The Heiresses

by Allison Rushby

  “Me?” Clio had been toying with the handle on the cup and it rattled noisily against its saucer now as she let it go and looked up at her aunt. “Really?” Felix had said so, of course, but she had thought he was simply being kind.

  Both Hestia and Felix nodded. “Oh, yes,” Hestia continued. “You see, Demeter always longed for a family of her own, ever since she was a little girl—for a husband and children.”

  “And let’s not forget she had an adventurous nature, as you have,” Felix added. “She would have adored a move to Kenya. I’m sure of it.”

  Hestia smiled as she spoke about her dearly missed sister. “She certainly would have. How I wish she were here today. She would be so proud of you, Clio. So proud that you have come so far, when you almost never made it into the world. But she will be there, on your wedding day, in spirit. You may never have known her, but she is always there. Her looks in Thalia and Ro and her nature in you. I am truly blessed. It is almost as if I have her back with me once more.”

  * * *

  It was less than a week until Clio and Edwin’s wedding day, and the occupants of 32 Belgrave Square had been in a flurry of activity for what felt to Clio like several years now, though it had only been just over two weeks since she had accepted his proposal. She was unaccustomed to being the center of attention, to spending hours being pinned into a dress by a dressmaker, having a number of women stand about discussing her undergarments, making decisions on menus and terribly expensive cakes, and having her hair toyed with. Although she had not told anybody, she was longing for the wedding to be over and for married life to begin.

  This morning, the triplets were making an impromptu visit to Liberty. While Thalia and Ro had made a huge fuss about choosing their outfits for Clio’s wedding the week before (and Clio had been glad when it was all sorted), another fuss had brewed this morning. There was to be a dinner, this evening, held at the town house, and her sisters had decided that new dresses were also required for that event. Clio herself didn’t give a fig what she wore and had told them so, but they had dragged her along anyway in order to get her opinion on their choices.

  Now, she sat in the same seat Thalia had sat in months ago and, as Thalia had done, looked on as her sisters tried on dresses. As she waited for them to appear, she ruminated on how far they had come and how different their lives were now. Apart from the wedding fuss, she was glad to note that, for the last few weeks, all three of their lives had been running very smoothly. Clio had met Edwin’s family, who were all charming (well, Venetia was her usual awful self, but Edwin said she would get over him choosing her over Thalia eventually).

  Edwin had been quite correct in that his parents were simply overjoyed that someone had finally made their son see sense. They had barely discussed her family situation, except to inquire after her mother’s health and how she was enjoying her stay with her aunt.

  As for Ro, the horrible Vincent seemed to be entirely out of the picture and she seemed to have forgotten about him entirely, lost in reading medical textbook after medical textbook. Clio was enormously proud of how Ro had handled herself in the wake of Vincent’s betrayal. She had focused her energies entirely on her study and was almost obsessed with entering Oxford the following year. She had very quickly sat a scholarship exam and had yet another next week. All the while, Hestia was practically begging to pay Ro’s way and Clio knew she would love nothing more than to boast around town about sending her niece to Oxford to read Medicine. However, Ro was most determined to be admitted to the prestigious university under her own steam. Clio had no doubts as to what Ro would be doing a year from now.

  And Thalia … well, Thalia had surprised Clio the most. She and Hestia had concocted some sort of scheme together to start up a home for wayward girls (though Thalia was quite set on naming it something else entirely and Clio did not blame her one bit). Clio was awfully pleased about it. Finally, Thalia’s energy could be directed toward something useful. And perhaps by helping others through similar problems, it would help put the ghosts of her own past to rest. She had yet to recover her memory of the events that led up to her crashing her beloved motorcar, but she seemed to be in perfect health otherwise.

