The Heiresses

by Allison Rushby

  * * *

  It was only on the final approach to the town house that Ro’s thoughts turned from Vincent and the inheritance back to her sisters and what she must now tell them. If she should tell them at all. As she considered her situation and the new knowledge she had gained, she began to see how what Mrs. Thompson had told her might affect Clio greatly. What if Thalia was to use this information somehow against Clio? And then, of course, there was Hestia to consider. Had she known about this ruse? There was no way she could not have known. So, why had she not told them? And was this what she had been hiding from them all along? Ro could see why Hestia might have wanted to keep this information to herself for as long as possible—most likely because she felt it her duty to keep the triplets together, in order that they might get to know one another. Ro could not thank her aunt for hiding the truth, but she could see how it was a motherly action and one she had taken for her sister’s, Demeter’s, sake.

  As Ro walked up the front steps of the town house, still undecided about whether or not to share her news, she began to hear raised voices emanating from inside. She ran the final distance to the front door and entered as fast as possible, just as one voice in particular became louder. It was coming from the drawing room.

  Ro entered the scene to see a furious Thalia towering over a quivering Clio. “Finally! You have come home!” She whipped around the moment she realized Ro had returned. “Look what I found. In Clio’s coat pocket, quite by accident.” She waved something in one hand. A photograph, it seemed. “Look at it! She has been hiding it and not told us about it. I have no idea how long for. She has been keeping secrets. Lying to us. Look!” Thalia stalked over to push the photograph upon Ro.

  “Oh.” Ro looked at it. It was the memorial portrait itself. “Oh, yes, I see.”

  “What?” Thalia screeched, seeming to sense something in Ro’s expression. “You knew as well? You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

  Ro shook her head. “No. I’ve never seen it before. But, just now, Mrs. Thompson told me of its existence.” She glanced at Clio, whose tear-stained face was now in her hands.

  Thalia eyed her in disbelief. “And I’m supposed to believe that? No, I don’t believe it. You’re conspiring. Both of you. Conspiring against me. I know it.”

  “Thalia, don’t be ridiculous…,” Ro started.

  Thalia snorted. “Ridiculous? I’ll tell you what’s ridiculous. That I ever agreed to help both of you out in the first place. To work with you, instead of against you. But, no. No more. No more of this working together rubbish. You’re both on your own. But be warned. I’ll do whatever it takes to get that money.” She stalked from the room snatching the photograph from Ro as she went. “Anything.”

  Clio and Ro looked at one another, dread washing over them. They knew Thalia meant every word.

  Sisters Divided

  In her bedroom, Thalia busied herself with the newspaper and Hestia’s silver scissors. Carefully, she cut around the edges of the most interesting piece of the day. When she was done, she held it up before her and began to read aloud to Haggis McTavish, sitting on the floor. “A large number of young society people, including the well-known Venetia Saville and increasingly well-known Thalia Craven-Towneley, sipped cocktails yesterday evening at a Wild West Ball. Dressed in cowboy suits and cowgirl dresses, their lassos may have come in useful when several gate-crashers caused a commotion and the police had to be called.” Haggis McTavish cocked his white furry head and looked suitably impressed. “I wonder what Charles will think about that?” Thalia asked her companion, snorting.

  Her plan now, not that she particularly had one to speak of, seemed to be little more than to embarrass her half brother into giving her some more money. Well, either that, or simply to have a good time. After all, what was the point of being an heiress in one of the greatest cities in the world, if you couldn’t have a good time? She seemed to do good times rather successfully, though she was sure even better times might be possible with more funds. Especially funds that weren’t shared with her newly found sisters. There was a small trickle of income coming in from the newspaper gossip columnists—she’d found out quite early on that they would throw a little more her way for information about who would be where and when, or who had been where and done what. The public loved to be entertained and her friends certainly accomplished that. Still, it wasn’t really enough. Not to live the sort of life her friends were accustomed to.

  Checking the time, and realizing she had promised to be at Venetia’s house in less than half an hour, Thalia tucked the newspaper clipping away and raced downstairs. Wanting to avoid her sisters and her aunt, she pulled on her coat and adjusted her hat as fast as possible in the hall’s oval looking glass with its beveled edge. After checking her lipstick, she was out the door and running down the steps onto the pavement, Haggis McTavish following close behind. Thalia walked quickly in the direction of Venetia’s town house. She was just about to cross the road to Chesham Place, when a voice called out behind her.

  “Thalia Craven-Towneley?”

  “Yes?” Thalia paused and then smiled a wide smile for the photographer before turning. It always looked more natural, she thought, than forcing a smile on command.

  It was as she turned that a motorcar pulled up beside her. And before she knew what was happening, she found not a photographer, but two large, burly men, one on either side of her, gripping her arms, their fat fingers digging into her flesh, forcing her toward the car. Thalia’s entire body froze, her voice mute, her mind stunned. She could do nothing. Each of her limbs suddenly felt as if it belonged to someone else—it was as if she could not control any of them in the slightest. Her thoughts quickly flew to another time and another place when such a thing had happened, when time had also stopped—at Lintern Park. That night. That awful night and what had happened afterward. The two men pushed and shoved her until she was hurled into the backseat, with Haggis McTavish thrown in as an afterthought behind her.

