The Heiresses (19 page)

“Thank you.” Clio wasn’t sure what else to say, or even knew what Venetia meant by her comment.

“Now, you must have some of my special wine,” Venetia drawled. With this, she ran down a few darkened steps, hidden behind the open door. After a moment or two, she reappeared holding four glasses precariously by the stems, full of a wheat-colored liquid. “A little man mixes it specially for me, you know.” She winked at all three of them, as she passed the glasses around. “But you haven’t introduced me to your luscious friend here. A crime, really.” She reached over the girls’ heads to hand him the fourth glass.

Unaware they had been accompanied by any friend, luscious or otherwise, the three girls turned to see who was behind them. He was tall and fair with green eyes and Clio had honestly never seen him before in her life. Neither, it seemed, had Thalia, who began to say, “You! You’re the fellow our driver pointed out. Why were you following us? Who are—?”

“Vincent!” Ro gasped. “Is that really you?”

*   *   *

Ro felt her entire body come alive as she spied Vincent standing behind Thalia. As she looked at him, she realized what a stunning pair he and Thalia made with their fair hair and tall, Nordic looks. Which meant, of course, that this was rather what she would look like next to Vincent. Even though she knew full well she would be the paler version of the stunning Thalia, the thought gave her a small thrill nonetheless.

“This is my doctor.” Emboldened by several glasses of champagne, Ro stepped forward and reached for Vincent’s hand, pulling him past Thalia and closer toward her. She was pleased to note that he came more than willingly. It was only then that the realization came over her that, with the three girls standing before him, he might well guess that she had been speaking not of puppies the other day, but of her sisters. Holding her breath, she glanced up at his expression, trying to gauge whether or not he had heard Venetia’s comments about them being triplets. But Vincent seemed as if nothing untoward had been mentioned, which saw Ro breathe a sigh of relief. How embarrassing that would have been.

“Your doctor, you say?!” Venetia gave him an appreciative look. “I must badger Mummy into changing family physicians. And soon.”

“I’m afraid I have misplaced my invitation.” Vincent gave Venetia his most winning smile.

“Oh, don’t be silly, darling. Invitation or not, I could hardly leave you standing out in the cold looking as you do, could I? It would be a crime! I do adore your stockings. I swear, if I had legs like yours I’d wear that outfit every day!” It was only now that Ro fully took in Vincent’s knight outfit—a short gray tunic, belted at the waist, gray stockings, and knee-high leather boots.

“Just a little something I threw together at the last moment,” Vincent said, modestly. “The boots are a friend’s.”

“How awfully clever!” Venetia replied, exhaling smoke from her cigarette. “All that book learning and chums with knee-high leather boots, too! I wonder, is he a pirate, by any chance?”

“But, Venetia, he has no invitation…” Thalia began.

Ro turned to see Thalia looking distinctly put out and shooting daggers at her. Ro, however, couldn’t see what the problem was. She had no idea how or why Vincent was here, without an invitation, but here he was.

“Oh, Thalia, darling, don’t be a bore,” Venetia chided her new friend for her surliness. “What does it matter if he has an invitation or not? He’ll make the place look simply amazing! Now, drink up and go inside and have a good time. I know
I’m
going to.”

*   *   *

Within moments of entering the party, Thalia had polished off her wine, dispatched her glass, and disappeared from view. Now, Ro, Vincent, and Clio stood in the center of the room and took in their surroundings.

Sipping her wine without being told, Clio stared around her. The room was the strangest she could ever remember entering—large and circular, it ran the full width of the tower and on each side, a wide stone, circular staircase wound up to the next floor. A huge fireplace, complete with a fire roaring away, was situated along the length of one wall. The evening was warm, but the stone castle would surely have been cold indeed without the fire, even though the room was veritably packed with bodies. Voices and laughter reverberated off the thick stone walls, as did the sounds of a gramophone playing a song about a Miss Annabelle Lee, whoever she was. “Does Venetia’s family honestly own this place?” Clio shook her head in disbelief as she finally glanced over at Ro and Vincent.

Vincent nodded. “They do. Amazing isn’t it? Quite the fairy tale.”

