“Yes.” Ro nodded quickly. “Do you recognize her?”
“I most certainly do recognize her.” Hestia’s breathing was quick in her chest as she viewed the portrait once more. “That is, without a doubt, Mrs. Blount. William’s housekeeper.”
* * *
“This likeness of her is much older, that is for certain.” Hestia’s fingers reached out for the drawing, before quickly pulling away once more, as if Edwin’s intricate pencil marks were hot to the touch. “But time passes and we are all older now, I suppose,” she continued, with a sigh that turned instantly into a tone of distaste. “Oh, but she was an odious woman. Always spying on Demeter, telling tales, lying. Several times I suspected her of starting rumors. And of stealing, with those awful long, pale, thin fingers of hers. But William would never hear anything bad said of her. She was there before Demeter arrived and there, he said, she would stay. As if she were more important than his own wife. And then, of course, on the day of your birth”—Hestia looked at each of her nieces in turn—“she actively thwarted my attempts to send for Demeter’s own doctor.”
“But why?” Ro asked. “Why was she like that?”
Hestia thought about her question for a moment. “I don’t really know. I often wondered whether she and William … no, that’s not true. I don’t want to give you the idea I suspected something between them because William had an eye for small, pretty, delicate women and not tall, angular things like his housekeeper, though I have to admit she was striking. You can see even now—those cheekbones,” she said as she gestured toward the portrait. “No, what I suspected was that she considered William hers. Her property. She much preferred William unmarried and the house hers to run as she saw fit. So when Demeter came along and wanted to change things … well, she wasn’t very pleased.”
“I see,” Ro replied. “But to carry on even now. It doesn’t make sense…”
“You must excuse me, ladies,” Edwin spoke up and Clio glanced over at him. He seemed to decide it was time for his visit to come to an end as their talk was becoming more private. “I have an appointment this afternoon.”
“Thank you so much, Edwin,” Clio said as she reached over to place one of her hands on top of his. “I’m so glad you came. And that you could help.”
“It was my pleasure,” Edwin said. His eyes locked on hers for longer than was absolutely necessary, telling Clio everything she needed to know. All she had to do was say the word and he would be hers. Unwillingly, Clio glanced away first before Edwin took his leave.
“There’s something else, too,” Thalia piped up once Edwin had left. “Something we need to tell you. We all saw her outside Charles’s town house, but she attacked Ro. She scratched her arms quite badly.”
Hestia sucked her breath in. “She attacked Ro? Whatever do you mean?”
Silently, Ro showed her aunt the now-healing wounds.
“Oh my goodness! Why did you not tell me? Girls, this is serious. I don’t understand why she would be visiting Charles, though. Or any of you, for that matter.”
“Yes, well…” Thalia ignored the final part of Hestia’s statement. “I’m sure she was there to ask for money. Charles called her a vulture, for a start, and she’s without employment now, isn’t she? Perhaps William had said he would leave something to her in his will and then he didn’t. Something like that. It wouldn’t surprise me very much.”
“It is true she is now without work,” Hestia pondered aloud. “And she would be unlikely to find another employer at her age.” Hestia paused, staring off into the distance, then suddenly moved into action once more, pulling out the chair next to Clio and sitting down. “I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to what to do,” she finally said. “Should we call the police? Oh…” She shook her head. “What a terrible aunt and guardian I am. I should have all the answers for you, not be asking you what we should do. What I should do!”
“We could call the police,” Thalia started, “but what would we say? It all sounds so odd the moment you try to begin to explain any of it.”
“But she obviously means to hurt one, or all, of you.” Hestia bit her lip for a moment, thinking.
“Which is why we need to find out why she wants to do that. And we’ll be able to do it faster than the police, I’m sure of it,” Thalia added.
“I think Thalia might be right,” Ro agreed. “We need to find out more on our own before going to the police.”
Clio nodded, seeing the sense in this.
“I know!” Ro said, before long. “What if we used that private detective you hired to track down Mrs. Thompson, the midwife? He could find out where she lives and perhaps find out some information from her neighbors.”
