Belonging

by Maria Bernard

  “Well, are you just going stand there?” he said with a smile in his pronounced English accent, coming to stand directly in front of them. “It’s not polite to stare, you know.” He winked at Gwen and held out his hand for Crispin, who hadn’t yet uttered a word.

  After an awkward standoff, he finally found his voice. “Holy shit, this can’t be happening,” muttered Crispin, refusing to reciprocate the gesture. “Tell me this is some kind of freaking nightmare, Gwen.”

  “Not a nightmare, I’m afraid. Just your uncle Piers.” Without so much as a flinch, he held his hand out for Gwen. “More like a dream come true for me. But I can see why you would say that. I’ve been known to strike fear in the hearts of many.” Flashing a disarming smile, he took her hand, gazed curiously at the bracelet on her wrist before giving her knuckles a suave kiss.

  “Piers Harlow at your service, young miss.”

  For all of a second, she froze at his use of the same phrase Crispin had used when he had first introduced himself to her back at the café. “I’m Gwen Mathewson, nice to meet you.”

  “Lovely indeed.” He gave a slight bow. “I see my dear nephew has wonderful taste.”

  Gwen couldn’t help but blush. At the same time, she felt Crispin’s silence was getting concerning and a bit awkward. She couldn’t blame him, really. But in a way, she felt the need to say something. “Crispin?” Gwen gave his elbow a squeeze to get his attention. With a mere glance her way, he refused to speak, choosing to stay silent as if words eluded him.

  Noting this, Piers took the lead. “Shall we sit? How about a stiff drink?” Piers gestured to the chairs by the fireplace. “Please, before you pass out from shock, dear boy.”

  Taking his advice, Gwen led Crispin to a set of wingback chairs and sat down. Both she and Crispin watched as Piers made his way over to a drinks trolley with the grace of thousands of years of good breeding, and poured them each a shot of brandy. He then returned and handed one to Gwen, then offered another to Crispin, which surprisingly enough, he took, and immediately swigged back, giving his head a shake.

  “Oh my, perhaps you’d like another?” Piers offered before he sat across from them.

  “No, I’m good,” Crispin finally spoke up.

  “Wonderful, it’s probably best to stay sober until after we talk,” Piers said, gazing curiously from Gwen to Crispin. “Speaking of which, what finally brings you here? After all these years, I had started to give up hope.”

  At his choice of words, Crispin squared his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me?” he spat. “How dare you speak of losing hope? Out of the blue, you send me one letter, and were surprised to never hear from me? Try spending your entire life as an orphan with nothing to your name, to then discover at sixteen, you actually have living relatives. Relatives who apparently didn’t give a fuck. And now, here I sit, in this fucking place surrounded by wealth beyond anything I could have imagined! Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Dear me,” Piers sat back, clasping a hand over his chest. “Such venom.”

  “Crispin…” Gwen reached out her hand for him but he refused to acknowledge her at that moment. When she glanced apologetically from Crispin to Piers, she caught the slightly offended yet disturbingly handsome man studying the bracelet on her exposed wrist once again. Strange, she thought, self-consciously folding her hands on her lap. Why would Piers Harlow be interested in her bracelet?

  “Never mind, dear,” Piers said with a curious smile. Sitting back in his chair he waved off Crispin’s hostility. “He has every right to be angry.” From his posture, Gwen might even guess Piers had been expecting a certain amount of conflict. But at the unwavering smile on his face, she could also tell he was genuinely happy to have found Crispin at all.

  “Angry? Oh, I am angry and disgusted all at once.” Crispin was truly at a loss. When he had started out that day, he had no clue he would end up in this place, sitting across his so-called uncle. None of it made sense.

  “You must have many questions, Crispin,” Piers said after a lengthy silence. “Fortunately, you’ve caught me at a moment when I have plenty of time to answer them. I’ve been looking forward to this day, actually, if you must know. Tell me, how long have you been in England?”

