The Rumor (A Secret Past--Volume Two)

by Norah Black

  “But,” Clara interrupted before remembering her promise not to say anything.

  “Your grandmother had a weak heart for a long time before she died and Mrs... Jameson? She believed that what your aunt did only weakened it further. After she passed, your grandfather quickly followed. Whatever it was that caused Amelia to fall out with the family, your mother inherited everything. But that’s all I know about your aunt. And if there’s something shameful or painful about it, I don’t blame your mother in the least for not sharing it with you. And it’s probably why she goes out of her way to protect you the way she does, even if it might seem extreme or unfair at times.”

  Clara sat on the bed in silence, waiting for Trudy to say something more. Most of what Trudy had just told her she either already knew from the photograph or had guessed at (why else would she and Helen never have been told about their aunt). She’d hoped for more; Robert had given her more, even if it was only conjecture and decades old rumor.

  Trudy shifted in her chair, turning her attention back to the papers on her desk, effectively dismissing Clara. Frustrated, Clara wanted to push for more but knew better than to do so right then. Her success in getting Trudy to even speak on the subject would have to do for now. She needed to reassess what she knew and devise a new plan of attack for getting information out of Trudy.

  Clara quietly stood and left the room, thanking Trudy politely for understanding and providing as much information as she had. “I’m only sorry I don’t know enough to put your mind at ease,” Trudy said without looking at Clara. “Try not to dwell on it.” Clara didn’t for a minute believe Trudy’s assertion that she was sharing all she knew.

  Saying nothing, Clara closed the door behind her and headed to the library. She didn’t care what her mother had to say about her being there anymore. It was the place where Clara thought clearest.

  Despite the fact that it was her father’s library, it didn’t occur to her that she might run into him there. The first days back from the city were usually spent in his beloved gardens, consulting with the gardeners about what they’re planning, breathing in the clean and still crisp air of spring. Martha had complained to him years before that she should be given more say in the flowers since they would be gracing her tables, but her husband’s reluctance to yield control in the matter revealed it was more than just a passing interest for him. Since their tastes ran along similar lines, she let him have his hobby. Mornings like the one in question were a guarantee that he would be indulging in the sunshine.

  But when she walked through the door into the library, Clara found him bent over an illustrated volume. He looked up when the door opened, his brow furrowed in curiosity. “Clara?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Father,” she said quickly and meekly out of habit. “I didn’t know you were in the house—”

  “Is there something you were looking for?” he asked. He turned back to the shelf, leaving the book he’d been examining open on the desk. Clara caught sight of the second volume he removed: botany books. He’d probably entered into another debate with the gardener about the proper amount of water or shade or worse, what species the plant in question actually was. “Clara?” he asked again, prodding her to respond. “Do you need something?”

  “No, I was just... I was just thinking and the library seems like a good place to do that,” she said. He nodded, his nose still buried in his book, expecting her to leave. She knew she should, but finding and hiding the photograph, successfully sneaking out and back in the evening before, she was becoming bolder. “Actually, there is something you might be able to help with,” she said tentatively, taking a few steps further into the library. He looked up again, adjusting the small spectacles he used when reading. Clara continued to creep into the library. “Did something happen with Helen while you were all in the city?”

  She watched her father grew incredibly still for several moments before breaking into a flurry of activity, closing the books he’d been consulting and returning one to the shelf (upside down). “Nothing that I know of. Why do you ask?”

  “She’s just seemed... troubled the last few days. Like there’s something she wants to talk about but can’t for some—”

  “If something was wrong with Helen, I think you’d be the first person she’d tell,” he interrupted. He plucked the spectacles from his face, folded them, put them in a protective case, and stuck the case in the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

  “That’s what I thought,” Clara said. She stared around the room, pretending to take in the multitude of titles lining the shelves, but also carefully placing her body in the way so that her father couldn’t slip past her and out the door. Clutching the book under one arm, he was becoming agitated, anxious to get past whatever Clara was hung up on so he could refocus on his garden. “And I did ask her but she said it wasn’t something she could talk about. And then there was the way she was acting during dinner last night.”

  “I thought she and Mr. Flint appeared to get along nicely,” he said with more hope than conviction. The sting was small and brief but Clara still felt it. Given the way her mother had behaved since first meeting Robert, Clara knew it would be necessary to prepare herself for the way her parents would push Helen at Robert. The kiss Clara had shared with him in the moonlight the night before and his insistence on seeking her out helped but it would still smart. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted or hoped for except to see him again, to chase that feeling she felt when he was around or when she thought about him.

  Reading her father’s tone, Clara was able to smile and continue. “They did seem to find one another agreeable,” she conceded. “However I was referring to the way Helen appeared to be at odds with Mother. I couldn’t help but feel that they are having a disagreement and thought you might have noticed something off between them while you were away.”

  “You would have to ask one of the two of them,” her father insisted, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “But I can’t say that I noticed anything out of the ordinary.” Clara nodded, continuing to block the exit. “If that is all, Clara, then I will ask you to excuse me.”

