The Rebellious Twin

by Shirley Kennedy

Nothing was known of where she came from, other than she and her mother, Louise, had arrived at Hollyridge Manor under mysterious circumstances when Sara Sophia was but three or four years old. Louise never ventured out. When she died of some unknown illness only months after their arrival, she was buried quietly, with none but Lord Westerlynn and a few servants in attendance. Clarinda wondered if Mama was right about the on-dit concerning Lord Westerlynn being Sara Sophia’s father. No one would put such a scandal beyond the old rascal, but if he was responsible, he kept it to himself.

  “Good morning, Sara Sophia.” Clarinda slid easily from her horse and announced, “I am in deep trouble.”

  “Again?” Sara Sophia smiled, seeming not the least surprised. She stopped brushing sham and straightened up. Seeing the anxiety on Clarinda’s face, she immediately grew serious. “You look terrible. What’s wrong?”

  Clarinda related the events of her day. “…so if I am to keep Donegal I must seriously consider marrying Larimore. Mama says, ‘whether it suits your selfish pleasure or not’, which means I’ll live to regret it if I don’t. Not only that, I must make myself be more like my dear twin Rissa, who, as we all know, is the epitome of perfection, whereas I” — a wry smile played at the corners of her mouth — “am the disgrace of the family.”

  Sara Sophia smiled. “Indeed, you are, you naughty girl. Everyone knows you are difficult, wild, rebellious, and — “

  “And I ride not sidesaddle,” Clarinda interjected. “That’s from Mama. She must have found out.”

  “Uh-oh.” Sara Sophia quickly sobered. “That is serious, Clarinda. If they catch you riding astride you’re done for.”

  “That’s not all.”

  “There’s more?”

  This was going to be painful. Clarinda hated to hurt her friend, but she wasn’t one to waffle. Besides, Sara Sophia might be delicate, but she was tough underneath. It would be by far the best approach to just tell her the blunt truth. “I am not supposed to see you anymore.”

  If Sara Sophia was wounded, she showed no signs of it, and instead laughed. “I was expecting it. In fact, I’m surprised your parents didn’t take action long before now.”

  “They probably would have if they’d noticed.”

  “And not stayed in London so much of the time.” In deep thought, Sara Sophia began to brush the horse again. “They’re right, you know. You should have nothing to do with me. We are in two different worlds, you and I, and nothing alike.”

  In looks, that was so true, thought Clarinda. She was tall for a girl, and well-filled-out, whereas Sara Sophia was so small she looked as if a spring breeze could whisk her away. She had blue eyes and blonde curls, whereas Sara Sophia’s hair was brown and her eyes were large, brown, and luminous, lending a subtle beauty to her otherwise plain face. And whereas she was ordinarily happy and out-going, except for days like today, Sara Sophia possessed a solemn serenity and quiet humour which was always well contained.

  As for living in two different worlds, Clarinda could not argue with the truth. What they did share was a love of horses. Sara Sophia practically lived at the stables. Despite her slight form, she busied herself rubbing down the horses, feeding — washing — brushing them, cleaning out the stalls — all work a lady must never do, Clarinda had been informed by her disapproving mother.

  Up to now, Clarinda had ignored Mama. Sara Sophia was her dearest friend, and she didn’t care what people thought. In fact, she, herself, had helped Sara Sophia with the horses many a time. It was her great pleasure to do so. Thoughtfully, Clarinda took up a brush and started working Sham’s other flank. “I’ve never asked, but I’m wondering. Lord Westerlynn is getting up in years. If you don’t marry, what will happen to you when he dies?”

  “Nothing good I’m afraid,” Sara Sophia replied.

  “But surely Lord Westerlynn has arranged for your care in his will?”

  Sara Sophia shook her head. “I doubt it. Contrary to opinion, I doubt he’s my father. I wasn’t born here, nor, I suspect, anywhere in England. I have this vague memory of my mother crying a lot, and us being on some kind of ship when I was very little.”

  “But who inherits Hollyridge Manor?”

  “There’s a nephew. I doubt he’d allow me to stay, not that I’d want to. I was thinking, when the time comes, I shall leave here and find a position as a governess.”