  “We’ve just driven in from Windsor,” Gwen answered for Crispin. “Before that, we spent a few days touring London. We’re spending the next couple of nights in Bath at a B&B before we head back to Canada. We thought we should stop in and meet you.”

  Piers nodded pensively. Directing his attention to Crispin, he spoke, “I wish you would have called or written first. I would have had a room readied for you and your wife, or is it fiancée?” He paused. “This is your home after all. Still, I could probably have a room prepared within the hour.”

  “I’m not staying here,” Crispin said through gritted teeth.

  “Oh, and we’re not… I mean we’re not even engaged. This is actually our first trip together,” Gwen felt compelled to say.

  “Oh dear, forgive my presumption. I assumed since you are wearing Cassandra’s bracelet that you two were serious.”

  “Cassandra’s bracelet?” Gwen repeated, confused.

  “We are serious! Not that it’s any of your business,” Crispin growled, reaching for Gwen’s hand, swiping his fingers over the bracelet in question. “And I’ve no idea who this Cassandra you speak of is.”

  “Of course not. Once again, forgive me. Perhaps we should start over.” Piers gestured to the painting, “Cassandra Harlow, she was your mother, my beloved sister.”

  “Was?” Gwen repeated warily.

  “Unfortunately, she is no longer with us,” Piers said forlornly.

  Gwen winced as Crispin’s grip on her hand loosened significantly at the news. Looking at him, she watched him turn an ungodly shade of pale. For a second, she feared he might even pass out. Her heart ached for him. Had he expected his mother to be alive? From his reaction to the news, she surmised he must have gotten his hopes up.

  “I’m so sorry, Crispin,” she whispered, giving his flaccid hand a squeeze.

  Piers’s voice snapped them from their thoughts. “I’m afraid I’m all that’s left of the Harlow line. Well, since you’re here, Crispin, we now have each other.”

  “What makes you think I want anything to do with you or any of this?” Crispin bit back, unwilling to hear anything at that moment.

  “Because at the end of the day, Crispin, this has everything to do with you.” Piers gestured around the room with his hand. “This place, this house, this land, all this wealth, it’s yours and you have a right to know where you came from.”

  “Wow… ” Gwen spoke for both. Sensing Crispin’s inability to think straight, she took it upon herself to ask the questions. “Please, could you tell us all you know?”

  Piers nodded and gestured to another painting on the wall behind him. “You see that old bastard up there? That’s your grandfather, George Harlow. If you’re looking for someone to blame, someone to hate, he is your man.”

  Sure enough, the man in the portrait once again shared similar features with both Piers and Crispin. There could be no doubt that he was indeed a Harlow.

  “Could you please just tell us what happened to Crispin’s mother?” Gwen insisted. “We’ve come a long way.”

  “What does it matter?” shouted Crispin, surprising everyone with his anger. Glaring at them both, he got up and stormed over to the closest window. He needed to leave this place before he lost whatever was left of his mind. “She obviously didn’t want me! Why should I care to know anything about her or this godforsaken family!”

  “Sit down!” Piers shot up from his chair and glared across the room at Crispin. “You have no right to speak of your mother with such disrespect. Cassandra loved you more than anything in this world! So much so, she died for you!”

  “Lies!” Crispin said with a shake of his head. “I refuse to believe any of your lies!”

  “It is not a lie!
It’s God’s truth!” Piers insisted, his fists clenched at his sides.

  Unable to sit back, Gwen walked over to Crispin and gripped his elbow. The muscles of his arm were taut and he was tense beyond belief. “Crispin, just hear him out. I know you must be hurting, but you need to calm down.” Instead of fighting her, he took a moment to breathe before he relaxed his glare, lowered his head and slowly took her hand. He needed her. Gwen’s heart leapt in her chest at the realization. Their sudden role reversal surprised her. But under the circumstances, she understood his need for her to take control of the situation. Unable to cope with so much information, he needed her to be the strong one.

  “Please, dear boy, sit,” Piers said, regretting his outburst. “Give me a chance to explain.”

