The Heiresses

by Allison Rushby

  Mrs. Thompson gave Ro a long look, as if assessing what Ro did and didn’t know about her situation, which told Ro instantly that Mrs. Thompson had guessed at the time of birth what it had taken Hestia years to discover. Ro gasped. “So, you knew all along!”

  Mrs. Thompson nodded. “Yes. I had seen a photograph of twins born before, in Jamaica—one black and one white. It is very rare, but it is possible.”

  “And the doctor? And my father?” Ro asked. “Do you think they both knew?”

  “Your father was … quite incensed by the difference, I must admit. The doctor? I’m not so sure. He did seem to understand what your father was upset about, so perhaps he guessed also.”

  Ro’s breath caught in her chest. “And did my father say anything? Mention anyone’s name?”

  Mrs. Thompson thought about her question before answering. “There was much ranting and raving, but I was busy with the babies and there was your poor mother to attend to, of course. I don’t recall him saying anything in particular, however. No name, or anything like that.”

  Ro shook her head. “It is simply all so … awful. Especially that memorial portrait. What a horrible, horrible thing.…”

  “Yes, I began to become very worried that something untoward might happen, especially to the little dark-haired baby that was left out altogether. I was very happy to drop her off to that vicar and his wife. They seemed … overjoyed to have her and so very kind.”

  Ro nodded now, thinking of Clio. “You’re right. They were very kind indeed.”

  * * *

  Not long after this, Ro thanked Mrs. Thompson profusely one last time and then said her good-byes. She had not walked far at all before her legs became very shaky and she had to sit down. Whereupon, she burst into tears. She wasn’t sure why—she supposed it was a combination of her father’s evil betrayal against them and because of Mrs. Thompson herself. There was something about Mrs. Thompson—she offered a refreshing believability. Ro had known that every word she had spoken had been the truth, which was a rarity lately. Finally, she knew the basics of her situation—she was one of triplets. Thalia was her full sister and Clio her half sister, but they were triplets all the same. Sisters. She could still barely associate herself with the word. She had wanted a sister, even one sister, for so long. It felt like a kind of release to let this want—this need—go. To know that this was now her reality was an overwhelming feeling.

  With a little more time and a few more deep breaths, Ro was able to walk to the closest road and hail a taxi. She informed the driver she wished to go to Belgrave Square, but they were only a few minutes away when she decided what she really needed to do was to walk and to clear her head before she returned home to confront Thalia and Clio with the news that one of them was dead, the other nonexistent, and that Charles truly did have the upper hand in this situation. “I’ve changed my mind,” she told the taxi driver. “Please pull over here.”

  Ro found herself walking for quite some time, thinking. With Uncle Henry destitute—well, not exactly destitute, but without ready money—her future was now precarious. She couldn’t see Aunt Alice fronting up the money for her to attend the university (she detested Uncle Henry’s learned ways and Ro was quite sure she wouldn’t think it “seemly” for a woman to attend the university). And while Hestia would approve of her studies, it would be far too shaming to turn up on her front doorstep and start asking for large sums.

  Thus, her future seemed to now be aligned with that of Thalia and Clio—all three of them now required this inheritance that Charles was holding so close to his chest, even though, by his own admission, he didn’t require it. Ro considered for a moment asking Charles privately for money for the university so that she might leave the city and then instantly dismissed the idea. It wouldn’t be right. She and her sisters had agreed to fight this battle with Charles together. As Thalia had said—three were stronger than one. And she doubted Charles would hold the most progressive views concerning women and education. Undoubtedly he would share Aunt Alice’s views, even though he was fifty years her junior.

  “Excuse me,” a gentleman said, stepping in front of Ro in order to pass through an iron gate. On looking up, Ro found that she had paused in her step outside the university—Vincent’s university. She frowned now, wondering if she had walked here on purpose, or whether it had been an accident. She hadn’t meant to come here. She hadn’t even considered it. Had she?

