“But I don’t remember it, and you say I was there, too!” Maggie cried. She turned to Lizzie, pleading. “You don’t remember, not really. He could be feeding you a line of codswallop to—to—well, I don’t know why he would, but he could be!”
“That is just the reason we believe it to be true,” the Lady said. “Mr. Seacombe has no reason in the world to claim Lizzie as his daughter—being perfectly cognizant of her past—other than the fact that she really is.”
“But what about me?” Maggie wailed. “What is going to happen to me? To us?”
“That, I fear, is the crux of the matter.” The Lady’s face grew bleak. “What may be enormous good fortune for Lizzie—to be reunited with her family, to have a home, things that any compassionate person would not begrudge her—is the cause of equally enormous grief for me.” Her lips trembled no matter how much she pressed them together. She swallowed and went on, “I do not know how I shall bear it, if we are to be separated.”
“We shan’t be separated!” Lizzie said fiercely. “We’re a flock. Nothing will change. Maggie and I simply have firm and sensible reasons to go to finishing school now, and we will come back to England during holidays just as we always have.”
“No, we won’t.” Maggie couldn’t seem to stay still. She paced the Persian carpet, her skirts whipping around her ankles as though she kicked them. “You’ll come here for holidays, or Paris, or the Antipodes—wherever he and Claude are. Of course you will. You’ll want to be with your family.” With what appeared to be an effort of will, she added, “I would, too, in your place.”
“But why wouldn’t it be your place, Mags?” Lizzie leaped up from the sofa to stop her frantic pacing. “Father said that he adopted you as his own. We were both with our mother when the airship went down. He has found not just one daughter, but two.”
“I was not the one he asked into the study to tell the happy news.”
“That was because you’d already gone ahead to Lady Lucy. I’m sure you were next.”
“I don’t think so. Why would he want me? It appears I’m not even related to him, and it’s not very likely that a promise he made to his wife sixteen years ago is going to hold now.”
“You’re wrong. He’s not like that.” Maggie’s intuition and knack for observing people were often right, but Lizzie knew in her bones that they were not this time. “Come on. We’ll ask him. He’s gone out to the ship to tell Claude and everyone else. We’ll ask him and you’ll see.”
Lizzie pulled them both along with her across the expanse of lawn to the broadmead by the river where the airships were moored. As they mounted Lady Lucy’s gangway, they could hear the sound of applause, and a whooping sort of cheer. And then, as they reached the doorway to the grand salon, they stood transfixed.
Claude, all nearly six feet of him, capered with delight, whirling about the room like a dervish. In one glance, he saw Lizzie, dashed over, and swung her around so that her silk skirts flared out like a bell. “Elizabeth! My sister! It is you—I knew it would be—found at last!”
She had not spared a single thought as to his feelings about their father’s revelations. Her only concerns had been for Maggie and for the Lady. But this! There could be no doubt about her half-brother’s thoughts on the matter now.
“I’m so happy!” He crushed her to him in a hug that would set permanent wrinkles in her bodice—but she didn’t care. She hugged him back and laughed with contagious joy. This was the kind of welcome that could warm the very cockles of a lost lamb’s heart—the kind of joy that finding the lost ought to bring.
And with no warning but a cloud of light perfume, Cynthia von Stade engulfed her in a hug of her own, and then she was being patted on the back by Darwin and Evan and Geoffrey and wished every joy as though she had done something marvelous. Even Arabella leaned in with a cool kiss to say, “I knew there was something more to this party than charity.” Behind it all stood their father, beaming with happiness, and over there by the coffee service was Lady Dunsmuir, her lips parted in astonishment, an empty cup forgotten in her hand.
Lord Dunsmuir was seated on a sofa under the viewing port, trying to explain to Willie what had happened. And there, next to the decanters of spirits, stood Captain Hollys and Tigg.
Tigg knew nothing of her feelings—nothing of her future. But from the other side of the salon, over Cynthia’s bare shoulder, Lizzie could see it in his face. She knew without a doubt that he was already saying good-bye.
