It was over the Cornish game hens that the conversation at the table intensified, as the wine continued to be poured. “What do you think of George’s occupation, Clio?” Thalia gestured toward the gentleman sitting on Clio’s other side. “He’s an atheist, you know! Clio’s father was a vicar,” Thalia informed the table.
“I didn’t realize being an atheist was an occupation.” Clio looked confused. “Rather, I thought it was something you simply believed.”
“Or don’t believe, as the case may be,” Edwin added, kindly drawing the attention of the entire table away from Clio and causing Venetia to choke on her wine.
It was then Clio realized the entire evening had been designed to make both her and Ro feel uncomfortable, but most especially her. Clio glanced across the table at Ro and found her sister was already looking at her, having realized the same thing. Probably, knowing Ro, sometime before Clio had. She guessed Ro would most likely weather the storm. However, not being used to defending her point of view in such circles, Clio was not sure she would be able to do the same.
The atheist’s behavior, however, was impeccable. Although slightly drunk, he was respectful enough to discuss with her the role her father had held within his parish and they spoke at length about how such a role could, perhaps, be fulfilled in other ways without involving religion. While she didn’t agree with his views, Clio found him rather interesting (obviously, Thalia and Venetia had not chosen wisely when they had gone atheist hunting on the streets of London). It was only when the topic of conversation moved to Vincent’s area of interest that the talk truly soured. Clio was glad of one thing only—she had had the foresight to ask Ro what it was that Vincent did some weeks ago. She had never heard of eugenics before, but as soon as Ro explained the concept, she had been shocked to her core.
Ro hadn’t understood her reluctance to embrace the subject at all. “But surely you must see the importance of bettering the human race,” she had said.
“Not at the expense of the vulnerable,” Clio had replied quickly. “Or the needy.”
“But that’s the entire point,” Ro had tried to persuade her. “Eventually, if we adhered to these theories, there would be no vulnerable or needy people.”
The thought of how this might come about made Clio’s head spin. Standing in front of her sister, she had wanted so very desperately to defend her point, but found she couldn’t. She simply wasn’t clever enough to do so. Not like Ro. “I just know it’s wrong.”
“That isn’t much of an argument!” Ro had countered.
And Clio had known she was right. Now, in Eaton Square, Clio felt exactly the same way once more as terms bounced around the table. “Higher reproduction,” “sterilization,” “selective breeding” … each one of them made her feel sicker than the last. She struggled to keep up with the conversation and to work out what each of these phrases meant.
“You’re awfully quiet, Clio,” Venetia chimed in, as Clio was staring at a single spot on the tablecloth. A small, oily stain she had probably made herself.
“You don’t care for eugenics?” Vincent’s attention moved to her now, across the table. “Many don’t.”
“I simply believe life is sacred, that is all,” Clio said.
“But this is where many fall in their argument,” Vincent replied. “Eugenics isn’t about taking away life, it’s about the perfection of life and of the human race.”
“I don’t believe the two can be independent of one another. It’s not that simple.”
“In what way?”
Clio didn’t care for the way Vincent looked at her. There was a slight smirk upon his face, as if he were talking to a child. She noticed Ro, sitting beside Vincent, studiously avoided her gaze. She was on her own. “In the way that these things beget themselves. You start simply, by sterilizing a few people who you believe should not be allowed to bring life into the world. But soon enough, you will not know when to stop. Your own beliefs should not decide the life or death of others, such decisions must be left to God.”
“If, of course, there is a God,” Vincent said as he gestured toward the table’s resident atheist.
Clio took a deep breath. “All I know is that everything inside me tells me that what you are suggesting is wrong and cruel. There is a girl, in my village—she was born simple. What would you suggest be done with her? Obviously, you would not want her to have children.”
“Of course not,” Vincent replied calmly.
“Ro would like to study medicine,” Clio continued. “Would you perform that operation, Ro? On the girl in my village?”
