I knew Sidney would tell me I was reading too much into it, but he didn’t know my mother as well as I did. She never did anything without a reason. Or two or three.
“Will Rachel be joining us?” I turned to ask Freddy, attempting to ease the stilted silence that had fallen over us upon accepting our cups of tea.
He nodded. “She was feeding Ruthie, but I imagine they’ll join us soon.”
I smiled, perhaps my first genuine smile since our arrival, and asked after my six-month-old niece, and was rewarded with a beaming grin from my brother. “She’s a darling.”
“And smart, too,” Mother chimed in, though this trait had never seemed important for a girl to possess when I was little.
Freddy’s gaze dipped to Tabitha, who had returned from wherever she’d gone and now flopped on the rug in front of the fire. “She’s also terribly fond of old Tabitha.” He glanced at Father, who sat nodding off in one of the padded bergère chairs, having finished his tea in seemingly two gulps. “So we might want to put her in the other room before she arrives.”
“Oh, Tabitha is just as fond of her as the rest of us.” He chuckled. “And Ruthie can’t move fast enough yet to catch her if she doesn’t want to be caught anyway.”
“Tabitha,” my great-aunt ruminated aloud. “Strange name for a dog. Is that not a cat name?”
“Tabitha Twitchit,” I proclaimed, supplying the name of the beloved Beatrix Potter character she had been trying to recall. I shared a look of amusement with Freddy. “Grace was rather enamored with Miss Potter’s books when she named our Tabitha.” Being nine years old at the time, it was understandable.
“She was the only one of us home when Tabitha arrived,” Freddy expounded, for he and Rob had been up at Oxford, while I was at Everleigh Court, and Tim down at Rugby.
“It was her turn to name the next animal anyway.”
“Tabitha is a good name. It suits her,” Father declared in defense of his youngest child’s choice without opening an eye.
“Though that didn’t stop Tim from throwing a fit about it,” Freddy muttered dryly.
The three older of us might have thought the name an odd choice, but we knew better than to object. But fourteen-year-old Tim had declared the name to be stupid and refused to use it.
Freddy leaned forward. “Remember he tried to convince all of us to call her Twitchy instead?”
“Oh, yes. Though, it wasn’t as if he had done much better when he named Samson.” I turned to Tante Ilse to explain. “He wanted to call that collie Damson. As in a damson plum. Or so he claimed.”
Freddy gave a bark of laughter. “When he told Father, he said that if he could convince Mother of it, then he’d allow it. And boy, did he ever try to convince her. But Mother wasn’t having any of it.”
She lowered her cup to her saucer, shaking her head. “What nonsense to think he could sneak such a thing past me. Damson plum, indeed. I told him Samson it would be.”
“None of us were very good at naming our animals,” I concluded, and then giggled. “I named our mouser Roxanne, despite the fact the cat was a tom.”
Freddy acknowledged this with a nod of his head. “And I named a dog Balshazzar, even though I couldn’t even spell it correctly at the time.” Then he turned his head as if to gaze out the window at the courtyard. “Though Rob did choose Rozier. That wasn’t a bad name.”
I stilled, a fist seeming to grip my heart and squeeze at the mention of our brother and the dog he’d named after the hot-air balloonist, de Rozier.
“Yes, well, he was always more reflective than the rest of you,” Mother declared.
“Speaking of damson plums,” I muttered, eager to change the subject. “Where is Tim?”
“Oh, he’s somewhere about. And never where you need him to be,” Freddy groused.
“He’ll turn up,” Father murmured sleepily.
My oldest brother turned back toward the window, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair and his fist before his mouth as if to stop himself from speaking. This was evidently a sore subject, and something I didn’t yet understand. I wondered if Freddy could be convinced to enlighten me later.
I cleared my throat. “And Grace? When is her term over at Everleigh?”
“She’ll arrive late next week,” Mother replied, rising to return her teacup to the tray.
“But surely that’s not the end of the term? I don’t recall it ending so early.”
