The Heiresses (13 page)

*   *   *

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 had 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.

It was Thalia’s talk about the party that did it. Clio was already in a panic. She had realized on the drive back to the town house that these girls, her sisters, they were the kind of girls who had all the time in the world. They were the kind of girls who had time for parties, time to buy sweet little dogs and expensive cars and to consider the best, most logical way to go about things, with their fancy educations. Clio was not like them. She would never be like them. And, right now, she most certainly did not have the luxury of time of any sort.

As Thalia and Ro ascended the steps of the town house, Clio hung behind, her heart beating madly in her chest as she realized what she was about to do. “I … um, I might just make a quick visit to the church up the road.” She shocked even herself with her blatant lie. “St. Paul’s, Knightsbridge. It’s just around the corner.”

“Oh,” Ro turned on the top step to look at her. “All right, then.”

“You can come, if you’d like.” Clio eyed Thalia, in particular, with this, knowing she would most certainly reply in the negative.

Thalia laughed. “Not likely! You have fun, though.”

“We’ll let Hestia know you’ll return shortly.” Ro didn’t seem particularly keen to join her, either.

“Thank you,” Clio replied meekly, setting off on foot in the direction she knew the church was in. Surely she would go straight to hell for involving God in this matter. Still, what other choice did she have? After all, what was the point in her dillydallying in the city to no effect, maybe, or maybe not, finding out more about her past, which might, or might not, mean that her half brother would finally grant the three girls some money? No, what her mother needed now was some definite action before her lungs worsened further. And if there was to be any action, what her mother needed was money. And quickly.

As Clio strode along Wilton Crescent, toward the church, ruminating on what she was about to do, she was reminded of Thalia’s words from the other evening. Thalia had scared her—calling Clio’s desire to return home a ruse. It hadn’t been, of course. But, on the train journey home the following morning, Clio had realized that if Thalia was so quick to judge, to think that she was plotting and planning to take her share (or more) of this money, then perhaps that was because it was what Thalia herself was planning?

As she kept walking, Clio willed herself not to think too hard about where her feet were taking her. She must do this. For her mother’s sake. It had been Thalia who had planted the idea, with the suggestion that Clio’s motives were not what they seemed. And she had been right. Crossing the road, she inspected one of her hands, which was shaking slightly, and willed back the tears that were forming in her eyes as she considered what her father would think of all this. But her father was not here. And there was no other way forward that Clio could see. She would do anything for her mother. Anything. Just as she knew her mother would do anything for her. Now here she was, doing it.

Oh, what would her father have said? Especially considering just this morning she had assured both Thalia and Ro that she had returned to the city so that they might work together against Charles. It was exactly as her father had told her so many times—money was the root of all evil. But it was money, and only money, that would buy her mother the medical help she needed. It was money which would provide them with answers. However, Clio had not realized until this moment that the money would be purchased with something else she held dear—her integrity. She would lose her integrity before she lost her mother. Willingly.