Chapter 2
I’d never heard Matt’s elderly aunt, Miss Letitia Glass, described as cruel.
She could be a dreadful snob, like most of her class, but she was mostly kind.
These days, she was also quite doddery and her memory often failed her.
She’d never got along with her brother, the previous Lord Rycroft, or his wife. Having met them, I could see why.
The dowager was as waspish as her youngest daughter Hope, Lady Coyle, whom I’d had the misfortune of doing business with a year ago when we’d purchased some of her late husband’s books.
But at least Hope’s meanness was predictable, and ultimately harmless.
The middle daughter, Charity, was the one who brought my anxiety to the fore.
She would lie outright to cause trouble simply because she enjoyed seeing others squirm.
Thankfully, she released her grip on me once inside the drawing room so that she could help herself to a slice of cake.
She hadn’t even waited for the polite greetings to conclude.
It was left to her Aunt Letitia to scold her. “Wait to be offered, Child.”
Charity responded by biting into the sponge cake with glee.
“She is not a child, as well you know,” the dowager spat.
“Then she shouldn’t behave like one.” Miss Glass wrinkled her nose as she watched Charity wipe cream off her chin. “Why are you here, Beatrice?”
“You know why.” The dowager stood rigidly by the door, the veins in her long, slender neck corded with her barely contained fury.
“You have intervened in Charity’s application to join the Hanover Square Society, purely out of spite.
I am here to demand you stop poisoning the membership committee against your niece. ”
Matt and India exchanged glances before Matt swung into action. “You and Charity are welcome, Aunt Beatrice. Please, sit and have tea. Our meeting with the professor and Oscar can wait a few moments. You’ve met, haven’t you?”
The dowager flicked her gaze toward us then away while Oscar and I offered pleasantries. “They can come back later. We have important family business to discuss.”
“Terribly rude,” Miss Glass muttered under her breath. Louder, she said, “No, they may not come back. Mr…” She paused as she tried to recall our names, then simply barreled on when she couldn’t. “These gentlemen have an appointment. Isn’t that right, India?”
“We invited them to join us for afternoon tea,” India said. “They leave for Italy tomorrow.”
“We can come back later,” Oscar said.
“No.” Miss Glass pointed at him. “You may stay. Beatrice was just leaving.”
The dowager sniffed then sat on the sofa beside her daughter. “Matthew, something must be done about her. She’s even more forgetful, not to mention extremely rude. Hope told me the last time she called on her that Letitia called her fat.”
Charity snickered. “My sister is fat now.”
“Yes, but one doesn’t say it to her face. Not if we want to keep using her box at the opera.”
“She no longer keeps a box. She’s fat and poor.” Charity’s slick smile returned. “All is right in the world.”
“All is not right,” her mother snapped. “You have been barred from joining the Hanover Square Society because your Aunt Letitia is a vindictive—”
“That’s enough,” Matt growled, his voice quietly commanding. “State your case and I’ll see what I can do. As you see, we have guests.” He nodded at Oscar and me, standing somewhat awkwardly near the window, pretending not to listen to the family squabble.
The rare admonishment from her usually placid nephew made the dowager stiffen more.
“Charity is of an age to join the Hanover Square Society, that esteemed club for ladies. Your Aunt Letitia has been a long-time member. I was too busy to apply after my husband passed, but I think it will do Charity some good.”
“Is that the club for spinsters and widows?” India asked.
“From good families, yes. Its members are involved in fundraising and perform benevolent acts for the poor, if they are so inclined.”
“And if they are not?” India asked with a glance at Charity.
“They meet once a week for tea and social engagement. I believe Letitia has made many friends there, and it gave her a focus to ease the pain of never marrying and having children of her own.” It was a barb directed at both her sister-in-law and her own daughter who must be approaching the age some of their ilk considered too old for marriage.
Fortunately, Miss Glass seemed to have descended into one of her fogs where her mind drifted off, so she didn’t absorb the comment.
However, Charity’s lips pinched together so hard they went white.
She picked up another piece of cake. For one awful moment, I thought she was going to throw at her mother, but she simply lowered it to the plate.
“I could marry if I want to, but why would I willingly enter an arrangement that gives all the power to one party and renders the other little better than an indentured servant?”
That stunned the room into a silence that stretched my nerves thin.