It was, Clio had to agree. What was going on around her was so far removed from her previous existence and she felt so strange, having drunk both champagne and now wine as well—she glanced down at her suddenly empty glass (where on earth had its contents got to?)—that she would have readily believed anyone who told her she was truly in a fairy tale.

“Let me take that for you.” Vincent saw Clio staring down at her drained glass. She looked over to see that both Vincent and Ro had finished their wine also. “Are you coming with us?” he asked. “Ro and I are going to explore the rest of the castle.”

*   *   *

Ro and Vincent pointed Clio toward the set of stairs on the left and the group slowly pushed their way through the crowd. The women wore elaborate gowns of satin and silk and the men wore tunics mostly of gray or black, dotted with dragons, a sword being brandished here and there. Ro pointed out one full suit of armor. “Probably picked it up at home on the way out, dusted it off, and put it on,” Vincent said.

“And you’re sorry you didn’t think of it first?” Ro teased.

Vincent shook his head. “I’m very sorry to say I don’t come from the kind of family who has armor in the hall.”

Despite the burgeoning effects of the champagne and wine, the realization hit Ro that, now, she didn’t come from this kind of family, either. Halesworth Hall was to be sold and all the remnants of that kind of boarding-school-girl existence with it.

“Coming?” Vincent called back over his shoulder, with Clio in front of him, and Ro saw that he had moved off again. She ran to catch up with him and, on reaching him, Vincent took her by surprise, grabbing her hand. The unexpected contact of their warm skin was made warmer still by the quickly overheating room. Combined with her already heady state, Ro felt suddenly faint and then overwhelming alive, all within the one moment. She let Vincent lead the way as her heart pounded, then seemingly skipped several beats, then raced again as if to catch up with itself. It was all she could do to remember to place one foot in front of the other in order to walk.

Finally, they reached the spiral stone staircase. No light seemed to shine up from the bottom floor, so Clio began to climb slowly upward, one hand brushing against the outside wall in order to keep her balance.

“The chapel, perhaps?” Vincent asked Ro, pointing to the floor above them, where a cross-shaped cutout in the stone wall suggested as much.

Ro nodded. “Let’s take a look. Here, Clio.” She pointed and, obligingly, Clio took the turn to the left, leaving the staircase. Vincent and Ro followed close behind. A short, dark, narrow hall led to …

“Oh!” Clio quickly backed out, bumping into Vincent in the process.

“What is it?” Vincent stepped forward, Ro stepping in front of him so she could see also.

Ro gasped on seeing several writhing bodies inside the moonlit chapel. She found a small laugh escape, which quickly turned into peals as she also backed up smartly, as Clio had done. “Oh, dear!” Not watching where she was going, she remembered the stairs must be quickly approaching and turned on her heel, only to find they were already there.

“Careful, Ro.” Vincent pulled her back toward him and Ro found herself pressed up against his tunic. She ceased breathing and dared herself to look up into his eyes, but wasn’t quite sure her heart would be able to survive it. It really did feel rather odd—making her breathless and elated in turn. A heady, floating feeling swept over her and she stepped back, only then brave enough to grin at Vincent, who smiled back at her. “Let’s see what else is going on,” he said. “Maybe this is only a taste of what’s to come?”

“What else could there be?” Ro asked. Whatever was going on in the chapel, it involved more than two people, which she found delightfully shocking in her present state. There had only been the vaguest talk of this sort of thing at boarding school, though she distinctly remembered a strange little French book, most likely pilfered from an older brother, that had done the rounds of the older boarders. It had required much imagination as to how some of the acts described could even be anatomically possible, as well as the heavy application of a French dictionary. “Oh, come on, let’s find out!” Ro laughed again and gamely took Vincent’s hand once more. She tugged him along with her, back onto the staircase and up again. “Clio?” she called out.

“Up here,” Clio called back.

Ro lifted her skirt and ran up the stairs, Vincent close behind.

“Dare we try this one?” Clio asked her when the pair reached her.

“You know you want to.” Ro laughed again. She found she couldn’t cease laughing, actually, and had to place one hand firmly over her mouth to stop. Scared of starting up again, she waved Clio silently onto the next floor and the three crept through the similar dark and narrow entryway together. They paused to let their eyes adjust to the candlelight inside the room. When they did, Ro began laughing once more. There was a knight inside, pressed up against one wall. It took her a moment or two, and noticing the triangular shape gouged into the outer wall, to work out he wasn’t engaged in some odd sexual act, but rather an act of relief.