  * * *

  It took Thalia some time to calm her nerves after being hustled into the back of the strange car. She breathed in deeply, forcing herself not to cry, and focused on the situation she had found herself in. When she was able to do so, she realized almost at once the direction in which the car was headed—toward Russell Square.

  Charles.

  She knew she must gain control of her emotions and seem calm. She could not let Charles see her shaken. Not one bit.

  After being dragged out of the car and into Charles’s town house, she was directed into Charles’s study, whereupon the two henchmen promptly disappeared. “Just the man I wanted to see!” Thalia greeted her half brother, throwing her coat over the back of a chair and for all the world tried to look as if she had woken up this morning expecting to be thrown inside a motorcar at some point during the day. She must maintain control. She must.

  Behind his glossy walnut desk, Charles studied her carefully. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  “And why wouldn’t I want to see my dear brother?” Thalia forced out an unconvincing chuckle. “Would you care to sit down, dear sister? Oh, I don’t mind if I do,” she continued, hoping to cover up her nervousness, veritably hurling herself into the gold and cream high-backed chair she had thrown her coat on. “Don’t call for tea. I’m sure I’ll only be here a minute…” Appearing slightly confused at her odd behavior and what had just happened, Haggis McTavish finally settled under the chair after several questioning looks.

  There was a long pause in which both parties sized each other up. “I’m sure you know why—” Charles began, but was immediately interrupted by a crash outside his study door. He sighed. “That maid again, I suppose. I should have let her go last week when she broke the smaller vase. I expect it’s the large one this time.”

  “Oh dear,” Thalia replied sarcastically. “Poor you. Perhaps you can get your Neanderthal friends to deal with her?”

  Charles gave her a look. “I’ll be one moment.”


  “Take two, darling,” Thalia replied, trying very hard to sound jolly. “I don’t mind. Really.”

  There was no response to this as Charles exited the room, opening and closing the door behind him. While he took care of his broken vase, or whatever it was, Thalia proceeded to keep up her pretense, knowing that Charles would return at any moment. She acted as if she were waiting impatiently, pretending to admire her new navy shoes with the large velvet bows, when really thoughts of Lintern Park still wound through her mind like a poisonous vine. It was the noise that halted these visions. First came a sort of clipped, raised voice that sounded like Charles, then a different voice—a woman’s. Higher and quite … emotional. As the voices continued, she realized they were arguing. Thalia shot up from her chair, startling Haggis McTavish, who gave a short bark of surprise. “Shhh…,” she hushed him, pausing for a moment, quite still, listening.

  Nothing.

  Frowning, Thalia was just about to take her first step across the room, to see if she could eavesdrop at the door, when it burst open. Charles entered, slammed the door behind him, and leaned against it as he fumbled in his pocket for something—a key—which he pushed shakily into the lock and twisted.

  In the hallway, the woman’s voice screamed violently something that Thalia couldn’t quite make out. “He … I … owe it to him.” The words, spoken quickly, were garbled. Whatever this was, it didn’t sound like an altercation regarding a vase, or even a maid. She turned to Charles, whose own eyes flicked toward hers. He visibly blanched. It was this stricken look that told Thalia what she needed to know—whatever was outside, in the entrance hall, it was something, or someone, that Charles didn’t want her to see.

  Immediately, Thalia bolted toward the door.

  “You stay there. Keep back!” Charles said, raising his voice once more and fumbling with the key again, pushing it into his trouser pocket for safekeeping. Sensing something amiss, Haggis McTavish began to bark, looking from one to the other.

  Ignoring both of them, Thalia continued toward the door and twisted the doorknob this way and that. Locked tight. Frustrated, she banged upon it with one fist. “Who’s out there?!” she yelled, then turned to Charles. “Who is that woman?”

  Charles, having gained his composure slightly, narrowed his eyes at her. “It’s nothing. She’s nothing. Simply another vulture. I have so many these days it’s difficult to keep track.” He looked at her pointedly.

  Thalia opened her mouth, ready to speak, then paused on hearing the distinct slam of another door—the front door to the town house. She glanced at Charles, and then made directly for the window, pushing past him in the process. Whoever the woman was, surely she would be able to catch a glimpse of her as she passed by the front of the town house.

  “I said, stay there.” Charles ran after her, grabbing Thalia roughly by one elbow in order to hold her back.

  “Let go of me!” She twisted away, determined not to be touched again today, determined not to let any more old memories surface. Now Thalia stumbled into one corner of the huge desk, a sharp pain shooting up her hip. “Oh!” she exclaimed. Undeterred, she held her hip with one hand and limped the rest of the way to the window, only to see the retreating figure of a thin woman wearing a dark coat, an equally dark twist of hair visible underneath her hat. It could have been anyone. Thalia watched until the figure disappeared from sight, then turned back toward Charles, who remained in the center of the room. “Who was that?” she asked once more, all the time knowing he would not tell her.

  Charles simply stared at her, silent, giving nothing away.