  Allowing Gwen to lead, Crispin followed her and sat back down in his chair. All three of them took a moment to calm down. Looking at Crispin, she noticed he had his elbow on the armrest of the chair, head in hand. This must be pure torture for him. He hadn’t expected to come here, but since he had, he deserved an explanation. She then turned her attention to Piers, “Please tell us what you know.”

  Piers nodded and took a sip of brandy before speaking. “I’ll try to be quick but thorough. Your mother, Cassandra, my dear sister, got pregnant at the tender young age of sixteen. Terrified, she hid the pregnancy for as long as possible. When our father found out, he lost it. You see, he was all about appearances and status, and you can imagine what a blow it was to discover his young daughter was with child. Fearing he would want her to have an abortion, she kept you a secret until it was too late to do anything. Our father was furious. Being a heartless, old-fashioned bastard, he sent Cassandra to Canada to live out her pregnancy with a distant relative. His orders were for her to have the baby, and give it up for adoption, or be disowned. But my dear sister and I were very close. Before she got sent off, she in confidence, told me of her plans to keep the baby. But sadly, she died during childbirth. Our father then brought her body back to England to bury her at the Harlow Cemetery. He informed me then that both baby and mother had died. He very unceremoniously went on to say that it had been for the best.”

  “Heartbreaking…” Gwen gasped, shaking her head. At the tremble in Crispin’s hand, she steeled herself and forged on with her questions. “But what about the letter? You sent a letter addressed to Crispin Hewson. Why would you have sent the letter if you believed Crispin had died along with his mother?”

  Piers nodded pensively. “You both have to understand, I was only ten when Cassandra got sent away, eleven when she died. Powerless at the time, I simply believed what my father told me. But when I turned twenty-seven, my father’s health took a turn for the worse. On his deathbed, he must have felt the need to confess. He asked me to his side where he then told me the truth. Cassandra’s child had not died. He was very much alive. He gave me the combination to a safe in his study. In that safe, I found your birth certificate with your name on it.” He paused, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Crispin… named with your mother’s last breath, after her favourite teddy bear.” He paused, overwhelmed. “She loved that bear. God, she was still such a child!” He gave his head a shake.

  When Gwen turned her attention to Crispin, she winced at the sight of a single tear streaming down his cheek. His eyes were closed, his fingers massaging his temples. It was hard to watch and her own tears threatened to follow. But instead of giving in to her emotions, she steeled herself. Crispin needed her strength and she was damn well going to give him that. She turned back to Piers and gestured for him to continue.

  “Hewson… is your father’s surname,” Piers explained. “You’re half Irish, by the way.”

  “My name is Crispin Clover, not Hewson nor Harlow!” Crispin stated clearly. “I belong to no one.”

  “Clover?” Piers repeated with a quirk of his brow. “Clover… interesting choice.”

  “Get used to it,” Crispin snarked.

  Piers frowned at Crispin’s tone before shrugging it off. “Anyway, I sent the letter the day after my father’s funeral,” he continued, undeterred. “But you never wrote back or called. When I investigated further, I was informed you had emancipated yourself. You had changed your name. It was illegal for officials to give me any forwarding information on your whereabouts. Essentially, you disappeared. I hired private investigators but had no luck finding you. This is why I am so very happy you are here. See, despite my father, I loved my sister. All we had was each other. Amidst all this wealth you see here, our childhoods were devoid of any form of love and tenderness. Our mother died young, leaving us to a father who cared more about his investments, appearances, and status than his own children. The moment I found out about you, I swore to bring you home, to your mother’s home. I couldn’t do much for her as a child. I let my father send her away and I hated the bastard for it. But when I learned of your existence, I swore on her grave that I would bring you back, and here you are… here you are.”

  “God, Crispin.” Unable to sit any longer, Gwen stifled her tears, got up and stood beside him. When she placed her hand on his shoulder, he turned to her and rested his head on her chest. He wasn’t crying, though, just breathing, obviously trying to absorb all this information. None of this could be easy to hear and her heart went out to him. He had lived his entire life alone, thinking his mother hadn’t wanted him, to suddenly discover the sad truth of it all.