She shrugged. “There’s no harm in her missing a week or two of classes. I explained everything to her headmistress and she quite agrees.”
I frowned. No harm to her studies maybe, but as to the rest . . . “There’s really no reason for her to leave early. Grace must wish to remain. And anyway, I’ll still be here when she does arrive.”
“Grace does what she’s told,” Mother stated, her voice brooking no argument.
Perhaps so, but that didn’t mean she did so happily. And I was certain to be the person she blamed for it. I remembered being sixteen. Had I been ordered home from school early because an older sister I barely knew had suddenly returned—one who’d taken little interest in me for the past five years—I would have been furious.
“Grace truly won’t mind,” Freddy said, breaking into these musings. His lip curled shrewdly. “Not when her beau is here waiting for her.”
“Mr. Bolingbroke is not your sister’s beau,” Mother replied crisply. “She’s too young for that.”
“Well, you could have fooled me.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question about this Bolingbroke fellow, when Mother resolutely changed the subject to a recitation of all our neighbors and their current health and statuses, including a reminder of those who had lost loved ones either to the war or the Spanish influenza, which had ravaged the area late the previous year. As if I needed the reminder. She had kept me apprised of these facts by telephone and letter—sometimes both—while I was away. At first we each took turns interjecting, trying to turn the conversation, but the longer she droned on, the less harder we tried. Until finally the only sound but my mother’s honor roll was the ticking of the clock on the wall and the crackle of the fire.
CHAPTER 9
When Sidney and I were finally able to make our escape, Father and Tante Ilse had fallen asleep in their chairs, and it was time to dress for dinner. Rachel and little Ruth had also failed to arrive, but I couldn’t help but wonder if that was because Rachel had heard Mother droning on through the open door and slipped away again before anyone noticed her. I wouldn’t have blamed her.
As I’d anticipated, we’d been assigned to my old bedchamber above the billiards room. Growing up, I’d fallen asleep many a night to the clack of the balls.
As we reached the top of the wraparound carved staircase, my mother’s maid, Matilda, came bustling out of our chamber. She paused at our approach, her sharp gaze, as always, just shy of insolent.
“Good evening, Matilda,” I said politely, wondering why she’d been in our chamber.
“Mrs. Kent. Mr. Kent,” she replied, bobbing the barest of curtseys. “I just put fresh towels in your room, should you need them.”
I nodded, but she was already hurrying away, her tread surprisingly quiet for such a large woman.
We entered the room to find our luggage had already been brought up, and our things unpacked. However, I was more arrested by the changes to the room. The furniture was the same, as was the glass painted lamp on the bedside table, but the rest of the room looked completely different than I remembered. It had been painted a soft robin’s egg blue and pale yellow eyelet curtains hung over the windows. A counterpane blocked in blue and yellow squares with white daisies at each center covered the bed, and was echoed in the embroidered pillows.
I stood uncertainly at the center of the rug. While, of course, my mother had every right to change the room—it was a guest chamber now, after all, and I had chosen not to visit since late 1914—I still couldn’t help but feel saddened by the complete absence of my ever
having been there. Not even a figurine or paper flower remained. It was as if my past presence had been utterly wiped from it.
Detecting my distress, Sidney closed the wardrobe he had been looking into and returned to where I stood by the door. “Ver, are you all right?” He took hold of my hands, waiting for me to look at him. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”
I swallowed the sticky taste of angry confusion. “I . . . yes. It’s just . . .” I shook my head, not knowing what I wished to say.
He pulled me into his embrace, and I allowed myself to rest my head on his shoulder for a few seconds, absorbing the comfort he offered. But when the first tingle of tears began to threaten, I pushed away.
“We should dress.”
He released me slowly, but didn’t object, watching me closely as I turned toward the vanity where the items in my portmanteau had been laid out. I reached for my hair brush, pulling it through the waved tresses of my hair until they crackled and the shaky feeling in my limbs had subsided. Then I removed my jewelry and sat down on the bench to remove my shoes.
