The Heiresses (2 page)

Demeter smiled slightly and rested her head back further on her pillow. “I—” she started, before being racked with pain once more, so much so that she pushed back against the bed and cried out.

Hestia stood up, shocked, her breath quickening to match D’s, as she realized that even if Dr. Russell walked through the door at this very moment it would be too late.

“Are you leaving, Hestia?” William watched her movements carefully. “Do you have another of your amusing little rallies to attend with your good friend, Mrs. Pankhurst? Oh, dear. I’d forgotten that was quite a secret. I’ll make sure not to mention it in front of dear Mama and Papa.”

Hestia closed her eyes for a moment, trying her very best to ignore the insufferable William. One of his foul friends had spotted her at a protest outside Parliament and had informed him. William had been threatening to tell her parents about her attendance ever since. In this moment, however, she did not care what he did. All that mattered right now was D.

Opening her eyes once more, Hestia glanced over at her sister. There were obviously very serious problems with the third child. She realized D had become even more pale than she seemed minutes before. Her usually lovely, radiant face was pinched and drawn. Hestia decided then and there that she must forget everyone else in the room and concentrate only on her. Once more, she dropped to the side of the bed. “D? Demeter?” She brushed some wet strands of hair from her sister’s temples.

It took a few moments for Demeter to respond. “Have you still not seen them?” She smiled slightly again. “You must see them. Go, now. Go and see. I must hear your thoughts on your beautiful nieces.”

Hestia paused, reluctant to leave, then decided it was best she do as she was bidden by her sister. She rose and crossed the room in the direction of the sound she had heard before. Dr. Hollingsworth’s and William’s eyes followed her, but neither came after her. However, when she opened the door to what was Hestia’s dressing room, she made sure to leave it ajar. She needed to make sure she would be free to reenter the room at will.

A woman she had never seen before was attending to two tightly wrapped, sleeping bundles in small, wooden cradles. The woman started when Hestia entered and looked confused as she took in her features. “I am her Ladyship’s sister,” Hestia explained. They were often mistaken for twins themselves.

“Oh,” was all the woman said, her hand patting her chest. “You gave me quite the shock. Now, Miss, no picking them up, mind. They’ve both just gone back to sleep, you know.”

Hestia had been bracing herself to fight to see her nieces, but it seemed no force was required. “Have you come with Dr. Hollingsworth?” she inquired, not quite understanding the situation.

“No, Miss. I’m Agnes’s aunt. When Dr. Hollingsworth could find no other help, Agnes sent for me. I’m very experienced, Miss. I’ve delivered hundreds of babies. And none more healthy than these two. Lovely specimens, they are. Pretty, too.”

“I see.” Hestia smiled, and turned her attention to her nieces, whose small faces twitched with their dreams. “Thalia and Erato. My sister claims the third will be a girl also. Clio. They are lovely, just as Demeter said.…”

“Thalia, Erato, and Clio,” the woman repeated. “Beautiful names. And very like you and her Ladyship, if I may say so, Miss.”

“That you most certainly may, for I am most proud to be an aunt.” Hestia smiled again, broadly this time, barely able to release her eyes from the two babes. But she was needed most by Demeter’s bedside. Just one last look and …

The scream ripped through the walls of the house—it was like nothing Hestia had ever heard before, or hoped to hear again—and startled both the babies, whose eyes flicked open simultaneously, revealing their deep blue color. They both immediately began to cry.

“Oh, dear.” The woman began to bustle about after the girls, but Hestia was already halfway to Demeter’s bedside.

In the time she had been out of the room, both Dr. Hollingsworth and William had bothered to stir from their seats. And, as she approached the bed, she saw why. Demeter’s bedclothes had been wrenched aside and she was now swathed in only a thin sheet.

A thin sheet covered in blood.

So much blood.

Despite her voracious reading over the past months since hearing of her sister’s precarious situation, Hestia felt everything she had learned suddenly flee from her mind. It was no Demeter she knew in that bed. There was nothing she recognized in the person who writhed before her, possessed. She looked on in horror as her sister’s body was racked with pain once more and yet another scream seemingly shook the windows in the room.

There was another scream. And another.

Then voices. Dr. Hollingsworth’s. William’s.

Hestia took all of this in as if it were a dream playing out around her. Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps hours. And the whole time, she longed to be by her sister’s side, but found herself frozen.

It was not until William passed by, knocking into her and forcing her to take a step sideways, that her situation changed.