*
For the next two days, Lizzie’s emotions flung themselves from the depths of despair to the heights of joy—sometimes within the space of a few minutes. Despair when Tigg turned away from the celebration and went back to his duties in the engine room—clearly a ruse, because the engines were not running—with hardly more than a word to her. Joy when Father sent the pigeon notifying Maison Villeneuve in Geneva of the change in her name and advising them that she would require a private room and a personal maid when she arrived in September. Despair again when Maggie decided once and for all that she would not go to Geneva under any provocation and she hoped the maid would be a better friend, if Lizzie was going to be so stuck-up as to go along with such a ridiculous plan.
All in all, it was quite a relief when the day came for everyone’s departure. Now she and Maggie would have some quiet time together to talk. They could ride, and ramble through the park, and even go boating, since it appeared Claude was going to leave his skiff here for the summer. Lizzie walked into the room they shared, ready to suggest they might do any one of these after the Lady lifted, to find Maggie laying the last of her blouses in her valise.
“Mags, what are you doing? You don’t have to change rooms, you know. There is plenty of space in here for both of us.”
“I’m not changing rooms. I’m going to London.”
For a moment, it felt as though Maggie had landed a roundhouse punch in her solar plexus. She could hardly get a breath. “But—but why?”
“It’s what we had planned.”
“But everything is different now.”
“Different for you, maybe. Not for me. Are you telling me you’re not coming to the Lady’s investiture?”
It hadn’t even entered her head. Not once.
And worse, Maggie saw it had not. “Don’t you think that after all she’s done for us, you might see your way to doing something for her?”
“I—I—”
“I packed your valise, too.”
“I can’t go. Not now.”
“Why not? Why can’t you take two days to be with her for something that you know perfectly well means everything to her? While all these wonderful things are happening to you, can you take a moment to remember how momentous this is for her?”
Did no one understand? “The Lady is always doing momentous things. She won’t miss me.”
“She will. And even if she doesn’t, I will.”
“As much as I’ll miss you here. And in Geneva.” Maggie concentrated on tucking the lace collar of the blouse into place just so. Lizzie tried again. “Stay for a month. The rest of the month. It’s only ten days. I need you with me while I get my feet under me—while I get used to all of this.” Despite herself, her throat closed up. “I need my sister to scout with me, the way I always have.”
Maggie left off fiddling with the valise and straightened. “Your cousin, you mean. Come to London, and then I’ll come back with you.”
“I can’t. Father and Evan are entertaining some lot of scientists tomorrow evening and I’m to act as hostess.”
“They are? When did this come up?”
Lizzie waved a distracted hand. “I don’t know. I suppose it was always up, and then I happened and everyone forgot.”
“What was he going to do for a hostess before?”
For goodness sake, why was she playing the Spanish Inquisition? “I’ve no idea, and I don’t care. It’s an honor to be asked—to do something a lady would do, not a child—and there’s an end to it.”
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“There’s the heart of it, you mean,” Maggie said, and fastened the clasps on the valise.
“What does that mean?”
With a sigh, Maggie laid the jacket of her traveling suit over her arm and picked up the valise. “Come and see me off, at least, if you can walk that far without getting your feathers ruffled?”
“My feathers are not ruffled. I am perfectly calm. Tell me what you meant.”
“I simply meant that you’re in a bigger hurry to grow up than I am. You want to be a lady. That’s well and good—certainly Cynthia and Arabella have proven that it’s blood that counts there, not accomplishment. And now, apparently, you have the blood, so you can be the lady. Good for you.”
She pushed past Lizzie, who struggled with a dozen retorts to this, none of which could make it out of her gaping mouth. By the time she managed, “It’s not that way at all!” Maggie was halfway down the grand staircase, with its portraits and busts set in niches to remind one that there were better things to look up to in this world than the method of getting up or down.