  Suddenly, something within Thalia snapped. Who did this foolish little boy think he was? He was obviously not used to playing such games. She stalked on over to him, right up to his very face. “Who was that? Tell me. Right now!”

  Charles only smirked, obviously knowing he had the better of her again.

  “You will tell me!” Thalia raised her voice, which saw Haggis McTavish, sensing that his mistress was in danger, run over and begin to bark up at Charles.

  “It’s none of your business,” Charles told her and then, when the dog did not cease in his barking, sent out a kick in his direction. Haggis McTavish, however, was too fast for him. He ducked and quickly returned to the relative safety of his previous spot beneath the armchair.

  If Thalia had been furious before, now she was incensed. “Don’t you touch him.” She took another step toward Charles, and grabbed one of the lapels of his suit, bringing him closer to her again. “If you ever so much as lay a finger on that dog, you will regret it. You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  Charles stared back unconcerned at Thalia, but she was glad to see that he flinched slightly. After another moment or two, he broke his eye contact and pulled away. Thalia let him go with a shove. He moved back toward his desk then, sitting down behind it. “I’m beginning to see you’re just as unstable as your mother.”

  In the middle of the room, Thalia laughed. “I’d be careful, Charles. For two can play at that game. As you know, our father was far from angelic and your mother was obviously quite the whore.”

  Sucking in his breath, Charles stood up behind his desk.

  “Well, wasn’t she?” Thalia continued, her head to one side. “I think my dates are correct.” Slowly, she counted the months off on the fingers of one hand, approaching his desk as she did so. “Yes. I do believe they are. What luck for you that my mother died giving birth, or you would have been quite illegitimate and title-less! How embarrassing that would have been!”

  Charles lost his enraged look with this and, with a shake of his head, sat back down again at his desk. He stared away into a corner of the room, seemingly defeated. Watching him, Thalia realized he had no idea what to do, or how to control this situation. He was full of false bravado, but she could see he had little experience dealing with such confrontation. However, Thalia did. This was her cue and she knew it. She returned to her seat and sat down, crossing her legs elegantly. “Should we get back down to business?” She changed her tone now, as if they were having quite a pleasant little visit discussing family over toasted muffins. “I expect you brought me here today to chastise me for being back in London.”

  Charles glared at her fixedly. “Well, yes. Seeing as I gave you money to leave the city and move to Shropshire.” He spat the county’s name.

  “The problem was, it wasn’t really enough.” Thalia leaned down to pat Haggis McTavish under her seat.

  Charles snorted at this. “Not enough! You didn’t even share what I gave you with your sisters, I know that much. And it was enough for you, it seems, to buy a car, a dog, and a wardrobe full of clothes, and to attend several parties each evening, imbibe a variety of illegal substances, and be shown doing so in the newspaper under a false name.”

  “It’s not a false name,” Thalia said. “It’s my name.”

  “One that you agreed not to use.” Charles’s jaw was set.

  “Did I say that?” Thalia frowned. “I really can’t recall. Anyway, what other choice do I have? I don’t have any other source of income besides the newspapers. Unless…” Her gaze flicked to Charles now.

  “Oh, no. No. Why should I give you any more money? You obviously can’t be trusted.”

  “Trusted?!” Thalia laughed a short laugh. “With my own mother’s money!”

  “It’s not your mother’s money.”

  “It was and I will have it.”

  Charles laughed at this. “Will you?”

  Thalia stood up from her seat once more, trying to control her growing rage. “Perhaps you do not comprehend. Your father—our father—claimed I died at birth when I was very much alive. He then handed me into the care of the least deserving people on this earth. When I ask for this money, I am only asking for what is rightfully mine, in order to escape a life I never should have had.” Taking a deep breath, Thalia took several steps forward, closer to Charles’s desk. “Now, listen carefully, for this is how things are and this is ho
w they shall stay—I am not leaving London and I shall use my name, the name that is rightfully mine, when and if I see fit. And I will have to do so more and more if I have no other means by which to live than the newspapers. Don’t you see? You may as well give us the money, Charles. I’m not going anywhere until I get it.”

  Charles sat back in his chair and listened to Thalia’s impassioned speech with what seemed to be a mixture of boredom, tiredness, and loathing on his face. When she was finally done, he made no reply.

  “Well?” Thalia finally asked, crossing her arms.

  “How interesting that you seem unable to decide whether it is you who needs this money, or all three of you.”

  Thalia glared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well,” Charles looked up at her, “one minute you speak of what is rightfully yours and the next minute you include your sisters in this farce. Which is it to be? As I mentioned, I know you did not give them any of the original sum I bestowed upon you.”

  “What are you saying?” Thalia replied, slowly. She didn’t understand what he was hinting at. There was certainly something else—something he hadn’t said yet. She could see it in his eyes. She took yet another step forward, resting the fingertips of one hand upon the edge of his desk.

  On the other side of the vast expanse of thick wood, Charles stared at his half sister, assessing her. At one point he opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if thinking better of his action.

  “If you have something to say, be a man and say it,” Thalia tried, hoping to goad him into telling her whatever it was he was holding back.