  Thankfully, there had been no more problems with Mrs. Blount. Just last week, her son, Peter, had written Hestia a letter. He had wanted to explain what had happened in further detail, now that he had been able to elicit further information from his mother concerning the past few months. He mentioned that, of course, they knew she had been under William’s employ for many years and had been a loyal and dedicated servant. Apparently, she had been particularly upset upon reading the gossip columns in the newspapers about the triplets’ return to London and, in her precarious mental state, had been horrified to think that William’s character was being besmirched. Hestia had ranted and raved about these statements for at least a full half hour. “Besmirched!” she had repeated, over and over again. “William did enough besmirching of his own character while he was alive, I’ll thank you very much. How dare she even think such things! After she stated two of you died after birth and that Clio was never even born! And willingly helped in having me institutionalized! Now I am expected to feel sorry for her? I think not!”

  Trying to set everything in her life in order, Clio had also finally confided in Felix about their problems with Charles. He had said he would have a quiet word with him, though this “quiet word” might take some negotiations. Clio, trusting in Felix’s intelligence and years of political experience, which she was sure called for much “negotiation,” left the issue with him. As Thalia assured her, dealing with such matters was something Felix did on almost a daily basis. Clio wasn’t quite sure she believed this—Felix had seemed a tad more anxious regarding the matter than she had thought he would—but he did seem eager to have the matter settled before Clio left the country.

  Clio did still feel it was only right that she and her sisters receive their mother’s money, but she also realized there were other things in life that were far more important, such as letting go of the past and moving forward. For example, she knew everyone thought she was mad to invite Charles to the dinner that would be held this evening, but, for Clio, this was all part of her being able to have that new beginning she so craved. She wanted to bear Charles no ill will. It was her father who had been in the wrong, not Charles. And although his actions in the past few months had certainly been questionable, she wanted to acknowledge the fact that their true quarrel was not with him. Clio wanted a clean slate before her move, even if it meant dining with Charles. Sometimes it was difficult to do the right thing. (“Not to mention tedious,” Thalia had added, when Clio had told her why she had sent an invitation to Charles.)

  Clio glanced up now, realizing two of the salesgirls had been hovering around her for some time. “Yes?” she asked, when she saw that they wanted something.

  One of them stepped forward, slightly wide-eyed. “I was just wondering, miss … is that the three of you in the newspaper today? Are you those triplets everyone’s talking about?”

  Clio blushed at the mention of the newspaper article. It certainly was them, though Thalia swore she had had nothing to do with it. It seemed some journalist had heard of Clio and Edwin’s upcoming nuptials and hastily cobbled together some sensationalist story. This included a photograph of the three girls at the party at the castle (Thalia looking stunning, of course, and Ro rather dazzling as well; Clio looked like a frightened deer on the first day of the hunting season). There had also been a photograph of Edwin from the party and a lot of silliness about Clio “taming” him and dragging him off to Kenya.

  But what Clio had been truly shocked to read was talk about the guest list for the wedding. The journalist had questioned why the Duke of Hastings had been invited to the otherwise small ceremony. To make matters worse, a picture of Felix had also been published—very close to the one of Clio herself. The resemblance, despite her odd expression, was remarkable. It sent a cold chill down Clio’s spine t
o think that someone might put two and two together. She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she replied to the two salesgirls. “That was us. Though I’d rather it hadn’t been published. It’s an awful lot of rubbish. Please take no notice of it.”

  “Oh, look! I do love this one!” Thalia twirled out in a dress of raspberry silk, with a whimsical spotted skirt, providing the perfect distraction. Clio happily turned away from the two salesgirls and toward her sister. “Though I think I might also take the dove gray silk crepe and wear that this evening. I know it’s not the sort of thing I’d usually wear, but I’d like you to remember I’m still in mourning that you’ve turned against us and invited Charles to dinner.”