Maggie gazed at her across a gulf so large that her voice echoed against the marble. “One of the first things the Lady ever told us was to put others first. That’s the mark of a true lady, not what’s on your birth certificate or how much money your family has. She has always put us first, Liz. Don’t you think you can return the favor and do the same for her?”
Her father came along the gallery just in time to hear, freezing Maggie in embarrassment upon the stairs.
“I am glad to know that your former guardian instilled such noble principles in her wards.” He tucked Lizzie’s hand into the crook of his arm and they paced together down to the foyer. By the time they reached the bottom, Maggie’s blush had faded and her back was straight as she turned to face them. “And your cousin is quite right, Elizabeth,” he went on, looking earnestly into her eyes. “I will not take it amiss if you decide to go to London for this event … though I must say your absence will be noticed.”
Exactly! “Maggie, Father needs a hostess to help him far more than the Lady needs me standing in some big audience. No one will notice my absence there.”
“Lady Claire will. I will.”
“But not in the same way as it might be here,” Seacombe said before Lizzie could reply. “The hostess’s chair will be empty, and I am afraid Claude will not fill it nearly so graciously. Many of these scientists do not know the civilizing influence of ladies at table—to say nothing of the gentle spirit of a true home. But of course you must do as you think right. The decision is entirely yours.”
Was this not what she had wanted for weeks now—to create the kind of influence for good that Lady Dunsmuir did so effortlessly? Here was her opportunity, and she must take it. “I am staying, Maggie. You must give Lady Claire an extra hug of congratulations for me.”
Maggie would understand some day, and until that day, she would show patience and grace and forgiveness. Those were the qualities of a lady, too.
None of which helped in the least when Claire hugged her at the bottom of Athena’s gangway and Lizzie saw the tears swimming in her eyes. “Are you sure you will not come home with us, Lizzie? There is still time to fetch your valise.”
It took all her conviction that she was in the right to say, “Quite sure, Lady. My place is here, where I’m needed—and—and I want to know my family better.”
The Lady’s dear face turned slightly paler, but despite it, she nodded slowly. “I hope you will write should you want more of your clothes or books. And I will expect you at Carrick House on the first of August, when Mr. Seacombe leaves for the shooting, so that we can buy your clothes for Geneva together.”
“Yes, Lady. I’ll look forward to it.”
“Good-bye for now, then, darling.”
Lizzie couldn’t … quite … let go.
“Send a pigeon if you need me,” Claire whispered into her hair. “You know the code for Athena.”
B1LL4 B0L7. Oh, yes. All of them knew it. They had memorized it years ago, just in case.
Maggie and the Lady boarded … the gangway swung up … the groundsmen released the ropes. Athena fell up into the sky, past the treetops, past the castle towers … and beyond all hope of calling her back again.
14
The long dining table seemed even longer with the Dunsmuirs, the Lady, and Maggie gone. There had to be thirty feet of gleaming damask tablecloth, with islands of bone china and place settings and glasses marooned at intervals along its length, and floral arrangements of fragrant lilies and roses separating one side from another like continents. Lizzie, had she been in charge of the arrangements this evening, would have seated everyone at one end so that they might have a proper conversation.
But she was not in charge. Yet.
The butler pulled out the chair at the far end opposite her father and waited for her to seat herself. “This is your place now, Miss Elizabeth, as the daughter of the house,” he said. “We understand that you have been reunited with your family. I hope you will permit me to say that the staff and I are delighted.”
“Why, thank you, Mr.—I mean, Kennidge,” she said, so touched that tears sprang to her eyes. “How very kind of you.”
She would have said more, but Claude took that moment to lean in and call down the length of the table, “Pater, we’re off to Newquay tomorrow to see the new sub-marine cable cars. What fun to whizz about underwater! May we have Victory, or will you make me slog it out on the train?”
Their father craned around the flower arrangement to gaze at him, confused. “I thought you were staying the week, and racing here on the Colley?”
“Water’s too low,” Geoffrey put in before Claude could speak. “And it’s too hot—the ladies don’t want to crew. There will be good fun at Newquay, though. Can’t say it’s too hot under the sea.”