  Ro took a few steps to the left, standing out of the way, and stared up to where Vincent’s rooms would be. She recalled Thalia’s words from the other night—her suggestion that Vincent had some sort of motive in following their motorcar from London. She had to admit she was intrigued. Why had he done this? Because he was interested in her? She blushed now, remembering their encounter at the castle. Not that anything truly untoward had happened. The knight had finally left the chamber they were in and then … well, they had kissed and … touched. She felt her cheeks become hotter still as she recalled what had passed between them.

  Lost in her thoughts, Ro smiled. What was especially thrilling was how completely, utterly, and totally out of character it was for her to have done this. It was not her, yet, somehow, it was all her. She had acted purely on desire for the first time in her life. Of course, she had been shocked when Vincent had told her there had been cocaine in the wine (which was illegal, she knew), but she had to admit that, despite the odd effect the drug had had on her heart, it had all been lovely. Was this what Thalia was doing every single evening? She supposed so.

  It was the passing reference to Thalia that did it. Without a backward glance, Ro found her feet swiftly retracing the route she had taken the other day—to Vincent’s office. For that’s what Thalia would do—if she had a question, she would ask it. And, now, that was exactly what Ro was going to do.

  * * *

  “Ro! What a lovely surprise!” Vincent opened the door to his rooms.

  Ro felt far less brave now. “I know you weren’t expecting me…,” she began, her heart beating wildly in her chest once more, just as it had done at the castle, only now there was no drug to blame.

  “Do come in.” He opened the door wider and, after seeing he was truly happy to see her and she was not being a nuisance, Ro did so.

  With the door shut once more behind them, the pair stared at each other for a brief moment, then laughed hesitantly at the awkwardness between them.

  “I must apologize for the other night,” Vincent finally said with a smile. “I…,” he started, then paused once more.

  “I must admit it was quite unlike any other wine I have ever tasted,” Ro tried.

  “That is very true.”

  Silence fell over them again. In it, Ro tried desperately not to blush as she had blushed downstairs. She couldn’t halt the thoughts running through her head—of what she and Vincent had done the other night and how she would very much like to re-create that scene again right now.

  Vincent took her silence the wrong way, taking a step forward toward her. “I hope you don’t think ill of me…”

  “Oh, no,” Ro replied quickly, taking a step forward herself. She was horrified that he would think this. “Not at all.”

  The pair were close now. If Ro wanted to, she could have easily reached out to touch Vincent. And, oh, how she wanted to do just that. She shook her head. “No, I would never think ill of…” Before she knew what she was doing, her arms were repeating what her feet had done downstairs—showing her the way, without her having to think about her actions. Now, Ro found herself pulling Vincent to her—by his shirt of all things. As she did so, all kinds of feelings whirled inside her, fighting for precedence. All at once she was scared, thrilled, excited, petrified. What would he do? What would he say?

  He came to her willingly, smelling deliciously of soap and paper, his shirt crumpled beneath her hand where she clutched at it. They kissed. Longer and harder and deeper than they had at the castle. Ro could barely believe this was real and not yet another d
ream. That she was brave enough to do what she had so longed to do in her private thoughts amazed her.

  The pair finally paused for breath, pulling back slightly. Vincent spoke first, his eyes holding Ro’s. “Oh, God. I have not been able to stop thinking about you. Are you really here?”

  Ro was ecstatic at his response, though tried desperately not to show it. She smiled a wide smile back at him. “I’m not entirely sure,” she replied, feeling bolder by the minute. “Why don’t we try that again to find out?”

  This time, Vincent needed no encouragement. He did not need to be pulled toward her, but grabbed Ro willingly and drank her in. Minutes passed as they explored one another’s mouths and bodies. When Vincent sat down on the edge of his desk, sending some papers spilling to the floor, he brought her in even closer to him and she was able to run a hand through his tangled hair. As for Vincent, he skimmed one hand down Ro’s waist pulling her closer again. If Ro had thought she was going to die the other night, at the castle, she quickly realized she had been wrong. Surely she would die now, instead. Of ecstasy. If it was possible to do so, she didn’t care. She wasn’t going to stop what she was doing anytime soon.