  “God’s blood!” cried Clarinda, then swiftly looked around. She was not beyond using an oath now and then, but only out of earshot of her parents or those who might tattle. “How could you give up the horses?”

  “It would kill me, but what choice would I have?”

  How unfair! Horses were as much Sara Sophia’s life as they were hers. Practically from dawn to dusk Sara Sophia could be found in the stables, or out riding Sham, her favorite horse, even though it really wasn’t hers.

  Clarinda asked, “Do you think the nephew will keep all the horses?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Then surely he would sell them to good homes.”

  “The thoroughbreds he would, and of course Sham.

  “But what about old Bottom, and Nicker?” Clarinda shook her head in dismay, thinking of the two retired carriage horses. They had seen better days, but that didn’t matter. She and Sara Sophia loved them just the same as the others. “Would they just be sold for slaughter, do you suppose?”

  “I fear they would.”

  Clarinda threw the brush down. Putting her hands on her hips, she stared up at the sky and declared, “Life is so deucedly unfair.”

  “Are you just finding that out?” asked Sara Sophia. “The worst of it is, since we’re only women, we would have nothing to say about it. It’s men who rule the world. Even you, rich and titled though you are, must do what some man tells you. And not just now, all your life. First your father, then your husband. As for me” — her gentle smile was tinged with sadness — “I shall never marry.”

  “But of course you will,” Clarinda began, but Sara Sophia firmly shook her head.

  “What man would have me? I have no dowry. Worse, I have no standing. You know what the purveyors of gossip whisper about my parentage.” She set her chin in a stubborn line. “But that’s all right. I expect nothing from this world. I should be grateful just to be alive.”

  “I wish I were a man so I could set things straight.”

  “Well, you’re not a man, and you never will be, so make the best of it.” Sara Sophia laughed ironically. “Face it, everything you’ll ever want in this world must be obtained from a man, mostly using your womanly wiles.”

  “I suppose I should act just like Rissa,” said Clarinda in disgust.

  Sara Sophia nodded her agreement. “You’re too rebellious. You would get much further in this world fluttering your eyelids and playing coy behind your fan.”

  “And I should marry Lord Sufton,” Clarinda added bitterly. “But how could I stand it? What could be more boring than a man who agrees with everything you say?”

  “This is not a perfect world.”

  “But why can’t I do what I want to do?” Clarinda cried.

  Sara Sophia stopped brushing. Across the stallion’s back she looked directly into her friend’s eyes. “So tell me, if you could plan the rest of your life — have it just the way you wanted — what would it be?”

  Without hesitation Clarinda declared, “I wish we could run off, just you, I, and Alexander. We would bring Donegal for me, Sham for you, Captain for Alexander, and Dublin for extra because Rissa doesn’t ride him anyway. We would buy a farm somewhere far from here with lots of green fields for the horses. We would have loads of friends from all classes, not just the ton, and breed horses the rest of our lives.” She paused, intent on brushing Sham so furiously the horse turned its head and gave her the eye. With a wry little laugh, she continued, “Oh, I know how childish that sounds. In real life, one cannot run off, can one?” Her voice a rising crescendo of frustration, she continued, “One has to do what her parents tell her
to do and be miserable!”

  Sara Sophia ignored Clarinda’s despair and remarked, “You said ‘just you and I and Alexander’. But surely some day you will fall in love and marry and have children.”

  “No! I shall never love again. You’re the only one who knows how my heart was broken.”

  “But Jeffrey’s dead, and you’re young, and … and…” At a loss for words, Sara Sophia stumbled and stopped.

  Clarinda’s laugh was hollow. “I know what you’re going to say — that Jeffrey wasn’t mine, he was Rissa’s. And you’d be right, only” — a flash of despair ripped through her — “we can’t help whom we fall in love with. I shall love my dreamy-eyed poet until the day I die. In my heart, no one can replace Jeffrey.”

  Impulsively Sara Sophia came around Sham and hugged Clarinda. In her sweet, serene voice, she said, “You can never know for certain what the future holds.”