“That,” Hestia said, as she turned to Ro, “is a very good idea, indeed. He was very discreet. Fast, too. Yes, I shall contact him immediately.” She stood now, ready to fly into action. “In the meantime, you must be very careful. She is obviously … unstable. More so than she ever was. You must promise me to stay together. No going out alone, or late at night.” Her gaze moved to Thalia with this, who gave an innocent shrug, as if she had never done such a thing. Finished with her warning, Hestia paused only to give Ro’s shoulder a quick squeeze as she left the room.
* * *
It took Hestia’s private detective less than a day to track down Mrs. Blount. As it turned out, she lived modestly in a first-floor flat with her son, in Seven Dials. A neighbor told him Mrs. Blount had once had a husband, but he had died shortly after their son, Peter, was born, which was when she had started working as a housekeeper. Her son, who she had left with this neighbor while she worked, was now twenty-two years of age, worked in a bank in a managerial role of some sort, and was well regarded by his neighbors, staff, and employer. The private detective suggested that Hestia employ his services further to arrange to have “a little chat” with the son, to “make him see sense where his mother was concerned.” Hestia agreed, and the pair arranged to meet at Belgrave Square the following evening after the “little chat” had taken place.
“Ugh, I can’t stand it anymore. Is this fellow coming or not?” Thalia shifted yet again in her seat.
“It’s not eight o’clock yet, Thalia. He’s not late.” Ro looked up from the book she was reading on the couch. Why couldn’t Thalia entertain herself, rather than bother everyone else around her?
Thalia sighed. “Yes, yes, I know. What I don’t understand is how you can be so calm about it all.”
“Well, it’s not like he’s torturing this son of hers half to death for information, is it? He’s only letting him know what’s occurred. And hopefully finding out a little more information about this woman and why she’s interested in us at all,” she replied.
“How can you be so … so … logical about it all?” Thalia huffed.
“Someone has to be. Anyway, stop talking to me; I’m still terribly cross with you.” Ro didn’t look up from her book this time to give Thalia the impression she was still vexed about Vincent. However, the truth was, she wasn’t all that cross anymore. Not really. While the pain from being used in such a fashion was still fresh, she also knew Thalia was annoyingly right—she had done her a favor by exposing Vincent’s hidden motivations. If she was truly cross at anyone, it was at herself for feeling so foolish. She was supposed to be clever and educated, calm and logical, as Thalia had just said. She was anything but. Right now she felt like a silly schoolgirl. Because she was. A silly, silly schoolgirl just released from the schoolroom. How she detested her ignorance of the ways of the world right now.
“I wonder if he’s found anything out?” Clio spoke up. “I wonder if he’s spoken to her?”
“We’ll just have to wait and see.” Hestia said as she entered the room, as the clock on the mantelpiece began to chime eight. “I should let you know the detective, Mr. Waters, is bringing someone with him. He telephoned just before to ask if he might.”
Thalia bolted upright in her seat. “He’s bringing someone with him? Who? Not her?”
With this, the doorbell rang and Hestia held up one finger, signaling for the girls to wait in the drawing room and to keep Haggis McTavish with them. Before long, voices were heard in the hallway. Finally, the voices became louder as they approached the drawing room. And when the three finally emerged from the hallway, they were met by a gasp from both Thalia and Ro. For there, beside the private detective and Hestia stood a young man who could only be the son of Mrs. Blount. Tall and dark, with those distinctive angular cheekbones, Ro knew it was him immediately.
After some very basic introductions had been made, the young man, whose name was Peter, spoke immediately. “I am very sorry for barging in on you like this, but I had to see you. I am simply appalled that my mother has been—I’m not even sure what to call it—harassing you in this way. I make no excuses for her behavior, but wanted to let you know that she has been greatly disturbed since losing her employer. She is not herself. However, on hearing of these recent events, I assure you I will seek some medical assistance. I thought, with time, her erratic behavior might pass, but it seems things have progressed further than time can help.”