This one step was all it took for her to be able to see beyond the girth of Dr. Hollingsworth.

Her sister lay, supine, staring upward, unseeing.

The blood now seeped through the sheet, flowed down the side of the bed, and dripped onto the thick, woven rug covering the floor below. The smell was overwhelming. Rich and metallic, it permeated the room.

And Demeter was slowly drowning in it. Sinking beyond reach.

Hestia began to scream then. Louder than the babies. Louder than Dr. Hollingsworth. Louder, even, than William.

Once she had begun, she could not cease. The scream continued. On and on and on, without pause.

She wondered, vaguely, if it would ever end. If she would ever be able to stop.

Hestia screamed until she hit the floor and everything went suddenly black.

Buckinghamshire, 1925

There was something in the way Mrs. Turner’s eyes flickered over the girls in the classroom, studiously resting on no student in particular, that made Ro forget her geography lesson entirely. She had seen that flickering before. It meant there had been a telegram. Telegrams for the girls of Hayfield Abbey rarely contained good news—there had been a horse-riding accident, a motorcar accident, an elderly relative had choked to death on a buttered crumpet. (Sometimes this was not such terrible news after all and the recipient would return to the classroom with a down-turned expression, but a suspicious lightness in her step.)

Ro watched Mrs. Turner, fascinated. But it was not until she realized those eyes had not once come to rest upon herself, that her finger slipped off the page it was holding. The book snapped smartly shut on her desk, making her jump in her seat and attracting the attention of several of the girls around her. As Mrs. Turner whispered into the ear of Miss Halliday, the geography mistress, many of the other girls returned to their reading. But not Ro.

It’s something to do with me,
Ro thought to herself.

Immediately, her thoughts turned to Halesworth Hall, her other “home,” and Uncle Henry. He had been in perfect health the last time she had seen him, which had been at the beginning of Michaelmas term. He had been on his way to London on business and they had spent a short teatime hour together in the local village. Granted, that was some time ago now. She had spent Michaelmas half with her friend Harriet’s family in Cambridgeshire, where they’d had a glorious time roaming the estate and teasing her brothers into dancing with them. Ro loved visiting with Harriet’s family. With six siblings, there was always something exciting going on and someone coming or going, or new people to meet. There were so many of them that Harriet’s mother found it difficult to keep track of them all and, during the holidays, when the children descended from their various boarding schools, they tended to run wild, rather like a pack of wolves.

It was brilliant.

However, there were always a few moments during visits with Harriet’s family when Ro found she would retreat within herself. She would be reminded that what Harriet had, she could not have and would never have: a big family, a large, ramshackle estate that was always there and would be there forevermore, and at least several family members ensconced within its walls whenever one felt the need to return home. A feeling of belonging. Then, of course, she would feel terrible for having these thoughts, because she was well provided for, not to mention well loved, by Uncle Henry.

Ro frowned slightly now, reminding herself she was supposed to be thinking of Uncle Henry. Poor Uncle Henry was a dull old thing, only interested in his botany, but he had always, without fail, done the right thing by her. She was fond of him in the way that she could tell him he was a dull old thing and he could tell her she was a silly young flibbertigibbet. Which was the way things should be, surely, between two people of forty years’ difference. She worried about him immensely since Aunt Charlotte’s death four years ago. Ro sincerely hoped he hadn’t choked to death on one of those buttered crumpets she had been thinking about moments before. It would be just like him if he had—reading some great tome on botany and forgetting to chew his food properly now that there was no one else at home to remind him of the benefits of proper mastication.

Miss Halliday also glanced around the classroom when Mrs. Turner completed her whispering and overt hand gesturing. She looked uncertain as her eyes fell upon Ro. “Erato Halesworth,” she said, frowning slightly. “Mrs. Turner will escort you to Mrs. Burley’s office immediately.”

Ro stood up slowly in her seat. Beside her, Harriet looked up, giving her a “what is this?” glance. Ro shrugged slightly in response. She had no idea, but she was really starting to worry about Uncle Henry now. She had no other family to worry about, after all. Ro passed the rows of girls, avoiding their stares, and made her way into the hall, where Mrs. Turner was now waiting.

As soon as the door was closed behind her, Ro could wait no longer. “Is it my uncle?” The words were blurted out, a little too loudly.

“There is no need to worry. Your uncle is in perfect health, as you shall see yourself in a moment, in Mrs. Burley’s office.”