Ro raised her eyebrows. “I think so, if I had the skills to do so and it was able to be done in a humane manner.”
“And while you were at it, would you also sterilize the girl’s mother and her three normal sisters? Just in case something similar happened again?”
“Well, no—” Ro began, but Clio interrupted.
“For that is surely where Vincent and his friends are headed if they are given free rein.”
“Now, wait just a moment…” Vincent leaned forward in his seat.
Clio’s heart beat wildly against her ribs. “No. I won’t. This is all … unbelievable to me. We have all just lived through an incredible loss of life and it seems we have learned nothing. Nothing! Life is precious. It must be nurtured, not taken away.”
“Clio.” Thalia spoke up and when Clio glanced at her she knew that she had offered herself up on a platter to her sister, just like a silly Cornish game hen. This was everything Thalia had wanted from the evening. “There’s no need to become so agitated.”
“Clio—” Ro started.
Clio stood up now, placing her napkin on the table before her. “You may think my opinions are simple and old-fashioned if you like, but they are right for me and I will not change them to suit you. However, I won’t remain any longer and bore you with them. Good evening to you all.” Clio pushed back her chair with this and left the room with as much grace as she could muster.
It wasn’t until she reached the entrance hall that Clio paused and placed her hand over her mouth, willing herself not to cry the tears that wanted to spill from her eyes.
She ran then. Across the marble floor, out the front door, and down the town house steps. She didn’t stop when she reached the pavement, but continued to run, blindly, most probably in the wrong direction, past strolling ladies and gentlemen, who stared at her curiously as she passed by, aware that something was wrong. Well, stare they might. After this evening, Clio knew one thing for sure—London was not the place for her. She couldn’t stay here and live this life, not with these people. She was going straight back to Belgrave Square and then she was going to sit down and write that letter to Nicholas, in Kenya, that she had been putting off. She stopped now, in the middle of the pavement, and glanced around her, not knowing where she was. She burst into fresh tears with this and a gentleman was about to approach her, to offer help (she hoped), when someone else flew in before him.
“It’s all right.” Edwin took one of Clio’s hands and waved the gentleman away with his other. “She’s all right now.”
But Clio was far from all right. As the tears spilled down her cheeks, she sniffed in what she was sure was an ugly fashion. “I’m so lost,” she said as she finally looked up at Edwin. “So awfully, awfully lost and…”
Edwin moved in closer, tilted Clio’s chin up softly with one finger, and kissed her.
And, in that brief, wondrous moment, Clio found she didn’t feel quite so lost anymore.
* * *
After Clio’s sudden departure from the dinner table, the meal had continued on, though everyone was slightly more subdued than before. Especially because both Venetia and Thalia had been livid that Edwin insisted on following Clio to see her home and had taken his time about it, too. By the time the meal was over, it was obvious to all at the table that it had been designed to show off Clio’s lack of sophistication and to put Ro on the back foot with Vincent, who Thalia
had proceeded to flirt shamelessly with all evening.
It was only as people were starting to take their leave, that Ro managed to steal a private moment away with Vincent. She had pulled him behind a lacquered screen, in the drawing room, while Thalia and Venetia were busy whispering about something or other in the hall.
Fear had struck in her heart almost immediately. Vincent seemed almost unwilling to be alone with her and could barely look her straight in the eye. She had pulled him down to her and kissed him, though it had taken a minute or two before he began to participate wholeheartedly in the exercise himself. When he did, however, she was overjoyed to see it was with as much gusto as on previous occasions. Ro became bolder with Vincent’s sudden interest, despite the voices she could hear close by, running one of her hands down from his waist and slipping it inside his trousers. She had both thrilled and shocked herself with his instant arousal to her touch.
“Oh, God, Ro,” Vincent moaned. “Ro, we shouldn’t…”
As the voices became louder, however, Vincent became distracted. Finally, he pulled away from her. “I must go. I have an early start in the morning.” Once again, he could not quite meet her eyes.