“Thank you for your understanding,” Hestia said. She had remained standing throughout Peter’s speech—and did not seem about to encourage the young man to sit down, which Ro, for one, was glad of. As reasonable as he seemed, it was unnerving to be in the presence of his looks, which reminded her greatly of his mother’s and when she was attacked by her.
“I was hoping to ask that we could be discreet about the matter,” he said as he nodded now, his gaze barely meeting Hestia’s.
“That is what we were hoping for ourselves,” Hestia agreed. “Though if there are any further occurrences, we must, of course, inform the police.”
“Of course,” Peter said. “And, with that, I will not prevail upon any more of your time. Good evening, ladies, Mr. Waters.”
“Good evening, Mr. Blount. And thank you for coming.” Hestia showed him to the door.
After Peter had gone, Mr. Waters stayed for only a few more minutes. His job was done. Mrs. Blount’s son had been made aware of his mother’s unstable condition. Hopefully now all would be well and she would cease to bother them.
“I suppose it does make some sense,” Hestia said as she sat down slowly in one of the drawing room armchairs after showing Mr. Waters out. “She was William’s housekeeper for over twenty-five years. It must be a great change for her, especially as he died so suddenly. Still, she can hardly go about attacking people simply because she feels a little out of sorts, can she?”
“No,” Ro replied, inspecting the scratches on her arm.
“I have something else to tell you.” Hestia smoothed the pleats in her navy skirt with one hand, before glancing up at each of the girls in turn. “I paid an unannounced visit to Charles this afternoon.”
“Whatever for?” Thalia spoke up.
“Oh, just to see if he could shed some light on the situation. I told him I knew Mrs. Blount had been there to see him—to see if you were right about that retreating woman, Thalia. He was immediately taken aback, which made me think to follow through with your guess—that she had been there to ask for money. He immediately blurted out that he didn’t know anything about his father’s dalliances and he then realized what he’d given away and bumbled about for the next half hour trying to take back what he had said.”
“So William did have some kind of relationship with Mrs. Blount?” Ro’s mouth dropped open.
“I suspect so,” Hestia replied. “It would explain why she was so attached to him. And why she hated Demeter so much.”
“Also why she is now asking Charles for money. She feels more entitled than a simple housekeeper.”
“Yes.” Hestia nodded. “It would seem so.” With this, she rose from her seat. “Girls, I am going to bed, for it has been a very long day.”
* * *
It had been a very long day and Clio was awfully tired, but, once again, she could find no rest. Even though it was past midnight, she lay in her bed, wide awake, her mind whirling. After retiring to her room, she had read and reread Nicholas’s letter several times, mulling over his offer. Accepting Nicholas would mean being able to start a new life in Kenya. It would mean being able to remove her mother from her cottage to the warmth of a sunnier climate. And, no, she was not infatuated with Nicholas, not, as she admitted to herself now, as she was with Edwin, but did this truly mean she would be unhappy with Nicholas? She thought not. So far, steady Nicholas had never made her unhappy, whereas Edwin seemed to make her unhappy in some way or another on an almost daily basis. With a long sigh, Clio rolled over in bed, closed her eyes, and tried once more to sleep.
* * *
In the brisk early-morning breeze of Seven Dials, Thalia sat in her motorcar, watching the plain cream façade and black door that would lead inside to Mrs. Blount’s first-floor flat, waiting for someone, anyone, to make an appearance. There had been little danger of being caught. She had made sure to head over before anyone else had risen. It had been easy enough to find out where the Blounts lived. The private detective had let slip the name of the street. She had simply driven over here and asked the greengrocer down the road where she could find the pair. He had given her directions readily when she flashed him her brightest smile. Having been hidden away behind the gates of Lintern Park forever, it always astounded her she could get almost anything she wanted in London just by dressing nicely and using her rounded vowels at their upper-class best.
She had then parked Esmerelda around a corner and waited. Finally, Peter, the son, left their home. Spotting some action, Thalia jolted to attention, peering into the distance. That had to be her, she realized, seeing the dark figure in the doorway holding the front door open. Yes, just like Edwin’s portrait. The woman stepped forward now, listening to something her son was saying. She nodded. Perhaps he was warning her to stay home today? Not to go out? Thalia would hardly blame him if he was, and she imagined him saying something like “I’ll be home for dinner at eight, Mother. And mind you don’t attack any defenseless young women today.”
