victoria was that of women's
suffrage. It was the fire with which she burned, the passion which lit
her every moment. And Olivia was sick to death of hearing about it.

All Victoria seemed to talk about anymore was Alice Paul, who had
organized the march in Washington that April, where dozens of women were
arrested, forty were injured, and it took a cavalry troop to restore
order.

Olivia had also heard far too much about Emily Davison, who had been
killed two months before, when she ran in front of the King's horse at
the derby, in England, and then there were the Pankhursts, mere etfilles
who were busy wreaking havoc in the name of women's rights in England.

Just talking about them made Victoria's eyes dance, and Olivia roll hers
in boredom. But now Olivia sat waiting for her sister's excuses and
explanations.

"So did they call the police? " Victoria asked, looking amused, and not
in the least apologetic.

"No, they did not call the police, " Olivia said sternly. "I bribed
Petrie with lemonade and cookies and told him to wait till dinner.

But they should have. I should have let them. I knew it was you."
She tried to look angry, but something in her eyes said she wasn't, and
Victoria knew it.

"How did you know it was me? " Victoria looked delighted, and not
contrite for a single instant.

"I felt it, you wretch. One of these days they will call the police on
you over something, and I'll let them."

"No, you won't, " Victoria said confidently, with a glint in her eyes
that would have reminded their father of their mother. Physically
Victoria was the portrait of Olivia, right down to the blue silk dress
she was wearing.

Olivia laid her sister's clothes out for her every morning, and Victoria
always put them on without question. She loved being a twin, always
had, they both did. It suited them perfectly. And it had gotten
Victoria out of every scrape in her life. Olivia was always either
willing to make excuses for her, or even to trade places with her,
either to get her out of a jam, or when they were children, just because
sometimes it was fun to do it. Their father had often lectured them
about being responsible, and not taking advantage of their unusual
circumstances, but sometimes it was hard not to.