  * * *

  By the time that their small party—which consisted of Felix, Hestia, Charles, Edwin, and the three girls—sat down to dinner, Clio was greatly regretting doing the right thing and sending that invitation to Charles. The small talk in the drawing room had lasted less than half an hour, but what an excruciating half hour it had been. Felix and Charles had obviously spoken harsh words to each other in the past few days, while Hestia bore Charles’s presence with a grim expression—it was all the pair of them could do to manage the basic civilities with the man. To make matters worse, Edwin tried to be jolly, in the hope of patching things up, to the point of suggesting they play some old-fashioned parlor games. Thalia threw Clio so many “I told you so” looks, that she had to avoid glancing in her direction altogether. Then there was the incident with Haggis McTavish. Charles, it seemed, detested dogs of any description (oddly, the feeling was not reciprocated—Haggis McTavish did not seem to detest Charles at all, as everyone else did). After much fuss from Charles, Haggis McTavish had to be sent downstairs, which he was not pleased about.

  Clio had simply wanted to run away and hide for the duration of the evening and thought longingly of sneaking away upstairs to bed and sticking her head under her pillow.

  Perhaps Felix had sensed this because he had come and sat beside her. “Are you sure Kenya is far enough away?” he had asked her, with a wry smile.

  Clio could not help but laugh at this. “Is there anywhere farther away?”

  “I must admit Australia seems particularly appealing at this very moment. Care to join me?”

  Clio had laughed again and then stifled her laughter with one hand as she attracted Charles’s attention. He had glanced over at her and away from Edwin, who had been continuing to be amusing for Clio’s sake, which was good of him.

  “Now that I have you alone,” Felix had said to her. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something. Perhaps later we might have a quiet moment? In private? I’ve wanted to tell you, but it’s never really seemed quite the right time. I wanted to bring it up when we were with Hestia, at Claridge’s, the other day, but again it didn’t feel right. And then I realized last night there will never be a right time. I suppose there never is for some matters.”

  Clio had been surprised at Felix’s sudden seriousness. “Of course! Would you like to follow me to the library now?”

  “Oh, no.” Felix had waved a hand. “Later will do very nicely.”

  And then they had been called in to dinner and Clio had not thought much more of it, busy with trying to keep their small party relatively happy, or at least from quarreling. Hestia had brought in several more staff for the occasion (which they needed with the many courses and also in order that Charles would not sneer). They had just finished their melon glacé and a simply perfect crème de volaille. Charles had now also consumed several glasses of wine that Felix had selected himself, which meant that things were going rather more smoothly than before.

  After their bowls had been cleared and many minutes had elapsed, Hestia shot Clio a curious look. It was then Clio realized none of the servants had been in the dining room at all for some time. She wondered if there was some problem with the next dish—poached salmon, she thought it was—and if she should excuse herself and go see what was happening. Theirs was a household that was unaccustomed to entertaining, after all. However, just as Clio began to open her mouth to do so, the door to the dining room flung open with a loud bang, causing the entire table to stop speaking and to look over to see what was going on. It took only a moment for several of the party to recognize the dark figure in the doorway and to gasp.

  Charles immediately stood up from his seat, causing it to topple backward with a thud. “Someone call the police,” he said quickly.

  Mrs. Blount’s eyes moved to his for only a second before swiftly returning to where they had been the whole time—on Clio. “How dare you…,” she sneered at her now.

  Clio felt her blood run cold as the woman’s eyes bore into her. She had never been looked at in such a way before—as if someone would happily see her dead. Slowly, she began to stand as well. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, trying desperately to remain calm.

  “Of course you do, you filthy little liar.”

  Edwin stood up now, as did Felix. “You must leave,” Felix told Mrs. Blount sternly. “Right away.”

  Mrs. Blount ignored him and took several steps toward the dining table, closer to Clio. As she did so, it became obvious Mrs. Blount would soon be nearer to Clio than Edwin and, seeming to realize this, Edwin took several measured steps toward Clio himself.

  It was then that Clio saw the flash of silver.

  Mrs. Blount had a knife.

  Quietly, deliberately, Clio slowly pushed back her chair. She did not dare turn her head away from Mrs. Blount to glance at Hestia or her sisters, but Felix was in her line of view and she somehow managed to direct his eyes with her own to behind Mrs. Blount’s back, where the woman clutched the knife tightly with one hand.