Instantly, Ro panicked, watching on as Vincent took his leave of Venetia and Thalia, barely giving her a backward glance.
Going over to sit on the edge of one of the rich maroon velvet sofas, Ro’s jaw hardened. What was she doing? With each day that passed in this city, she was becoming less and less like her old self—less logical, careful, and methodical and more … crazed, for want of a better word. All she wanted to do at this moment was to run after Vincent.
After she had seen Vincent off, Thalia came to sit beside her on the sofa. “I do hope Vincent isn’t too tired tomorrow.” She shook her head slightly. “After all, he’s been invited to the last hunt of the season at Ettingdale Castle. The guest of some old friends of Mrs. Mitchell’s, you know. Have you met his little friend Genevieve? Such a sweet girl. Anyway, as I was saying, I do hope he gets enough rest. So dangerous to hunt without a full night’s sleep.”
This was all Ro needed to hear to push her over the edge.
Not saying good night to either Venetia or Thalia, she had simply bolted from the town house. But Vincent was nowhere to be seen, obviously having already found a taxi.
On the pavement, Ro stood, unsure of what to do next. Confused. She was not used to being confused, not knowing the answer, not knowing which step must be taken next to complete a task. And, all the time, all she could think of was Vincent. Vincent, Vincent, Vincent. She was consumed by him. There was nothing else for it. She must have him. Must win him. The thought of Genevieve touching him as she had just touched him … and of him touching her. They would have so much time together, away at a country house. It made her blood boil. She would not have it. Could not have it.
Immediately, Ro raised her hand and hailed a taxi.
There was only one thing left to do.
* * *
“I wish to marry.” Ro tried very hard to pace herself—to keep her words calm and even, but it was difficult. She had flown as fast as a taxi would carry her to Russell Square, where she had wrenched a tired, displeased Charles from his bedroom. She had not cared in the slightest. To slow herself down now and stop her words from tripping over one another was difficult indeed. “And, on my marriage,” she continued, “I’m sure it could be arranged that we move away from London. Quite sure.” The truth was, Ro was not sure of this at all. After all, to further his cause and his work, Vincent needed the connections London could offer him. And, of course, there were his ties with the university … still, it could be sorted. Somehow. It would have to be.
Sitting behind his desk, Charles raised his eyebrows. “And who is this lucky gentleman?” he asked.
“Doctor Vincent Allington.”
He yawned before speaking once more. “Goodness, you have set your sights low. A doctor! I’ve heard that your sister has been entertaining dukes in her bed.”
“I am not my sister,” Ro said firmly. “And I do not believe I am setting my sights low. I believe he will be quite the Darwin of his field and time.”
“I’m sure you do,” Charles replied condescendingly. “And do you plan to ask him to marry you? How … forward of you.”
“I don’t mind,” Ro said, rather untruthfully. “It’s ridiculous to have to wait for a man to ask in this day and age.”
Charles raised a hand. “Let us stop there before you feel you must chain yourself to the railings outside in protest as your aunt might do. As things are at this very moment, I’m rather happy to see you. Despite the odd hour.”
“You are?” Ro said, not believing her brother for a second. She shifted her weight onto the other foot and felt herself sink slightly into the lush rug beneath her feet.
“Yes. In some ways, I was hoping you would come.”
Ro frowned, wondering where this was headed. Most likely nowhere she wanted to be, knowing her previous experience of Charles. “And why is that?” she finally asked.
“Because I’ve changed my mind about how I would like to divide the sum we have spoken of. I have a proposition for you. For all three of you, actually.”
“But what about—” Ro started.
Charles raised his hand again. “No more of that. Why don’t you wait to hear what I have to say?”
Ro paused. “Well … all right then.”
Charles stood up from his seat. “Be at home at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. All three of you. And I will reveal all.”