“Enjoying the show?” The knight turned his head to stare at them.

“Really, we shouldn’t be so shocked.” Ro tried to compose herself as she turned to Clio and Vincent, who still looked confused. “That’s its proper use. Do you see how the fireplace would be directly below us? It’s an important man’s room—most likely a bishop, or someone like that. It would be warm, due to the fireplace below and, with his own urinal, there’s no need to go out in the cold to use the privy.”

Vincent gave her an odd look and, to Ro, his eyes seemed greener than ever. Oh, how she longed to move over closer to him and … but what was she doing? Discussing urinals? There were obviously some topics they had not covered well enough at boarding school. For example, that discussing urinals with male admirers may be unwise. “Is there anything you
don’t
know, Ro?” Vincent asked her.

“Actually, there is one thing.” Ro raised one finger and, not caring what the knight was doing anymore, leaned back against a stone wall, flushed, her heart galloping away once more.

“And what’s that?” Vincent moved in closer toward her.

“I don’t think I know what was in Venetia’s wine. Specially mixed by her ‘little man.’”

Vincent moved in closer still. So close Ro feared her heart would stop racing altogether and would simply burst from her chest. He reached forward and placed two fingers at her neck, in order to feel her pulse, his other hand deftly removing some damp strands of hair from her forehead.

“Then we make a good pair. Because I think I can guess at what was in Venetia’s wine,” Vincent told her.

“And what’s that?” Ro asked as Vincent removed his fingers from her throat now only to run them down her neck and across her décolletage. She quite literally thought she would die, his touch was so exquisite.

Finally, he answered her. “Cocaine.”

*   *   *

Clio, not wishing to stay any longer and watch either a gentleman making use of a urinal, or Ro and Vincent’s obvious interest in one another, retreated to the staircase once more. When she reached the edge of the landing and had to choose whether to ascend or descend, she stood for a moment and looked both up, above her head, to where the stairs twisted to one final floor and then down, where she could hear the raucous party continuing, perhaps even louder than before, if that was possible.

She chose to continue onward to the final floor. As she made her way carefully up the stairs, she noted how suddenly wide-awake and alive she felt. She had lost that awful tearful feeling she had been pushing away all day from worrying about her mother and the many, many lies she seemed to be telling. Perhaps it was the champagne, or the wine? Or both? She wasn’t sure, but, either way, she felt a better version of herself—almost … joyful, which seemed odd, given the circumstances.

With a final step, Clio reached the thick wooden, iron-studded door, which she knew must lead onto some sort of rooftop. The door seemed to be already partially open and Clio paused for a moment, hoping there would be no writhing bodies on the other side. The only other option, however, was to return downstairs, so, with a push, Clio opened the door, looked around, and saw … nothing. There seemed to be no one upon the roof—the bits she could see of it in the moonlight, anyway—but for a few pigeons who fluttered and fussed at the opening of the door and then settled once more.

“Hello?” Clio said.

No answer.

With a happy sigh, she closed the door gently behind her and stepped gingerly over to the nearest wall in order to see the view. Clio stared out into the moonlit distance. To her right lay vast fields and to her left, she could see the small village, dotted with squat redbrick cottages and a few houses with thatched roofs. And there, not far in the distance, was the village’s church spire, which made her think of her mother again. In the cool silence, Clio said a short prayer.

When she was finished, she turned, set to cross to the other side of the roof. She had almost reached her destination when a voice spoke, startling her.

“Were you praying just then?” someone asked, in the darkness—a man.

Clio squinted, trying to see who it was, but could see nothing. She could hear him, though—it sounded as if he had just jumped off something and was now walking toward her. “Who is it?” Clio said. “I said hello before. Why did you not reply when I called out?”

“Because I didn’t feel like it, that’s why,” he said, with a chuckle. Clio could make out a vague form now, approaching. “And, really, I should be asking who
you
are. I’m related to the owner of the castle itself. You could be an intruder of the worst sort. I should be preparing my boiling oil to pour on your head and so on.”