  Slowly but surely his hand moved away from Ro’s waist and swept down her thigh. After some time, he pushed aside her skirt and caressed her knee. And then Vincent’s hand stroked her leg upward, slowly but surely making its way higher each time—up her thigh, then over the top of the edge of her stocking, higher and higher. When he reached the edge of her knickers, Ro gasped. The sensible part of her told her she should tell Vincent to stop. Immediately. But the truth of it was, she didn’t want him to stop. Not at all. She was both frightened and thrilled by the thought of where his hand might travel next.

  “Vincent?” a voice called out, with a knock on the door at the same time.

  The pair froze.

  “Vincent, are you there?” It was a woman’s voice, Ro realized.

  Vincent visibly recoiled in horror as he and Ro separated. “Oh, my God,” he whispered. His eyes met Ro’s. “It’s my fiancée.”

  Ro took a step back, fixing her skirt in the process. “Your what?” she hissed, under her breath.

  Vincent waved a hand. “Wait, that’s not true. She’s not my fiancée. Oh, God. Look, it will be better for you if you hide. Over there.” He pointed to a spot behind some heavy bookcases.

  Ro ran the few steps over to the bookcases and hid herself behind them, hoping the many layers of dust she could see wouldn’t cause her to sneeze.

  After a short pause, she heard Vincent open the door. “Genevieve! And Mrs. Mitchell! What a surprise! Won’t you come in?”

  There were voices—something was said that Ro couldn’t quite catch, though she expected it was a greeting of some sort, and then footsteps. The three were properly inside the room now. The door closed.

  “I have missed you!” Ro heard the girl say. “Are you still very busy?” She sounded young. Very young, Ro thought. And a little silly with it.

  “Very, I’m afraid,” came Vincent’s reply.

  “Mama has just paid a visit around the corner, to Mrs. Belton. Do you know her?”

  “I haven’t had the pleasure of being introduced to Mrs. Belton, no.” Vincent’s voice sounded amused to Ro’s ears.

  “Oh,” the girl said. “She was showing us her most amazing Canaletto she just bought for her husband’s birthday. They’re amazingly rich, you know. Mr. Belton made his money in beer.”

  “Genevieve!” her mother reprimanded her.

  But it was too late. Ro winced at the girl’s obvious gaffe and guessed, correctly, that Genevieve and her mother were also amazingly, recently rich and that this was also due to something like beer, or toothpaste, or soap, and that she had much to learn about polite society.

  “Were you talking to someone just now?” Genevieve continued.

  Ro held her breath as she heard footsteps headed toward her.

  “How embarrassing,” Vincent said with a chuckle, and the footsteps stopped. “I was talking to myself. You see, I was in such a rush as I’m already late to meet with someone and I dropped these papers on the floor…” Ro heard Vincent gathering them up. “I was chastising myself for being careless.”

  “Perhaps if you had put them away in the first place?” Mrs. Mitchell said, rather pointedly, Ro thought.

  “That, Mrs. Mitchell, would be a very good idea. What this room needs, I fear, is a woman’s touch.”

  Ro almost laughed out loud. Sure enough, this shut Mrs. Mitchell up nicely. She did not offer to tidy up.

  “Oh, dear. So you must go?” the girl said. “I will be miserable all afternoon now. In fact, I told Mama quite plainly that I would do nothing but mope for the rest of the day if we passed by and she wouldn’t allow me to stop.”

  “But you have seen me now, so there’s no use in moping, is there?”

  “I suppose not,” the girl said and sighed. “If only we had stopped by before, rather than later.”

  “It is a shame,” Vincent replied, and Ro shook her head in wonderment that he did not fall asleep, so dreary was the conversation.

  “We shouldn’t keep Dr. Allington, Genevieve. We will take our leave now,” Mrs. Mitchell told her daughter firmly.

  The mother and daughter said their good-byes, as did Vincent. The door opened, the door closed. Footsteps retreated down the hall.

  When there was silence once more, Ro reappeared from her hiding place.

  Vincent came back to his desk and leaned upon it, looking altogether beaten. “It’s not as it seems.”

  “Isn’t it?” Ro asked. “And how is that?” She knew she should leave, but found she couldn’t—something inside her needed to know why Vincent had lied. Why he had thought he could toy with her emotions.