  “How dare you state such lies in the newspapers? How dare you suggest to the world that William was not a good husband,” Mrs. Blount spat at Clio.

  “William!” Hestia blurted out. “It’s William now, is it? Not his Lordship anymore? How … informal of you, Mrs. Blount.”

  “Hestia,” Felix warned, in an apparent attempt to calm her down.

  “And why shouldn’t I call him that?” Mrs. Blount said triumphantly. “After all, we did have a child together.”

  The shock around the table was audible.

  “Your son, Peter. He is William’s child?” Hestia blurted out.

  “No.” Mrs. Blount continued to look smug in the knowledge that she knew something everyone else did not.

  “Well, what do you mean, then?” Hestia continued. “What lies are you spouting now?”

  “For God’s sake,” Charles said, beside Hestia. “Have the police been called? This woman is clearly unhinged.”

  “But I’m not, am I?” Mrs. Blount brought the knife out now and pointed the tip at Charles, across the table. “Though you’d like everyone to think I am. You see, my own son won’t even admit who his mother really is. But I am your mother, Charles, and you know it full well. I know your father told you. Do not pretend for one moment that he didn’t. You cannot shut me out of your home and your life forever.”

  “He did nothing of the sort. You’re deranged. Go home, woman.”

  “Yes, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To keep me out of your bit of the city. Out of Mayfair, out of Belgravia. Stuck in Seven Dials, where you think I belong.” Mrs. Blount’s eyes moved around the table now. “I see you have not guessed.” She looked particularly at Hestia and Felix. “That you are not as clever as you think you are. All right, then. I will tell you. The woman who claimed to be Charles’s mother was due to have a child and she did, just days before mine. But it was stillborn. Mine, however, was not. And it was a boy. A boy who looked just like his father. William needed an heir and I provided him with one. Oh, she wasn’t happy about it, of course. But they both needed that heir, didn’t they?” She laughed a forced laugh with this. “No, I wasn’t good enough to marry, but I could provide that son he needed. Unlike any of the other women in his life. But who is going to provide for me now?” />
  “Wait.” It was Edwin who spoke up now. “She mentioned Seven Dials…” He turned to Thalia. “That’s where we were headed the other day. Before the accident. We were almost at Seven Dials.”

  Thalia spoke up now, rather quietly for her, looking pale and shaken. “I think … I think you might be right. I can’t recall everything, not properly, but I’ve just remembered something. Or a piece of something. Right before the accident—I’d been to see Charles. I was speaking to him when it came to me. He was standing across the room, by the window, and suddenly I saw it—something in his eyes, in the shape of his cheekbone. I’d been wondering why he didn’t just give William’s housekeeper some sort of paltry sum to make her go away and then I knew why he hadn’t been able to just brush her off—because he was, in fact, her son. That must have been why I was driving all over the place. Because I knew!”

  “How … ridiculous!” Charles stuttered.

  “Is it?” Hestia turned toward Charles.

  Ro spoke up now. “So that’s who Dr. Hollingsworth was talking about that day I saw him. The mistress he mentioned in the house at our births wasn’t the woman he married after our mother, but Mrs. Blount! It all makes sense now…”

  Hestia continued. “I always wondered why her hatred of Demeter was so strong. And now I know for sure what we only suspected previously. She was sleeping with Demeter’s husband.”

  Mrs. Blount hissed at Hestia’s words. “I wouldn’t be so hoity-toity if I were you, miss. Your sister was a whore and we both know it. As does he.” She glanced at Felix.

  “Now, see here,” Felix spoke up, taking a few steps of his own toward Mrs. Blount.

  “You stay right there.” She pointed the knife at him now. “It didn’t take long for William to work it out. Dr. Hollingsworth had seen it before, you know. In Jamaica. Twins, he’d seen, and only one of them white. Did you know she was sleeping with both of you at the same time? Did you?”