* * *
Ro paused outside Charles’s town house, wondering what he might offer the girls the following morning. Perhaps he had realized all three of them were unlikely to leave the city at the same time and now simply wanted them out of his life with a simple payment of some kind? Well, she, for one, would be happy never to see Charles again if he was willing to pay the sort of money that meant she and Vincent could be happily settled.
Not seeing any taxis nearby, Ro started off down the street, hoping she would soon cross by a busier road. After some time, she began to hear footsteps following behind her. “Hello?” She turned her head, peering into the dark, the streetlights not offering the best illumination. “Oh, hello.” She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was a woman, rather than a man, who was following not too far behind. She was tall and dressed in dark clothing. Most likely making her way home from working in one of the Square’s grand residences. “I thought I heard…”
But Ro’s voice petered out as the woman ran toward her, a sudden whirlwind of movement and piercing dark eyes. Before Ro knew what was truly happening, the woman had grabbed her arms, her nails piercing Ro’s skin. “What were you doing in there? What do you want?” She spat her words into Ro’s face.
“I…” Everything within Ro told her to flee. To flee now, before the woman did anything worse. She was obviously insane. “Get off me! Get off!” Ro struggled to free herself, the small scratches on her arms already bleeding. “I said, get off me!” With an almighty shove, she sent the woman hurtling backward, onto the pavement, pushing her to the ground.
And then, she ran.
* * *
The following morning, Ro was very careful choosing her clothing in order to hide the scratches on both of her arms. There was no way she could tell her sisters what occurred. Not when she had been meeting with Charles on her own in order to ask for money. And, truth be told, it suited her to put the event out of her mind, for every time she thought of it, she found herself rather shaky and pale. No, she must hide the scratches until they healed. And she must also try to find out, on her own, who on earth the woman who attacked her was.
On her way downstairs, she had knocked lightly on Clio’s bedroom door, wanting to see if her sister was all right. They had spoken, briefly, about the dinner and the argument that led to Clio’s abrupt departure. She was surprised to find Clio so firm concerning her beliefs. Clio could not see Vincent’s point of view at all, though
she supposed this was because she had been blinded by her beloved father’s views and her own lack of education. To Ro, it all made perfect sense—though she had found Clio’s point concerning where Vincent would draw the line rather unsettling. She had not considered this before.
Over a late breakfast, a still slightly shaky Ro concocted some awful story about a delivery boy giving her a message that they all must be home at ten o’clock as Charles would be visiting. She was sure Thalia saw through the lie before it had even exited her mouth, but she didn’t care.
“Do you think it’s safe?” Clio looked first at Ro, then Thalia, from her seat on the sofa, as they waited for Charles to show up. “With Hestia out for the morning, I mean. Do you think we should let him in?”
“Why not?” Thalia asked, as if speaking to an imbecile. “Maybe he’ll finally have a worthy offer for us. Whatever it is, I’m most definitely going to consider it. I need to leave this stifling place. Anyway, I don’t think he’s dangerous. Pathetic, yes. Dangerous, no. Not to mention, we have Haggis McTavish.”
The three looked down at Haggis McTavish, fast asleep on one of the armchairs.
“Not a great consolation,” Ro said with a sigh. As for Clio, she opened her mouth, and then closed it again, saying nothing. “It’s ten o’clock.” Ro checked her watch and then proceeded to the drawing room window to look out onto the pavement. “Oh!” she exclaimed, as the doorbell rang, making her jump.
“I’ll go,” Thalia said, already halfway across the room.
At the window, Ro froze and watched her go, ever fearful of what was about to pass and last night’s journey being discovered by her sisters.
As it turned out, however, she need not have worried.
Moments later, Thalia returned to the drawing room, her expression dark. “It wasn’t Charles at all,” she said. “But he sent us this…” She held aloft a note that she had seemingly opened and already devoured.
Clio stood up from the sofa. “What does it say?”
Thalia’s eyes moved slowly from Clio’s over to Ro’s, scrutinizing them both. “The important bit,” she replied, “is as follows…” And, with this, she began to read:
The Heiresses Page 23