  He stared at her for some time, before pushing himself off the desk briskly. “I will not lie to you, Ro. You are clever and educated and I will lay the truth out for you because there is probably some part of you that will understand my logic. Genevieve is kind and sweet, but I do not love her. This might make me sound unfeeling, but it is the simple truth. Her family is wealthy. If I am able to marry Genevieve, I would be fortunate enough to have the means with which to write and research without having to teach. I know it must be obvious to you that Genevieve is not like you…”

  Ro could not help but interject here. “No, she certainly is not,” she replied harshly. Genevieve seemed quite ridiculously feeble-minded and she was surprised that a eugenicist could possibly be interested in breeding with her.

  “I am so very embarrassed.” Vincent approached her.

  “As you should be.” Ro held out one hand and he stopped. She then found the strength within herself to say one final thing. “Good day, Vincent.”

  And with that, Ro left the room.

  * * *

  On the walk back to Belgrave Square, Ro knew she should be furious with Vincent. That instead of walking calmly, she should be stamping along the pavement, kicking at stones and glaring at small dogs passing by with their owners. And she was cross, but, somehow, not as much as she ought to be. Perhaps it was because Vincent had told her the truth. Perhaps it was because she had been brought up by Uncle Henry and Aunt Charlotte, in a household where logical argument reigned supreme and Uncle Henry’s work always came first. Perhaps it was because she herself longed to study and understood how someone might do whatever it took to make this possible. It was, most likely, a combination of all of these things, but the fact was, even though she was cross, Ro understood Vincent’s position. In a small way, she even respected it. He was willing to give up a chance at love in order to further his research. What would she be willing to give up in order to find the money she needed to attend the university? Ro wasn’t yet sure of the answer to this question.

  Vincent had made things perfectly clear for Ro. Like Uncle Henry, his research came first. This girl, Genevieve, would provide the money he needed to continue his research. He had certainly not treated Ro in the w
ay she ought to be treated, but he had acknowledged as much and she believed him to be sorry for his actions on that account. She also believed this hadn’t happened before. Vincent had simply had a taste of what might be—what love might be like—and he had grasped at it, or her, to be exact, with both hands.

  Ro knew her usual, logical, sensible self should walk from that room and never see Vincent again. But what had passed between them, even if it was over a short space of time, had changed everything for her. Ro wanted more from Vincent. Needed more from him. There was nothing logical or sensible about this, she knew, but she embraced the thought anyway. Turning the corner into Belgrave Square, she suddenly understood Vincent’s single-minded focus on his research and Thalia’s similar focus on gaining their inheritance. Now, like them, she had one aim. She would have what she wanted and what she wanted was Vincent.

  The facts of the matter were this: Vincent was interested in Genevieve’s money. Well, Ro could do better than plain old money. Perhaps not right this second, but in the near future. The three of them would win their money from Charles, she was sure of it. She wasn’t exactly sure how this would come to pass, but she trusted she would find a way to convince Charles with time. What she had to top Genevieve, however, was connections. Connections would be crucial to furthering Vincent’s name when it came to his research, especially in an area like eugenics—she knew that much from being Uncle Henry’s niece. There was no denying Vincent had been impressed when he found out her aunt was Hestia Craven—Lady Hestia Craven, no less—a viscountess with friends in extremely high places. A viscountess beat a Mrs. any day, however much money that Mrs. had. All Ro needed now was money herself. The inheritance.

  A small stab of fear pierced her chest then because Ro realized that she had something she wanted badly, and she saw that she would do anything, or almost anything to get it. And she was sure this was how Thalia had felt about the inheritance all along. From their first meeting, Ro had thought Thalia was all false bravado with her insistence on never returning home. But from the few little bits and pieces she had learned, it seemed that Thalia’s former home was a very dark place indeed. Ro paused in her step now and bit her bottom lip, deep in thought. Yes, now that Ro wanted something equally badly herself, she knew without a doubt that her sister was a far more dangerous person than she had originally thought. She would have to be careful when it came to sharing information and strategy with Thalia. Very careful indeed.