  She stepped aside, waiting for him to reach the hallway before calling him back. “One last thing, Father.” He sighed as he turned back around to face her, mild frustration creeping into his expression. “Will you be inviting Mr. Flint to dinner again? You mentioned last night regretting that Mr. and Mrs. Robinson were unable to join him. I think it would be a wonderful idea to invite the three of them to dinner again soon. Or a luncheon. I’m sure Mrs. Robinson will love seeing your gardens and it really was a lovely dinner.”

  The frustration was replaced with traces of his affection. “It was a pleasant evening. I think I’ll bring up the suggestion of a luncheon to your mother. Perhaps a small garden party in a few weeks when the flowers reach their peak.” His gait was lighter as he walked off, a small smile enhancing the lines on his face but in a way that made him appear younger. His fingers tapped at the cover of the book tucked under his arm.

  Clara deflated a little as she was left alone in the library. She walked to her favorite chair and sank into it, closing her eyes as she forgot her posture and leaned her head against the firm cushioning of its back. Robert might be invited back in a few weeks? She desperately wanted to see him sooner. He’d left her with the impression he would call again on his own, but that probably wouldn’t be for several days at least.

  She and the concept of waiting went way back, having spent so much of her life doing just that; waiting for Helen and their parents to return, waiting to be declared well enough to do something, waiting for time to make sense of things. She had developed many methods for coping with the agonies associated with waiting but none of them appealed to her in this situation. None of them contained their usual promise of relief and she wasn’t sure she wanted relief.

  ***

  The four ate a midday meal in almost complete silence. Significant looks and sighs were tossed about but only the most supe
rficial of niceties were exchanged verbally. An observer might have mistaken the four for strangers taking one another’s measure.

  When Clara stood to leave, Helen hastened to follow suit, tossing her napkin next to her plate and leaving a sizeable portion of her meal uneaten. Once they were out of earshot, Helen spoke up. “Clara, do you still have the dress I loaned you last night or did one of the maids take it for cleaning?”

  “Oh, I still have it,” Clara responded. She’d intended to bring it back earlier but her mission to find answers concerning their mysterious aunt Amelia had distracted her. Or perhaps she’d only used it as an excuse. As long as she held onto the dress, it was easier to conjure up the way she’d felt in it the previous evening. “I’ll go fetch it and leave it in your room.”

  They heard their father call out to their mother but they couldn’t make out what he was saying.

  “I’ll come with you,” Helen said, glancing back over her shoulder. Their mother’s form hovered in the doorway of the dining room, reluctantly turning back to address her husband.

  The sisters hurried their pace. They reached Clara’s room and Helen closed the door behind them. Clara carefully picked the dress up from where she had laid it out on the bed. As soon as the space was empty, Helen sat there, tugging Clara back down beside her. “I’m afraid I lost one of the buttons,” Clara said, holding the garment up for Helen to inspect the damage.

  “Oh, that’s nothing. Nellie can find a replacement and mend it.” Clara held the dress out for Helen who took the heavily beaded fabric in her hands. She poked at the threads where the button had come free before running her fingers along the shimmering blue beads. “You enjoyed the dress then? You don’t mind that I forced it on you?”

  “Of course not,” Clara said blushing.

  “You’re not feeling victimized, then?” Helen’s tone had relaxed, teasing her older sister.

  “I was a willing victim,” Clara said playing along. “It was kind of you to let me borrow it,” she added with sincerity. “Thank you.”

  “After the way they tried to leave you out, I couldn’t stand the thought of you being made to feel like you didn’t belong because you were underdressed,” Helen said, the playfulness gone from her voice momentarily. “It was either loan you a dress or wear something as boring as what you have in your closet and as much as I love you, that’s where I draw the line.”

  Clara laughed, fingering some of the beaded fringe that was trying to tickle her leg through the fabric of her skirt. Remembering the way they felt as they slid past her knees and along her thighs as she’d pulled the fabric up to keep it from brushing against the dew dampened hedge sent an unanticipated shiver through her body.

  “Do you... want to hold onto this?” Helen asked slowly.

  “What? The dress? Oh, no. It’s your dress. I can’t ask to keep it,” Clara objected. She pulled her hand away from the beads and pushed the pile of fabric further into Helen’s hands.

  “You’re not asking,” Helen pointed out. “I’m offering. It suits you much better than it does me.” She replaced the dress in Clara’s lap. “Besides, it might be nice for you to have a keepsake from last night.”

  “A keepsake?” Clara asked, thinking of the button hiding in her jewelry box.

  “I found Mr. Flint quite agreeable company,” Helen said. Her gaze was searching Clara’s face intently, soaking in the way the corners of Clara’s mouth twitched and her inability to look her in the eye. “You certainly charmed him when he showed up in search of assistance.” At that comment, Clara raised her eyebrows cynically at Helen, but truthfully she thrilled at the suggestion behind Helen’s words. “The very next day he turned up to pay a call and accepted a dinner invitation for the following evening? I think you’ve caught his eye.”

  “I think you’re reading too much into common politeness,” Clara said in a self-deprecating manner.