Wait—they could not be thinking of going? And leaving her here all alone? Well, as alone as one could be with one’s father and a staff of a dozen at least?
Her father said as much, and Claude laughed. “You brought it up last night, so don’t go blaming me because I agree it’s a brilliant idea.”
“But Claude, I didn’t mean for you to go this week—practically this instant. What will Elizabeth do without all her friends—and without you?”
All my friends have already gone. But no, that was disloyal and untrue.
“What about it, Lizzie?” Claude asked, waving his fork to get her attention. “Want to come down to Newquay with us and see the latest in sub-marine engines? They’re going to see if they can get to Bristol, underwater. If we lift in the morning, we should be there in time for lunch—and the marina puts on a topping spread.”
“I—well, I hardly—” Good heavens. It would be horribly rude to abandon their father. Every bit as rude as Claude abandoning her. And besides, she could not think of anything less appealing than being under the water. The thought of it closing over her head horrified her. But she could certainly watch from the deck of the marina. “I am to be Father’s hostess when the scientists come tomorrow. I couldn’t possibly go until the day after, at least. Why don’t you put it off until then?”
“Barometer’s dropping,” Geoffrey said to his salad. “Won’t get away if we don’t lift tomorrow, don’t you know.”
“Rather unsporting of you, Lizzie,” Arabella drawled. “Do come. What do you want with a lot of grisly scientists, anyway?”
As if she didn’t know perfectly well that Lizzie numbered several scientists among her friends. “I told Father I would, and so I shall,” she replied quietly.
“That’s the spirit,” Father said. “She stands by her word. A valuable quality in a young woman.”
Claude merely grinned, and Lizzie waited for their father to put his foot down and insist that his son stay. They needed time to get to know each other—to become a family. In a few days’ time the Prince of Wales would come to his country home with his eldest son and what the papers had taken to calling
the Three-Feathered Court—his personal circle, separate from that of the Queen or even that which he inhabited with Princess Alexandra—on his way to Scotland. Her father and Claude would join the royal shooting party and she would return to London—and two weeks after that, she would be on her way to Geneva. Time was short, and she had years of it to make up for.
“Oh, very well, if you must go,” Father said. “I’ll have the crew alerted for an early departure—say, nine o’clock?”
Arabella groaned, and her brother nudged her. “Chin up, Bella. You can nap on the way.”
Lizzie dropped her gaze to her own salad, for fear they would see the shock and dismay there. She felt as though she were sinking into her chair … down through the floor … into the cellar, where people kept things they didn’t have any use for—or would use sometime in the future, but not now.
If she protested any further, six pairs of eyes would train themselves upon her, and six minds would come to the rapid conclusion that she was a baby and a self-centered one, to boot. A lady thinks of others before herself. Claude would come back—this was his home, after all. Or one of them. They had years and years to get to know one another.
She was fortunate, really. She would have Father all to herself, with the exception of Evan, who rarely stuck his head out of the laboratory unless there was the imminent prospect of food. She would get to know Father, then. He could tell her about her mother and about her past. She was hungry to know every detail—how her mother looked when she’d held her as a baby, whether she preferred green to blue, as Lizzie did, and what kinds of flowers were her favorites.
Yes, all things considered, maybe this was the best thing that could have happened. Claude had had their father all to himself for eleven years. Now it was her turn.
The next morning, according to plan, the Sorbonne set straggled aboard the Seacombe airship, Victory, with the maximum of fuss and bother and a minimum of organization. Lizzie watched them with some amusement. One week in the company of the Lady and Arabella would learn to pack everything once, in the proper order in her trunk—would possibly not even have a trunk, for the Lady travelled light. One simply did not need shoes in every color to match every single gown one owned. Captain Hollys would never allow Darwin and Geoffrey to lounge about on the lawn instead of assisting sisters and friends. And Tigg … well, Tigg would not be swanning off to Newquay and leaving her here at all.
Magnificent Devices [5] A Lady of Resources Page 12