Thalia’s keen eyes watched the woman intently. There was something about her. Something apart from the fact she had approached both her sisters and attacked one of them. What was it Charles had said? Something about his father’s (their father’s) dalliances. Goodness, but that man had slept with half of London, it seemed. As vile as it was, however, that he had taken his housekeeper into his bed, what Thalia couldn’t understand was why Charles didn’t simply throw some money at her to make her go away. As a housekeeper, she couldn’t be asking for much. Not the kind of money Charles would balk at, anyway. Why didn’t he just give her a token amount and wave her good-bye? Unless …
Well, unless she was asking for more. And to do that, there would have to be a reason to ask for more, wouldn’t there?
As she watched Peter walk away from the house, Thalia’s hand moved to the door of her motorcar, ready to spring out and confront Mrs. Blount. She thought better of it, however, and pulled her hand away once more. No, it wasn’t time yet. She didn’t have enough to go on. Instead, she watched as Mrs. Blount closed the front door behind her.
Thalia smiled slightly, glad of her reserve. She had done the right thing by holding back. “For once,” she said now, as she turned and ruffled the ears of Haggis McTavish, who was sitting beside her on the front seat, “I may have made the correct choice.” Haggis McTavish, who loved having his ears ruffled, simply moved in closer to push up against her, looking for more. Yes, that was it, before she approached Mrs. Blount, just like Hestia, she would make her own little visit to Charles …
* * *
Clio found her situation no better after breakfast. It was all she could do to focus on swallowing her toast, so consumed was she by thoughts of Nicholas’s letter … and Edwin. Edwin had been so helpful, spending an age drawing that portrait of William’s housekeeper. It had been very kind of him. If only she knew what to do. “I was thinki
ng of making my way over to St. Paul’s this morning,” she said as she stood up from the table, hoping neither Hestia nor Ro would want to accompany her. Hestia was already slightly put out Thalia had gone out unaccompanied this morning, and without telling them where she was off to.
“I think that would be all right.” Hestia looked up from her breakfast. “As long as you take a taxi, go straight there, and come straight back.”
“I will,” Clio agreed.
Clio had the taxi driver drop her off at the very end of Fleet Street. She wanted to walk the approach to St. Paul’s—it was perhaps her favorite thing about the cathedral. Her father had shown her this many years ago on one of their very rare trips to the city. As she traveled that same walk now, she felt the strength of his faith beside her. This feeling grew as, the closer her footsteps took her, she watched, and waited. And then, there it was. Turning the slight bend in the road, the cathedral appeared before her, suddenly, majestically: solid and unchangeable, its pillars and rounded dome strong, bearing the weight of so many, uplifting so many for so long. Surely she would find the answer to her problems within its hallowed walls?
With every step closer that she took to the cathedral, Clio felt her whole person become lighter until, finally, she was inside. As she stepped quietly across the smooth black and white floor, the cool calm of the cathedral surrounded her. The sudden peace and quiet, as compared to the hustle and bustle of the London streets outside, saw her eyes well with relief. Finally, here was somewhere she could think. Could breathe. The peace enveloped her like a soft blanket.
Clio slipped into an empty pew, sliding along the polished wood until she was in the center. She immediately closed her eyes and began to pray for the guidance she so needed.
* * *
Stepping out of the taxi once more in Belgrave Square, Clio felt amazingly refreshed. She took a moment to reflect on her morning and to enjoy the sunshine that fell on her shoulders. It had taken an hour of quiet contemplation, sitting in the pew at St. Paul’s, before she had felt a true, lasting calmness fall over her body. It was then that she had been able to become more attuned to the confusion inside her and able to think through her problems more clearly. She had come away with a sense of relief—a sense that everything would be all right, if she could simply take one day at a time and trust that what would be, was meant to be. She needed to trust that there was a plan for her and to try to remain calm enough to accept the path that God would lay out for her.
The Heiresses Page 31
