The Heiresses (32 page)

“Ro? Ro?!”

“What?” Ro said, her pulse racing once more.

“I said, you’ll have to show me the brooch later.” Clio gave her a curious look. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Oh, yes, fine. Just tired after our late night.” Really, she shouldn’t think about such things in public.

“You didn’t see Thalia this morning, did you?” Clio changed the subject. “I don’t think she’s come home at all.”

Ro shook her head. “No. But I wouldn’t worry. She’ll turn up. She always does. Usually at the most inconvenient moment—” The front doorbell buzzed, cutting Ro off and sending Haggis McTavish into a frenzy of excitement. “See? She’s probably lost her key as well. Which would be the third time, I think.”

“I’ll get it.” Clio stood up, pushing her chair back. “You need to eat something.”

*   *   *

“For you,” Edwin said as he pushed a bunch of wilted, dilapidated flowers at Clio the moment she opened the door to the town house. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you. I think.” She took the flowers from him gingerly, as she inspected Edwin from head to foot. He looked for all the world as if he had been dragged through a hedge backward—his hair was dirty and tousled and he was still wearing a dinner jacket, which was muddied in several places.

“I know it’s a bit late, but I’ve been carrying them around since yesterday evening, trying to get over here and failing miserably.”

“How very thoughtful of you,” Clio said, her voice a monotone.

“It’s just that I was a tiny bit detained by the constabulary once again and…”

Clio held up one hand. “It’s all right, Edwin. I don’t need to know. In fact, I don’t want to know.” She had had enough of his, and Thalia’s, silly games. It only made her cross to hear of them. When she spent so much of her time fretting about how she would find the means by which to move her mother to a warmer climate, or at least to afford the services of more good doctors, it infuriated her to hear of entitled people roaming the streets of London and getting up to ridiculous antics simply because they were “bored.”

“You see—” Edwin tried again, pleadingly.

But Clio was undeterred. “No, I don’t see, Edwin. And I don’t want to see. I don’t want to understand what possessed you to stay out all night and roll in the mud. I’m sure it was all terribly amusing and that all the newspapers will gush about it tomorrow, but I really don’t care to know.”

Edwin bristled slightly at this. “Now, see here—”

“Did you come here to wish me a happy birthday and to give me flowers, or to argue?” Clio said, plainly.

“Well, of course I—”

“Thank you for the flowers, Edwin.” Clio stepped forward and gave him a kiss upon his right cheek, before stepping back again, her hand upon the door. “It was lovely of you to think of me. But I think you’d better go home, take a bath, and change your clothes.”

Edwin, who had been ready to come to his own defense, deflated at this. “You’re too good for me, Clio Silsby,” he said, in a miserable, tired voice.

Clio’s eyes skated over him from head to toe. “Yes,” she replied, as she closed the door slowly between them. “I rather think I am. Good day, Edwin.”

As the door clicked shut, Clio stared at the flowers and felt deflated herself. It wasn’t like her to say such things, but she’d thought … no, she’d hoped … that with that kiss, on the night of the dinner party, that Edwin might somehow magically change. But people didn’t change, did they? Frogs only turned into princes in fairy tales told to little girls. Well, she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She needed to be practical now. And, right now, the most practical, logical, sensible thing to do was to write to Nicholas. In Kenya.

*   *   *

Clio spent most of the morning formulating her letter to Nicholas, starting, then stopping, crumpling piece after piece of writing paper. She wasn’t at all sure of what to say, how to say it, or even what she
wanted
to say. She kept recalling the evening that she, Ro, and Thalia had been driven out to the countryside—to the party in the tower. Her sisters had been horrified that she might even consider marrying someone she was not violently in love with. Was she really wrong to consider it? She knew that her own parents barely knew each other when they married. They had come to love each other in the years afterward and they could not have been happier for it. Wasn’t it better to choose with your head than with your heart, which might be full of nothing but lust? After all, Edwin’s kiss had made her heart race compared to the one she had shared with Nicholas. But just look at Edwin’s actions—how he lived his life. They could never be happy together. With a sigh, Clio returned to her letter, rereading the few lines she had composed. No, that wasn’t right, either. She crumpled yet another piece of writing paper and threw it down on the library floor beside her.