Ro was so shocked by this statement that for several seconds she was unable to move. Uncle Henry had
never
called upon Mrs. Burley before. In fact, he actively disliked visiting Hayfield Abbey. “All those silly young flibbertigibbets,” he would tease. “Even sillier than you, I’ve no doubt! Go to Hayfield Abbey? No thank you!” When she came to her senses once more, she realized Mrs. Turner had already traveled halfway up the hall and was nearing Mrs. Burley’s study door. She had to run to catch up.

Running was not something Mrs. Turner approved of. When Ro reached her, Mrs. Turner’s hand was paused in midair, ready to knock on Mrs. Burley’s door. The pause was a significant one, in which Mrs. Turner gave both Ro’s hair and her tunic a pointed look. Ro smoothed her hair and straightened her white blouse and tunic of navy wool. Mrs. Turner reached out and straightened an errant pleat before rapping briskly on the door.

“Enter!” Mrs. Burley’s voice boomed from inside and Ro’s heart instantly jumped in her chest in the way that your heart does when you are outside a headmistress’s office. Even if you have done nothing wrong.

Mrs. Turner opened the door and ushered Ro inside. And there was Uncle Henry, as healthy as she had ever seen him, sitting in a high-backed chair on the opposite side of Mrs. Burley’s desk. Ro took a step toward him, relieved. “Goodness, so it is true. You
are
here. And you haven’t choked on a buttered crumpet after all. I have to say I’m awfully glad!”

Uncle Henry gave Ro his “silly young flibbertigibbet” look. “As am I, dear Ro. As am I.”

Mrs. Burley coughed, rather deliberately, Ro thought. “Mrs. Burley,” she said, turning to acknowledge her headmistress with a nod, as Mrs. Turner excused herself and left the three together.

“Yes, well, Professor Halesworth, perhaps Erato would be best seated for this news?” Mrs. Burley asked. She did not sound altogether pleased by his presence.

“Hmmm … what? Oh, yes. Yes, do sit down, Ro. There’s a good girl.”

Ro eased on over into the chair next to her uncle. So there
was
news? But what on earth could it be?

Next to her, Uncle Henry shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Now, it seems, my dear, that there is some bother. Your aunt paid me a visit this morning. We must go to London for a few days. Perhaps, even, for some time.”

“London?” Ro frowned. “Whatever for? And for
some time
? What does that mean? Is Aunt Alice talking to you again?” Aunt Alice was Aunt Charlotte’s sister, who had always detested Uncle Henry and his scholarly ways, which meant he often paid little to no attention to guests, sometimes wandering off midconversation to make a note or two about some project or other he was currently working on.

“Not your Aunt Alice, Ro. Your Aunt Hestia.”

“But I don’t have an Aunt Hestia!”

“I’m afraid you do now,” Uncle Henry said with a sigh.

“Hestia is a particularly unusual name,” Mrs. Burley piped up. “Do you by any chance mean Hestia Craven?”

Uncle Henry simply pursed his lips, which Mrs. Burley took as an admission of familial recognition. “Well! I had no idea. Hestia Craven! How very … progressive of you, Professor Halesworth, to have such a relation.”

Ro’s eyes darted between her headmistress and her uncle. Who on earth was Hestia Craven? And why was Uncle Henry claiming she was her aunt?

“She is no relation of mine, Madam. Ro, it is about your … other family,” Uncle Henry attempted to explain. His eyes flicked toward Mrs. Burley and Ro knew that he was unwilling to say too much in front of her, which was probably wise. Mrs. Burley was rather prone to gossip and her eyes had lit up now that she thought some might be on its way. Over the years, and especially since Aunt Charlotte’s death, Uncle Henry had told her dribs and drabs about her other family. She lapped up every piece of information she could, always hoping to hear of even a distant relation of her own age, rather than the five-hundred-year-old great-aunts and third cousins twice removed Uncle Henry always seemed to provide. She had certainly never heard anything about this Aunt Hestia and now Ro found herself clasping her hands firmly together to hold herself back from asking more. Perhaps her Aunt Hestia had children? Even one would do. Ro smiled ruefully at this thought—the truth was, she was so desperate for relations of her own age that she would have been happy with a dog, a cat, or even a flea-ridden orangutan if this Aunt Hestia had been able to provide one. Ro thought of Harriet’s family, allowing herself to imagine, just for a brief moment, what it might be like to have a sister. Even Harriet did not have a sister.