  Gathering his own emotions, Piers focused once again on the bracelet. “Now forgive me, but I have to ask. You say you’ve just met. Pardon my curiosity, but if that is the case, how is it you decided to give Gwen your mother’s bracelet so soon into your relationship? I assume it was all you would have had of her.”

  At that, Crispin stood up and growled, “Again, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” He then turned and paced about the room like a lion in a cage. After a minute, he returned to Gwen’s side, held up her wrist and glared at the tiny trinket in question. “I bought this thing at the shop where she works! She liked it so much, I gave it to her. It’s of no other significance!”

  Standing up, Piers approached them and held out his hand for a closer look. When Gwen attempted to remove it, Crispin stopped her. “It stays where it is! It belongs to Gwen.”

  “Well, I don’t want it,” Piers stated, slightly irritated by Crispin’s attitude. “I just want a closer look. In fact, wait here. I’ll be right back.”

  Crispin and Gwen watched him leave the room and then he turned to her. “Come on, let’s get out of this hell hole!”

  “No, Crispin, we can’t just leave. Not now, not after all you’ve heard. I know this can’t be easy…”

  “Easy?” Crispin barked out a laugh. “This is a fucking nightmare! A farce! Nothing more than a farce!”

  “What are you saying? You think he’s lying?”

  “I think he’s either delusional or very much mistaken! There’s no way I originated from this place!”

  “But it makes sense, Crispin! You look just like your mother.” She pointed at the painting.

  “Coincidence! Purely coincidence! A mere resemblance does not prove anything.”

  Clearly, he was in denial, thought Gwen. The poor guy was beside himself. Part of her wanted nothing more than to take him away from this place, the current source of his anguish. But she knew he would regret it if he left in his current state of mind.

  They both turned when Piers re-entered the room holding a small picture frame in his hand. He held it out to them. “Go on, see for yourselves.”

  It was a photo of Cassandra at a window, drawing back a curtain. Clear as day, on her wrist was the bracelet in question, its every detail on display. “I took that photo myself,” Piers said with a sigh. “She didn’t know until the camera clicked. I’ve always liked it for its spontaneous pose. I fancied myself quite the photographer as a child. Anyway, there it is, the very same bracelet that is on Gwen’s wrist today. It’s one of a kind, apparently, a family heirloom given to her by y
our father, right before our father found out about their romance, and had him sent off. I recall, she held it quite dear. I only know all this because she told me. She kept it hidden from our father, though. Had he known, he would have snatched it and done away with it like he did with everything else he didn’t approve of.”

  “My father?” Crispin repeated guardedly.

  “Yes, I don’t know much about him except that he worked in the stables. You see, Cassandra and I lived quite the sheltered existence. We had tutors, never had much opportunity to mix with others our age. We didn’t experience much love and attention from our father so as you can imagine, that left Cassandra quite vulnerable to the least bit of attention from the handsome young stable boy. But alas, the moment my father noticed them spending time together, he put an end to it, and had the boy shipped off back home to Ireland. Cassandra cried for weeks. Months later, she discovered she was pregnant. Your so-called father couldn’t have known of her condition.”

  “This gets harder and harder to believe with every word you speak,” muttered Crispin. “It sounds like something out of your books, Gwen. What a joke!”

  “I’m afraid it is no joke,” Piers said wistfully. “It is only the truth, as sad as it sounds. My poor sister never stood a chance.”

  Ignoring Crispin, Gwen couldn’t help but ask, “But how did the bracelet end up in my uncle’s jewellery shop all these years later?” She continued to study it, comparing it to the one in the photo. “Piers, could you give us a moment?” With a courteous nod, he excused himself and made his way over to the drinks cart again. Taking Crispin aside, she whispered, “Crispin, I can’t help but wonder if this was all meant to be. Could it be the reason why I had felt such a strong connection to it? Could it be why I was so keen on you buying it that day before Christmas? Had it been fate?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Crispin scoffed. “How far-fetched an idea is that?”