It was then that I saw that the clasp of my handbag was opened. I parted it, and one look inside told me it was not as I’d left it.
“Fresh towels, indeed,” I snapped indignantly. “She’s been through my handbag.” I whirled about to show Sidney.
He paused in unbuttoning his shirt, his eyes dipping to the bag and then back to me. “Are you certain?”
“What do you mean, am I certain? Of course I am.”
He held up his hands in placation. “I simply mean, the bag could have been rifled another way. Perhaps it was dropped.”
I arched a single eyebrow, extracting the case that contained my lip salve and mirror. “And I suppose when it fell, it jostled this open, too.”
“Very well, but you can’t know for certain it was Matilda.”
I glared at him witheringly.
“I don’t like her any more than you do, Ver. Not after the way she treated you when she was supposed to be looking out for you while I was away, not spying for your mother.”
My parents had given their consent to my marrying Sidney and remaining in London at his flat on one condition. I had to take Matilda with me as my personal maid. I had disliked the idea from the outset. But I had also been desperate to remain in London, not only to assert my newfound independence as a married woman, but also to be closer to the front whenever Sidney might be given leave, not 250 miles farther north in a time when nonessential train travel was unreliable at best.
Now, as a wiser, more experienced woman, I could appreciate my parents’ concerns, their desire to protect me as best they could from such a distance. But Matilda had proven to be a terrible companion, and loyal to no one except my mother. Shortly after Sidney’s reported death, when I’d discovered she’d been spying for my mother all those years, sending her reports on me, I’d sacked her and sent her back to Yorkshire. I should have done so years before, when it had become increasingly difficult to fob her off with the excuse that I was going to visit a friend in the country and had no need of her, when really I was off on a field assignment.
“But that doesn’t mean she was the one to search your handbag,” Sidney reasoned. “There are fresh towels on the bureau.”
I scowled at the offending white cloths. “Well, somebody has. And I can’t think of anyone more likely.” I turned away, dropping the bag on the vanity table with a thunk. “Though whether she did so on her own or at my mother’s behest is up for debate.”
Sidney rested his hands on my shoulders, kneading them lightly. “I agree it’s the likeliest explanation,” he said, speaking to my reflection in the mirror. “But confronting her will do no good. She’ll only deny it, and your mother will accuse you of having a suspicious mind. Then you’ll have a terrific row, and it will all just leave you feeling even worse than you do now.” He leaned closer, putting his face next to mine. “So let’s leave it be, and in the future we’ll hide or lock up anything we don’t want her to see.”
I heaved a sigh. “You’re right.” I pressed a hand to my forehead. The entire day had left me feeling out of sorts. My normal cool confidence seemed to have deserted me, and the comfort I used to feel with my family seemed all but a distant memory. Everything felt awkward, at best. Like we were all playacting, but we weren’t very good at it. Even the jests were forced.
“Give it some time,” Sidney said, as ever reading my mind. “You’ll find your rapport again.”
I nodded, offering him a strained smile.
His eyes twinkled. “And in the meantime, perhaps the wheels can be greased by a few predinner libations.”
* * *
Unfortunately, my mother did not have any predinner libations to offer—cocktails or otherwise. At least, not for me. For the men, it was an entirely different matter.
“You can’t be serious, Mother,” I protested with a stunned laugh. “Why, all the ladies I know, even the highest sticklers of society, on occasion enjoy a predinner drink or cordial.”
“Well, I’m not sure I care for the opinion of the ladies you know. It is vulgar and inappropriate. And on this occasion you shall abstain.”
She whirled away, leaving me to stare after her in shocked silence. My gaze shifted to my father, but he didn’t seem willing to wage this particular battle. And why should he? It didn’t affect him.
I stalked across the room toward where Sidney stood near the window, nursing a glass of brandy.
“Would you like a sip of mine?” he offered. “I hardly think even your mother would dare object if your husband offered you a drink.”
I considered it and then shook my head. “Better not. It’s not worth it.” Not for brandy, in any case. I had never liked the stuff.
