Chapter 4 #2
I might as well not have said anything. He ignored me and glared at Harmony until she bobbed a curtsy and hurried off, the book hugged to her chest again.
“That wasn’t necessary,” I said. “Harmony is finished for the day so she isn’t taking time off from her duties, and we were just having a conversation. She certainly wasn’t bothering me.”
He tugged on his shirt cuffs until they appeared just beneath his jacket sleeves. “Friendships between staff and family or guests shouldn’t be encouraged. It leads to liberties being taken.”
I rolled my eyes and marched off. There was no point in arguing with him. He wasn’t going to change his opinion because of something I said. I hoped Harmony would suffer no repercussions.
I sat with Aunt Lilian until it was time to dress for dinner. She would not be joining us in the dining room, as her headache was too intense, but she wanted me to stay to keep her company for awhile.
“I can only rest so much,” she said with a twitch of her lips which I took as an attempt at a smile.
We sat in the sitting room in her suite, me on an armchair, Aunt Lilian reclining on the sofa.
A blanket covered her legs and feet, and her slender fingers fidgeted with the edge, teasing and twisting the fringe.
She looked so delicate lying there, like a flower past its spring bloom.
According to all of the photographs I’d seen, Aunt Lilian had been a beauty in her youth.
“Last night’s party after the show took it out of you,” I said gently.
“Oh, but what a wonderful evening it was. Did you enjoy yourself, Cleo?”
“I did, thank you.” I’d retired before my aunt, uncle and cousins. While I had liked the evening, my family appeared to enjoy it more than me. They were their friends, after all, not mine.
She reached out a hand to me. It shook violently.
I took it gently, afraid of snapping off her boney fingers.
“I’m so glad. Your mother would be proud of you, carrying on with such courage after your grandparents’ deaths.
I don’t know if I could have been as brave as you at your age.
To think you’ve journeyed to a new city and left your life behind! ”
It hadn’t been a difficult decision. If I’d stayed in Cambridge I’d have lived in poverty. But I didn’t say that.
“We’re very glad you wanted to live with us,” she said. “Very glad indeed. Already I can see what a steadying influence you’re having on Flossy. She looks up to you.”
“She’s been very good to me,” I said. “You all have. It made settling in so much easier. The hotel already feels like home.” I hadn’t expected it to be this easy.
Before coming to London, I’d been rather terrified of meeting my mother’s sister and her family.
I’d been expecting a tyrant in my uncle and a snob in my aunt.
While he’d proved to have a temper, and they’d all displayed some snobbery at times, they were far from intolerable.
My comment about home brought a smile to my aunt’s face. “I am so glad to hear you say that, Cleo. So very glad.” She smothered a yawn with her hand. “How can I possibly be tired after resting all day?”
She might be tired, but she was also restless. Her fingers resumed their fidgeting of the blanket fringe and her legs and feet shifted constantly. Her gaze darted too, sometimes flicking over me before scanning the room, then once again settling on me.
“Forgive me for asking,” I said carefully, “but what ails you? Do the doctors know?”
She hesitated before answering. “They say it’s melancholia.”
In my experience, melancholia was a general term used to describe a lowness of spirits, the cause of which was unknown. “Is there a cure?” I asked, although I was quite sure of the answer.
“No. The new tonic the doctor gave me helps revive my spirits for occasions such as last night, but I mustn’t take it all the time.
It makes the headaches so much worse when the tonic wears off.
Unfortunately, it’s not as effective as it used to be.
It used to lift my spirits all night, but now it lasts only a few hours. ”
“What would happen if you stopped taking it altogether? Would the headaches disappear?”
“I don’t know, but I must take it. I’d be terribly dull otherwise, and no one wants a dull hostess or party guest.” She laughed, but it didn’t ring true. She believed what she said.
“I’m sure no one would think you dull, Aunt. I don’t.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but my conversation is limited.
Your mother inherited all the wit and intelligence, not to mention beauty.
” Tears welled in her eyes, and my own eyes filled in response.
“She wasn’t too keen on large parties, but other than a reservation around strangers, she had every natural advantage.
Everyone liked her when they got to know her.
That’s why it was so strange when she chose your father. ”
I emitted a small gasp of air and stared at her.