  “There was nothing common about the way he was looking at you all evening.”

  “And what do you think about Mother’s plans for him?” Clara asked. She meant it in a teasing way but the pain of knowing their parents would prefer if Robert’s attentions and inherited wealth landed on Helen.

  Helen snorted derisively. “She can make all the plans she likes. I promise you they’ll come to nothing. As pleasant as I find Mr. Flint, I have no designs on him.” She glanced at the door, pressed her lips together, and jumped up from the bed to rush over and turn the lock.

  Clara’s brow knit together with suspicion as Helen resumed her seat but angled her body so that she was facing her sister instead of the two of them sitting side by side. “I know I said that I couldn’t tell you what was bothering me yesterday and I’m sorry for that. I’m still not sure what to make of some of it and as soon as I know more, I’ll tell you. But there is something else that’s been... on my mind,” Helen said conspiratorially. Her eyes were shining and, though it wasn’t as glaringly obvious as on Clara’s pale skin, a blush had worked its way into Helen’s cheeks. “And after watching you with Mr. Flint last night, I think you’ll understand.”

  A sly grin broke out on Clara’s face. “Why Helen, do you mean to imply that you’ve met a man whose company you prefer to that of Mr. Flint?”

  Helen simply nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Then, everything came bursting forth in torrent of words. “His name is Thomas, Thomas Brandon. We met at a dinner party for New Year’s. He’s wonderful and so funny. I don’t think I’ve ever spent so much time laughing. I came away from the party with a stitch in my side and a sore face from laughing and smiling. I hardly ate a thing because I was afraid of choking. Just thinking about him, I can’t help smiling. But he’s more than just funny. He can be serious and sweet too. He’s well read and enjoys philosophy.”

  “Since Mother seems determined to throw you at Mr. Flint, I take it she doesn’t approve of Mr. Brandon,” Clara hedged.

  Helen’s face contorted in annoyance. “Thomas’ family fortune is modest at best, according to Mother. Add to that the fact that he has two older brothers and a younger sister and he might as well be destitute in her eyes. As soon as she learned his situation, she began discouraging me, saying he was only after our money. I know he’s not. He’s studying the law and will be able to make a respectable living in a few years. There are several issues he’s very passionate about that have him considering going into politics. I doubt he’d give up either, even if he had my money to live off of. But Mother doesn’t care about any of that. She’d rather I find someone whose profession is just a glorified pastime.”

  “You speak as though Mr. Brandon had proposed,” Clara teased before realizing that if either of the two of them were going to enter into a secret engagement after knowing the man for such a short time, it would be Helen. “Wait, he hasn’t has he?”

  Helen shot her look that said she knew exactly what Clara was thinking. “No, Thomas hasn’t proposed. Yet. He’s mentioned how difficult it will be for him to marry before he’s passed the bar and has established himself in a practice in the city. I told him that I’m amenable to what he thinks is best but that I don’t care about waiting for circumstances to be right for the sake of appearances. I told him I don’t care whether our parents approve or not, that I know he’ll manage to provide for us and if we have to go without some of the luxuries we’re accustomed to, we can go without. He wants to earn Mother and Father’s approval and thinks that if we can wait a few more months, they’ll see how determined we are and give their consent. Of course, I told him that time has yet to change Mother’s mind about anything, but he’ll learn that soon enough.”

  “So... you are engaged?” Clara asked confused.

  “Not properly, but we have an understanding,” Helen summarized. “What about you and Mr. Flint?”

  “We’ve known one another less than a week,” Clara said, her voice pitching higher than it had ever gone before.

  “I meant what do you think about him,” Helen clarified. “He seems pretty taken
with you and you struck me as taken with him as well. Am I right or am I only imagining things?”

  “I like him well enough,” Clara began, unsure how much she wanted to divulge to her sister. “To be honest, you’ve spent nearly as much time in his company as I have but yes, I like him a great deal.” She dropped her gaze to the dress that was still sitting in her lap and ran her fingers along the lines of carefully sewn beads. “I certainly look forward to knowing him better. He left me with the impression he’d call again soon.”

  “When did he say anything like that?” Helen asked.

  Clara hesitated, trapped into confessing to their liaison after dark. “As he was leaving and you were distracting Mother, he asked me to meet him outside as soon as I could slip away.”

  “You snuck out of the house?” Helen stared at Clara with wide-eyed admiration. “But what about your health?” she asked mockingly. “If Mother finds out you’ll be confined to your room until she can trust you to take proper precautions to keep from getting sick.”

  Clara stared at Helen, terrified. “Whatever you do you can’t tell her. Promise me right now, you won’t tell her.”

  “Of course I won’t tell her,” Helen said reassuringly. "I was only teasing.” She reached out an arm and brought Clara closer into an awkward hug. “What did Mr. Flint want when you got there?”

  Helen loosened her grip on her sister, allowing Clara room to breathe and a moment to consider how much to share. “There were several questions he had,” she said slowly and carefully. “First off, he told me that when he asked his cousin about me, he didn’t know who I was. That is, his cousin hadn’t heard about me.”