Matt coughed politely and steered the conversation back on course. “Aunt Letitia hasn’t been to a Society meeting since we moved to the country. I doubt she has any influence anymore.”
Miss Glass made no comment so it seemed she hadn’t comprehended he was talking about her. She stared down at her hands, linked together in her lap.
“She’s barring Charity from entering,” the dowager said, snippily.
“She must be. Why else has Charity’s application been ignored?
I asked them and they said they’d lost it, so Charity sent in another.
When there was no response, I confronted the chairwoman of the membership committee again.
She admitted there’d been some opposition to Charity joining.
” Her hazel eyes sharpened as she glared daggers at her sister-in-law. “Who else would object?”
Matt looked as though he was scrambling to think of something polite to say, but before he could respond, Miss Glass rallied and emerged from her fog.
“Is your turban too tight again, Beatrice? It seems to be making your brain smaller.”
The dowager gasped then self-consciously touched the turquoise turban wrapped around her head.
The accessory had been the height of fashion years ago, and some women her age still wore them to hide their graying hair.
She did tend to wear hers very tight, forcing the skin on her forehead back and slanting the corners of her eyes upward.
“Honestly, Letitia, you do say the oddest things these days.”
Miss Glass smiled at India. “Would you pour me a cup of tea, dearest?”
India picked up the teapot. “Will you stay for tea, Beatrice?”
The dowager pushed herself to her feet. “We’re too busy. Come along, Charity. Matthew, see us out.”
They said brisk goodbyes then strode to the door. Charity turned before leaving and winked at Oscar, but no one other than he and I noticed. Her mother was ahead of her and Matt was exchanging a rueful smile with India who rolled her eyes. He followed his aunt and cousin out.
“It’s time to put Letitia in an asylum, Matthew,” the dowager said, her shrill voice carrying clearly, which I suspect was her intention.
Matt’s response was a firm, “No.”
A collective breath was expelled by those of us remaining in the drawing room. India invited Oscar and I to sit on the sofa vacated by Charity and her mother.
“I do apologize,” she said with a sigh.
“No need,” Oscar said. “I know how families can be. Unfortunately, we can’t choose our relatives.”
“Trouble with your brother again?” she asked as she handed him a cup of tea.
Oscar gave her a flat smile. “You know me well, India. Isaac is being his usual overbearing self. He thinks I was a fool to resign from my position at the newspaper, a fool to rely on the income from my books, and an even bigger fool for galivanting around the world, as he puts it. Up until that argument, my visit was going splendidly. I like his children a great deal.”
What Oscar did not tell her but had told me was that Isaac asked Oscar to leave early and return to London.
According to Oscar, Isaac was still jealous that his wife once had feelings for Oscar and worried that perhaps she still did, even though Oscar made sure he was never alone with her.
I found it rather sad that the brothers had fallen out over a woman that Oscar had never been interested in.
“Speaking of children,” I said to change the subject, “is Gabriel napping?”
“He’s helping Mrs. Bristow in the kitchen.” India’s eyes danced with merriment. “In other words, he’s licking the mixing bowl clean. He’s too young to do more, although he tries. He gets into everything.”
“He’ll be able to do more in another year or two without creating a mess,” Oscar said with an authority that reminded me he liked to play with his nieces and nephews, not just pat them on the head and send them back to the nursery.
Matt re-entered the drawing room. It was a signal that seemed to rally Miss Glass. She suddenly sat up straighter and fixed an earnest stare on him. “Tell Willemina to seize the day.”
“I don’t think she needs reminding,” Matt said with a laugh. “Willie is very good at seizing every moment of every day.”
“Hmmm. Chronos understands about limited time. Doesn’t he, India?”
India’s gaze softened. “He does understand.”
No one corrected Miss Glass and told her that India’s eccentric grandfather had died a few months earlier after a long illness. In many ways, Chronos reminded me of Oscar. A great traveler in his youth, he’d been an advocate for magicians, an adventure-seeker and risk-taker.
Matt rested a hand on his wife’s shoulder before sitting beside her. “Ready for your departure tomorrow, gentlemen?”
“As much as we can be,” Oscar said.
They all turned to me, waiting for my response. “Matt, what do you know about the anarchists in Italy? Is there unrest in the north or is it just the south?”
Oscar frowned. “I told you. It’s mostly in Sicily with some turmoil in Tuscany. You don’t believe me, Gavin?”