  “I have a fairly good idea,” Clarinda replied grimly. “I have a twin who’s so perfect I must strive to be just like her. I have parents who want me to marry the most boring man in the world. You think I have a chance for happiness? I think not.”

  “Ah, Clarinda, you just haven’t met the right man yet. But you will, I promise you. He’s going to be tall — “

  “Since you’re dreaming, you may as well make him rich, and exceedingly handsome.”

  “Well, of course that, but more important, he will be his own man — “

  “Whom I won’t be able to twist around my little finger, like I can Larimore?”

  “Exactly.” Counting on her fingers, Sara Sophia continued, “He will honor his parents, be kind to animals, and, of course, adore horses. But most of all he will be so utterly masterful that you, my wild, independent Clarinda, will not be able to push him around.”

  Clarinda took over. “And yet, he will respect me for the bright woman I am and not be bossy, and he will allow me to have whatever I want and to do whatever I want.”

  “The perfect husband,” declared Sara Sophia.

  Clarinda slanted a skeptical glance at her friend. “Such a man does not exist.”

  Sara Sophia sighed. “I fear not. So you may as well marry that jellyfish, Lord Sufton, and make the best of it.”

  *

  Wisps of late night London fog swirled around the entrance to White’s Gambling Club as Robert, Lord Stormont, Earl of Marsett, stepped outside, followed by his good friend, Lucius, Lord Wentridge. Robert, a tall man with a purposeful stride, stepped to the curb and signaled his coachman. A frown crossed the handsome features of his thin, darkly tanned face as he turned to Lucius and said, “I’ve half a notion to give it back.”

  “Are you daft?” Lucius, a fair-haired, slender young man of medium stature, dropped his usual cynical demeanor and regarded his friend aghast. “You won Hollyridge Manor fair and square, did you not? Lord Westerlynn knew what he was doing, did he not? I’d wager he’s been playing whist since long before you were born.”

  “The old man’s close to eighty, if not eighty-five. What if he’s not of sound mind?”

  “Preposterous,” scoffed Lucius. “It’s not like you to question yourself. As I recall, you attempted more than once to dissuade Westerlynn from risking his estate, but the old reprobate would have none of it.”

  “True…. “Robert sunk into deep thought. Lucius was right, he should be ecstatic, winning such a huge estate, but somehow he felt less than joyful. Still deep in thought, Robert climbed into his coach, along with Lucius, and settled his lean, powerful body against the squabs. He leaned to signal his coachman, asking Lucius, “Where to? Shall we call it a night?”

  “No late visit to Selina?”

  “I saw her last night.”

  “Don’t want to spoil her, eh?”

  Robert’s deep, booming laughter filled the carriage. In truth, he was most pleased with his latest fille de joie, who excited him no end. Still, he had no need to see her every night. “She’s a lovely girl, Lucius, but I’ll soon be on to the next.”

  “My word, you’re fickle.”

  Robert sighed. “No long-term attachments, that’s my rule. Of course, when the time comes, I’ll see she has a sufficiency of trinkets to assuage her feelings.”

  Lucius sniffed his disgust.

  “But how often do I come to London?” asked Robert, trying to explain. “It’s not fair to tie any woman exclusively to me.”

  “There are times I don’t understand you,” Lucius said, sighing in chagrin. “Here you are, a first son — rich, titled, not bad looking by half — have I left anything out? Yet you choose to bury yourself in the dreary depths of the countryside with naught but your horses for company. Astounding!” Lucius rolled his eyes. “How could you deliberately chose to live away from London? I shall never understand how you could miss all the fetes, routs, glittering balls — let alone all those twittering young chits throwing themselves at your feet in hopes you’ll marry them. Yet you won’t move back, and you even refuse any serious attachment to any of your ladybirds.”

  “Don’t fret, Lucius,” Robert answered. “Strange as it may seem to you, my life is thoroughly comfortable without the joys of London. Rest assured I’m totally content to visit but occasionally.”

  “Incredible,” Lucius muttered.

