Chapter 12
THE REQUEST
I swam out of sleep Sunday morning, immediately regretting that third whiskey, to note what appeared to be an uncertain day in England—not gray, not sunny—and the understanding my slumbering self was paying company to only two felines that morning, Snowball and Gingerface.
Snowball had graduated to sleeping with me on my pillow, and Gingerface was already cuddling me.
“I’m never drinking whiskey again,” I told them.
Gingerface shifted and started making biscuits on my hip.
I gave it some time while I assessed last night’s damage, thankfully realizing I was only a mite queasy and headachy.
Then I asked, “Are we ready to face the day?”
Neither moved.
So I got out of bed, scooped up Snowball, took her to the bathroom and laid her on the fluffy bathmat, went back, grabbed Gingerface and added him to my menagerie.
And then I set about facing the day.
* * *
I was surprised to arrive in the breakfast room to see only Tempie there.
Of course, dressed all in white, she looked fabulous and not like we all got semi-snockered on whiskey last night. Battle and Rally disappeared, but Courtney returned and joined us, reporting Chelsea was away in her taxi.
We’d celebrated this news with an ill-advised whiskey number two.
How whiskey number three came about was a bit murky.
“Morning,” I called.
“Vivi,” she replied.
I went directly to the sideboard…and grease.
“How are you feeling?” she asked as I loaded my plate.
“I took some ibuprofen, now I’ll eat some greasy food, and then I’ll be good as gold,” I answered. “How are you?”
“As all good aristocrats do, I’ve learned quite well to hold my liquor.”
That made me smile.
She poured my coffee.
I sat with my plate and added cream to the cup.
“Can I ask you something?” I requested.
“Of course,” she replied, sipping coffee, her empty plate (except the crumbs) that looked like she’d only had toast sitting in front of her.
I had a lot to ask.
I wanted to confirm my suspicions about Chastity, but if what I supposed was true, it wasn’t Tempie’s to give, or mine to have, unless Chassie gave it to me.
I wanted to tell her about Christian, though, upon reflection, I was thinking I needed to let Christian do whatever Christian intended to do.
If he was really interested, he’d make an effort, however that came about, and Chassie was worth that effort.
It was also Chassie’s choice how she’d react to it.
I was intrigued about this “Fund” Battle and Prue had mentioned. However, that, again, wasn’t my business.
I was also curious about the vow the four of them had made.
However, from what was said, they’d apparently decided as a family they were going to remain a family no matter what, all of them living at The Downs, and if any of them found someone, that someone would have to fit in.
This wasn’t surprising, exactly. It wasn’t like the house wasn’t huge and couldn’t fit husbands (and a wife…hmm), children, and tons more pets.
It also wasn’t surprising because it was plain they suffered from supremely neglectful parents.
Therefore, banding together and creating tight bonds that didn’t break was probably a defense mechanism born of a natural desire to seek love and support, and when none was to be found, creating it for themselves.
I couldn’t think on that too long, because it was too horrendous to consider, and something I’d never understand because what I had growing up was the exact opposite.
So instead, I thought of how close they were, what an amazing bond they had, and that I thought it was kind of cool they all knew they had a home and a family, no matter what.
And although it seemed clear Tempie was at one with Battle flirting with me, spending time with me and calling me darling, she might be able to tell me if Prue was immune to it, or if she, too, was acting like she was because she was okay with it.
But that I needed to ask Prue.
So I settled on, “Do you know if anything happened to Harmony after the war was over?”
Her sublimely arched brows straightened and inched together. “Happened to Harmony?”
“Yes.”
“Like what?”
“No clue. Except Marie recorded an entry in her diary about something dire happening at the house, it was clear whatever it was happened to Harmony, and she said the only good thing about it was that it was ‘dead and buried’ and ‘no one would speak of it again.’”
Tempie took this in for a moment, before she said, “I fear, Vivi, that no one spoke of it again, since I have no knowledge of anything dire happening in this house to Harmony or anybody. Sadly, we don’t have the macabre and mysterious reputation of Duncroft.”
Duncroft was another famous heritage estate up north.
It was famous for being magnificent (it was bigger even than The Downs), but also because a silent film star plunged to her death over the railing of their grand stairwell back in the 20s.