“Oh!” She covered her mouth with her hand then lowered it to her throat.
“I am sorry, Cleo. I didn’t mean to imply there was something wrong with him.
There wasn’t. He was handsome and witty too, and very intelligent, of course.
But he came from nothing. That’s all I meant.
Your mother could have married a nobleman, either English or foreign, but she chose love. ”
“And your parents couldn’t abide it.” I didn’t want my bitterness to come through in my tone, but it did.
“No, they couldn’t.” It was spoken so softly I could barely hear it.
This was new ground we were venturing into.
So far, I’d avoided the sensitive topic of the estrangement.
I’d not wanted to get into an argument with my aunt and uncle, who would naturally defend her parents.
It had happened so long ago, and my parents and grandparents were gone, that it seemed unnecessary.
“This is what I mean when I say I need my tonic.” Aunt Lilian’s pained gaze fell on the closed doors to her bedroom. “If I don’t take it, I say silly things like that. I’m a dreadful person, Cleo.”
My annoyance dissolved. I reached forward and touched her hand. Her busy fingers stilled. “I know you had no choice in the estrangement.”
She nodded, blinking tear-filled eyes.
“Your parents would have scolded you if you fought against their wishes, or worse, and Uncle Ronald wouldn’t have liked it either.
” Perhaps I was overstepping, but I wanted her to know that I didn’t blame her.
I could see now that she didn’t have the strength to stand up to a man with a temper as fierce as her husband’s.
She blinked at me. “You have it a little muddled, Cleo. While my parents cut out your mother from their lives, Ronald and I tried to keep the line of communication open. But my sister—your mother—wanted nothing to do with any of us. We tried again, after my parents died, and still she refused to see us. Then, after your parents’ accident, we asked your grandparents if we could take you in.
They refused, saying your parents wouldn’t wish it.
Ronald offered them money for your education and upkeep, but they only allowed him to give you a small amount each month.
We asked if we could at least visit, so you would know us, but if they answered our letters at all, it was just to reply with a brief no.
When you came of age, we wrote to you, but you never answered. ”
I sat there, stunned. I couldn’t even form a coherent thought let alone a response.
“I thought you knew,” she murmured.
After a long while, I sucked in a shuddery breath. “I didn’t.”
“Ronald suggested as much, but… I wasn’t sure until you came here. Once I realized how lovely you are, I knew it must have been your grandparents’ doing.”
My grandmother had always collected the mail before me.
Always. And when I asked about my London family, neither she nor my grandfather wanted to talk about them.
All they would tell me was that the Bainbridges were snobs and wouldn’t like me because they felt my father was beneath them, and my maternal grandparents had been cruel in cutting us out of their lives.
While the latter might be true, the former wasn’t.
How could my beloved grandparents have lied to me?
“I have their letters somewhere.” My aunt rubbed her forehead. “Where have I put them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said weakly. “I believe you.”
She looked relieved.
“You’re owed an apology for the way my grandparents responded to your letters,” I said.
“Yes, but not by you, dear. No more than I need to apologize for the way my parents treated your mother and father.” She patted my hand.
“I admit to being angry when your mother chose him over me. I looked up to her so much, you see. I adored her. And by choosing your father, she knew she might never see me again. That was painful, at the time, and my last words to her were angry ones. I was foolish and jealous, still just a silly girl, in many ways. I regret parting with her like that.”
She sank back into the sofa and her gaze took on a faraway look. She’d been hurt by her parents’ cruelty just as much as my mother had, and had lost a sister too, yet her gaze seemed more wistful than sad.
“I’m glad we had this conversation,” she suddenly said.
I kissed her cheek. “Me too.”
I saw Mr. Hobart in the foyer while I waited for Frank to hail a cab to take me to Kensal Green cemetery. He greeted me cordially, but there was a slight strain to his smile. Mr. Armitage must have informed him of my involvement in the murder investigation.
“Let me explain,” I began.
“There’s nothing to explain. Harry told me you weren’t aware Lord Rumford had approached me about his suspicions and I was going to give the investigation to Harry.”
“Did he also tell you I tried to offer it to him but he refused?”
He nodded.
“You’re upset with me,” I said.
“Of course not.”