  Robert remained silent. Lucius would never understand how content he was to spend his time at Oakley House, his estate in Kent, where he satisfied his passion for breeding horses — many said some of England’s finest. After his father died, and he received his title, he had played the popular London bachelor for a time. But he had soon grown weary of the marriageable chits and their eager Mamas. Now, as far as he was concerned, the best part of coming to London was gambling at the city’s leading clubs, visiting his current ladybird, and above all, examining the fine horseflesh at Tattersall’s. After such visits, he returned to Oakley House happy and content, delighted to be back with his cherished thoroughbreds.

  “My rakehell days are over,” he remarked to Lucius. “I must be getting old.”

  “At twenty-eight?” Lucius chuckled. “It’s more likely the time has come to settle down. You need a wife.”

  “I detest the thought.” Robert shrugged. “My father warned me not to marry until I was at least forty, and that, my good fellow, is excellent advice. My parents bickered constantly when I was growing up. I hesitate to subject my own children to the same misery.”

  “But surely you want sons.”

  Robert shook his head adamantly. “It’s not worth the price, at least not for now.”

  “But not all women — “

  “Every woman I meet is flighty, full of artifice, with not a brain in her head.”

  Lucius chuckled. “You want a woman who would simply be herself? Not likely! Not here in London with these silly, husband-hunting chits.”

  “Well, then, don’t tell me I need a wife.” Robert was silent a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sound so disagreeable. I hate to admit it, but you’re right. Long ago I found the London Seasons excruciatingly superficial and insipid. Still, I know the day will come when I shall be compelled to grit my teeth, plunge into the marriage mart, and chose a bride.”

  “Dare I mention that if you marry, it might be for love?”

  “Love? Ha! Love is an illusion. I shall never fall in love.” In the dimness of the gas lit street, Robert cocked his head and regarded his friend skeptically. You’re as old as I, Lucius. I don’t see you heading for the altar.”

  “At least you don’t have parents breathing down your neck,” Lucius replied. “My parents grow ever more impatient — like you, the price I pay for being a first son. I must marry soon, but unlike you, I won’t worry one wit. After all, a man of sense only trifles with women — humors them — plays with them as he would a child. So it’s most certainly not required I love her, only that she possess a title and suitable dowry. After I marry, I shall take the time to beget an heir, then continue my fine life in London, just as before.”

&nbs
p; “I am so relieved,” Robert answered sarcastically. “If ever there was a man who adores the bachelor life, ‘tis you.”

  “Exactly,” answered Lucius, nodding his head vigorously. “‘Tis the only solution. I love all the girls and would have the devil of a time settling on just one.”

  “Well said,” Robert answered offhandedly. “As for me, at the moment, my life suits me well enough. Some day I’ll get around to looking for a wife. I don’t expect her to be beautiful, and have no notion I could ever be in love with her. I would be content if I could find a woman with half a brain in her head who would just be herself. That will be many years from now, however.”

  They rode in silence for awhile, Robert allowing his thoughts to drift back to old Lord Westerlynn and the game of whist that had ruined him.

  Not fair…

  Not right, taking advantage of an old man…

  He could not do it!

  Without warning, Robert poked his out the window and yelled, “Stop, Jeffers! Turn around. Go back.”

  “What the deuce?” exclaimed Lucius.

  “We’re returning to White’s,” Robert said firmly.

  I’ve decided to deed Hollyridge Manor back to Lord Westerlynn.”

  “You have lost your mind.”

  “Perhaps, but I cannot in all good conscience take advantage of a senile old man.”

  *

  “Lord Westerlynn has left, sir,” said the uniformed attendant at White’s. “Climbed in his carriage a while ago — looked quite dreadful, if I may say so. I heard him tell his coachman to take him to his lodgings on Thayer Street.”

  “Ah, well,” said Robert, “we shall catch him in the morning.”

  *

  The next morning, Robert, accompanied by Lucius, presented himself at Lord Westerlynn’s doorstep.

  “You are too late, sir,” said the butler. “His lordship has left for Hollyridge Manor, quite hastily, I might add. Said he planned to return in a few days.”

  “Damme!” said Robert. “Most likely he’s gone to retrieve his personal possessions.”

  “Well, that’s that,” said a relieved Lucius as they climbed back into Robert’s carriage. “You’ve made your best effort. Obviously Westerlynn has resigned himself to the loss of his estate, so why not keep it?”