“Goodness,” Ro said, entering the room. “That must be a difficult letter to write.”

Clio turned in her seat. “It is. And not a particularly pleasant one to write on a birthday, either.” She didn’t elaborate and hoped that Ro would not ask who she was writing to. “Did you manage to get a little more sleep?” she asked, changing the subject. Ro had mentioned she was tired after their late night and had gone back to bed post breakfast.

“A little,” Ro replied. “I thought I shouldn’t rest too much longer or I won’t sleep tonight. I’m going for a walk with Haggis McTavish. I was wondering if you’d like to come, but you seem a little busy.”

“I am.” Clio sighed again. “I really must finish this before it sends me mad.”

Across the room, Ro leaned against the door frame. “I take it Thalia hasn’t come home yet, or you would have mentioned it.”

Clio shook her head. “No. I have to say I’m beginning to become a little worried now.”

Ro, however, didn’t seem too concerned. “She most likely slept at Venetia’s. And is probably still doing so. I’m sure it wouldn’t cross her mind that we might worry.”

“No…,” Clio said, unsure. “Perhaps not. Still, she has never been away for this long before. If she doesn’t come home before this evening, perhaps we should tell Hestia?”

Ro snorted slightly at this. “Well, for that to happen, Hestia will have to appear herself. Good luck with your letter!” And, with this, she was gone.

*   *   *

Clio was standing at the library window, gazing out over the pavement toward Belgrave Square garden, when someone ran past, as if possessed, then paused, on seeing her figure silhouetted against the window.

“Edwin!” Clio exclaimed. What was he doing here? And, she noted, in the same disheveled state as before. She frowned slightly, waving him away. There was nothing more to discuss. “Go home,” she mouthed at him through the closed window.

But Edwin shook his head and Clio saw now that he seemed agitated. And then he mouthed a single word himself.

“Thalia.”

*   *   *

“Where is she? Is she all right?” Clio was at the front door in an instant. “Oh, I should have made inquiries sooner. I should have thought to ask you before. I knew something was wrong. I knew it and I did nothing.”

Before her, Edwin took several deep breaths. He had obviously run some distance. “She is all right. For now. But I think something must be done.”

“What is it? What’s happened?”

“From what I can gather, she combined a few too many drugs with far too much to drink. From what I’ve heard over several different accounts, she fainted twice last night, but then recovered and kept going. I can hardly believe it, but someone told me that at one point he thought her dead. And no one even seemed concerned! But that’s not the half of it. She wound up … well, exposing herself. On the street. And she was arrested.”

Clio’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

Surprisingly, Edwin looked as shocked as Clio felt. “Usually, I wouldn’t worry too much about a little arrest, but from what I’ve heard, and from what I’ve seen of her lately, she seems determined to—I’m not sure—harm herself in some way. Does that make any sense to you?”

Clio nodded slightly, her hand still covering her mouth. “Yes. Yes, it does.” There was something about Thalia’s devil-may-care attitude that had always worried Clio. There were only so many chances one could take in life. Clio lowered her hand, trying to get her head around the situation. “What do we do? I mean, what do
I
need to do?”

Edwin was silent for a moment. “I thought about it all the way here and, the thing is, I’ve got this friend—”

Clio interrupted him here. “I don’t think we need any more of your friends involved, Edwin. They’ve done enough damage as it is.”

But Edwin was determined to continue. “No, it’s not like that. Please listen to me, Clio. You see, Thalia reminds me a lot of this fellow. His father is a doctor and when his son started to behave in the sort of fashion Thalia is now, he sent his son to this … well, they called it a nursing home … before it was too late. For a kind of intemperance treatment. I visited him there and it was a lovely place, not horrid at all. And, best of all, it worked. I’m not entirely sure what they did, or said, but it cured him. Says it was the best thing that ever happened to him.”

Clio frowned. “But what did they do there? There are no … madmen or madwomen, are there?” She couldn’t stand the thought of Thalia being locked up as her aunt had been.