It was ruled an accident, but rumors persisted to this day that it was murder.
They’d recently been in the news because that film star’s great-nephew hatched a scheme to sell more of the books he wrote about the tragedy by sneaking in and doing weird shit in the house to scare the people living and working there.
He’d been caught out by the earl’s heir, and prosecuted. My understanding was he was in jail. But the earl’s heir was now the earl and married to the American heiress who was there for a house party during this fake haunting.
I’d followed the story, obviously, because it was interesting, included a historical estate steeped in just what Tempie said it was, the macabre and mystery, but also because it was romantic.
Tempie got to the meat of the matter quickly. “Do you think, whatever this is, it’s why Harmony ended things with Charlie?”
“I think the dates match from when their love letters switched from being love letters, planning their lives and future together, to her breaking things off,” I replied.
“It was getting late, so I wasn’t able to check.
” And I’d been interrupted by nosiness about the Christian/Chassie thing, something I didn’t share. “I’ll be confirming that today.”
“I would encourage you not to hope too much you’ll find anything,” Tempie warned. “Outside of learning to hold our liquor, aristocrats are dab hands at holding our secrets.”
“Yeah, I’m aware I might never find out, but I’m going to try.”
“Oh God,” was said at the door where Courtney was tumbling through. “Why did I drink whiskey? I hate whiskey. Lord, I hope there are plenty of sausages.”
I exchanged a smile with Tempie, though hers was more of a smirk, as was her wont.
And I cut into my own sausage.
* * *
I was out in the studio, having confirmed that yes, the dates matched between the change in tone in letters and Marie’s journal entry.
I’d read through quite a bit more of Marie’s journals but found not a single word written about anything “dire,” and she almost studiously avoided referring to Harmony at all, except to say things like, Harmony wore the loveliest dress to church today, and the like.
I’d then turned to Unity’s journals, and although Unity, Harmony’s younger sister, was far more verbose, she was also quite a bit younger, so her language was dreamy and flowery (whereas Harmony fell in love with Charlie, Unity fell in love with what seemed like every soldier that came through The Downs, both wounded and not).
She was, however, very aware of Harmony and Charlie’s love affair, though only as an observer. She fervently hoped they would ride into the sunset for their happily ever after. She was devastated when they did not.
But around the date of Marie’s grim entry alluding to something happening to Harmony, Unity was blissfully unaware of it, not only since she didn’t mention anything, but also because the blithe, teenaged tone of her entries didn’t change.
I’d given up and gone back to where I left off before curiosity got the better of me.
I had a ton of stuff to get through, and now only just over a week to get through it.
But also, since Rally and Courtney were leaving after tea, I didn’t have a full day to work and needed to be in the blue salon at three because I liked them.
They were lovely, it felt good to be around two people who were so in love, and I wanted a bit more time with them and to be there to say goodbye.
So I was hard at it when I sensed movement at the door.
I looked up and my heart jumped into my throat as Battle walked in.
How on earth could he make simple sweaters and jeans look so scrummy?
We’d eventually been joined by Prue and Chassie at breakfast (both of them not as good aristocrats as Tempie, since they were both hilariously hungover), but Courtney told us Rally and Battle were taking a “morning wander with Bartholomew.”
This was the first time I’d seen him since last night.
“Hey,” I greeted, smiling at him because he was gorgeous, he was there, also, I worried he might feel awkward or embarrassed about last night, and I wanted him to know he shouldn’t be.
“Vivi,” he replied, walking in.
I looked at my phone and saw I had an hour before tea.
“Something up?” I asked him.
He was perusing the crates, and he didn’t answer.
He then turned to my desk, which probably appeared to him as being messy with papers and books, my laptop and notes, but to me, it was organized chaos.
“I see you’ve made yourself at home,” he murmured as he reached out to one of the three framed photos I brought with me, all three standing pride of place facing me from a corner of the desk. This where they always were anywhere I worked.
I had to steel myself as he looked down at it, because him just touching that photo felt like a caress.
Not a sexy one.
A tender one.
It was a picture of Mom and Dad horsing around at a campsite before they were married.
He studied it, and as he did, I felt something tingly move over my skin. Not unpleasant, but wholly intimate.
“Your parents?” he asked the picture.