The lines at the corners of his eyes crinkled as if inferring my thoughts.
I started to sit in a chair near the hearth, when the appearance of Freddy and Rachel brought me back to my feet, for Freddy held his six-month-old daughter on his hip. She held her head upright steadily, gazing around her in curiosity. At the sight of my father, a tiny smile curled her perfect pink lips, and then she turned to look at me.
“Is this Ruth?” I asked in delight, my heart already softening toward the darling. Her head was covered in dark fuzz, and her cheeks were pink and chubby, and begging for kisses.
“Yes,” Freddy declared with a proud grin. “We wanted her to meet her Aunt Verity before Miss Pettigrew, our nanny, puts her to bed.”
I didn’t reach out to touch her, not wanting to alarm her, but simply smiled brightly. “Oh, aren’t you a darling. Yes, you are.”
Her blue eyes searched mine before drifting toward my auburn hair, drawn to it as all babies’ eyes were.
“She’s absolutely perfect,” I told them, lifting my gaze to my sister-in-law. “It’s good to see you, Rachel,” I said, leaning in to buss her cheek.
She accepted it somewhat stiltedly, though her expression was amiable. “Likewise, Verity.”
The fact was, I didn’t know Rachel all that well. She was the daughter of one of Freddy’s superior officers with the Royal Army Medical Corps, whom he’d stayed with during a few of his leaves from the front. Freddy had introduced her to me in London some months before their wedding took place in June 1918, but that had been shortly before I’d received word of Sidney’s alleged death. Shortly before I’d lost much interest in anything but throwing myself into my work for the Secret Service and blunting all my feelings with a bottle of gin.
She was a lovely young woman about my own age of twenty-three, with dark hair and soft brown eyes. But her most distinguishing feature was the beauty mark about an inch from the left corner of her mouth. It gave her a hint of allure, and I imagined Freddy hadn’t been the first gentleman to find it irresistible.
“How is your family?” I asked politely, aware she must miss them. The Yorkshire Dales must feel very rural and far away from her former home in Kent, south of London.
“They’re well.
My sister is now engaged to be wed, so we shall be visiting them in February.”
Her expression lightened at the impending prospect of seeing them, only to be dampened by my brother Tim’s following comment.
“Provided we don’t receive so much snow that the trains aren’t running.”
We all turned to look at him where he stood in the doorway still fastening his cuff links. Though dressed in proper evening attire, my younger brother’s appearance was not what my mother would deem entirely correct. His thick sandy-brown hair was too long, resisting even the copious amount of pomade he’d applied to it to keep it restrained, and there was a stain on the lapel of his black coat.
“So you’ve decided to finally join us,” Freddy gibed.
Tim ignored this, offering me a lopsided grin as he moved forward to greet me. “Sorry, I missed you earlier,” he said, though I noticed he offered no explanation. His gaze brightened when my husband sidled over to join us. “I saw Sidney drove his Pierce-Arrow.”
Sidney shook his hand. “Yes. I’ll show her to you later, if you like.”
“Capital!”
“Just don’t let him drive it,” Freddy interjected.
Tim turned to glare at him while Sidney ignored them both and turned to greet Rachel. I reached up to gently grasp little Ruthie’s pudgy fingers, while the pair of us pretended not to observe the silent conversation that seemed to occur between her father and uncle. The words were on the tip of my tongue to ask what all their bickering was about, when Freddy broke the standoff and turned to me.
“Would you like to hold her?”
“May I?” I asked, holding my hands out for my niece.
“Of course,” he said, passing her to me.
She was not as light as I’d thought she would be, but she was certainly no burden resting against my hip. Her eyes rounded as she stared up at me, and her bottom lip began to quiver. For a moment I thought she would begin to cry, but then she settled. I would have liked to think it was because she sensed she was safe with me, but I knew it was much more likely the strand of pearls around my neck she suddenly reached for. I let her play with them, but was careful to keep them from her mouth.
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