“No, not at all. It’s not like that at all—it’s for intemperance only. And it’s voluntary. There is no ‘locking up.’”

Clio thought about this for a moment, part of her hesitating. After all, Edwin’s actions had let her down before. “I’m not sure. Would she want to go?” There was something inside her that led her to believe she could trust Edwin on a matter such as this.

Edwin ran a hand through his hair. “At this point,” he said, “I don’t think she has many options.”

*   *   *

By evening, it was all arranged. After speaking to the doctor in question on the telephone, and much thought, Clio had begged Edwin not to involve her in any way other than monetary. If Thalia knew she had sanctioned her referral to any sort of institution, she would undoubtedly refuse to go. They would act as if this were Edwin’s idea only. Edwin had wanted her to inform Hestia of what was going on, but Clio knew she could not do this. Hestia would never agree to any sort of “home” offering any sort of “treatment.” Not after what she had been through herself. This was despite the fact that they were all living in a different time and place and the doctors involved were using modern, effective methods, rather than barbaric, cruel ones. In the end, Clio had taken money from the drawer in the library—so much money she found it difficult to breathe while holding it—and pressed it upon Edwin. “Please,” she had told him. “Please. We need to be discreet. For Thalia’s own good. I’ll visit her when she’s ready. Every day.” Then she had packed a small case for her sister and sent Edwin on his way, swearing him to secrecy.

When both Ro and Hestia had returned to the town house that day, Clio had lied furiously. She told them she had seen Thalia, that she seemed well, and that she was off on a short visit to a friend’s house in Surrey. Throughout dinner, Clio tried to recall how many untruths she had told recently—more, she thought, than she had ever told in her entire childhood. She had not needed to lie back in the village. But now, here, in the city, she was starting to hear the most brazen rubbish exit her mouth with ease and it frightened her. She even thought to place one of the library’s squat books beneath the money that remained, thus filling out the drawer once more. This was the depth that she stooped to these days. Was she doing the right thing by Thalia? Clio wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. This gray city clouded her judgment. It was as if it drew a hazy fog that wrapped itself around her thoughts, slowing her down, confusing the path she must take. Not even quiet prayer or reflection seemed to help here—there was so much noise, so much distraction. She couldn’t think here, in the city.

But she
must
think. Just for a few hours more. And so, after dinner, Clio retired to her room, sat down, and wrote out her letter to Nicholas in full. When she was finished, she pushed back her chair without hesitation and set off for the closest postbox, eager to push the stamped envelope through the scarlet slot and see it on its way. Never had she been more certain that London was not the place for her, just as the doctor had told her their damp country cottage was not the place for her mother, either.

*   *   *

“She went very willingly,” Edwin told Clio on the telephone the following day. Relieved to hear that Thalia was all right, Clio sank down onto the small cream-upholstered bench seat that was tucked into a corner by the telephone. “Much more willingly than I thought she would. I … I think perhaps she didn’t tell me everything that happened.”

“I think a lot of things have happened to Thalia that she’s never revealed, or maybe even acknowledged properly. Not even to herself,” Clio replied, hoping that her sister might find some peace during her stay at this so-called nursing home.

There was a long silence before Edwin spoke again. “I think you might be right. Only…”

“What is it?” Clio’s voice sounded suddenly guarded.

“Well, I don’t think you should visit her. Not just yet. Give her some time, Clio. I can check in on her again if you like. Tomorrow. It’s just that she said a few things…”

“About me? About Ro…?” Clio sat bolt upright on the seat.

There was another pause from Edwin. “Yes. It was the same for my friend at first. He was very … angry. Perhaps if you could give her some time to calm herself down. To stop blaming others…”

Clio considered his words for a moment and immediately saw that Edwin was right. “If I go now, she’ll think that I’m gloating.”

On the other end of the telephone, Edwin breathed an audible sigh of relief. “I’m so glad you understand. I do think it would be for the best. And I promise that I’ll go and see her.”

“You won’t forget?” Clio asked anxiously. “I could never live with myself if she felt abandoned there. Not after the things my aunt has told me. She felt so terribly abandoned when she was…” She let her words trail off, not wanting to speak of the matter.