by T T Thomas
“Maybe we should have started there,” Sabrina said.
“I’m ruling nothing out.”
“Well, I’m ruling out doing much more of this charade,” she said, making a sour face. “So, if this doesn’t produce results, choose the next one with care, because two such evenings is my absolute limit.”
“What’s your news?” he said.
Sabrina leaned forward in conspiratorial affinity. “Well, you won’t believe it.”
She no sooner had the words out of her mouth than their dinner arrived. Jeremy sighed. As soon as the waiter was out of earshot, she spoke.
“I’m not entirely certain that my father was Louis Blissdon.”
“Oh, good God!” Jeremy started. “That’s possibly the absolute last thing I expected you to say this evening. An inconvenient scandal, certainly, a rushed exchange of vows, definitely, but a question of paternity? Indubitably not.”
“I wasn’t expecting to find anything about myself,” she said. “I was looking through his old files, looking for the Glyver divorce papers. I had never met Bel Glyver until I met her as Annabel North at Mrs. Tornage’s that first night you took me there.”
“I remember it well,” he said. “I sat in the parlor for two hours with nothing to read.”
“It was pure happenstance she had been my father’s client and then…I was her client.”
“Serendipity,” he offered. “Or perhaps destiny.”
“Is there a difference?”
He looked thoughtful. “Yes, there is…serendipity is a happy accident. Destiny’s got more God behind it…or some kind of higher power predetermining an outcome. I’ve seen the phenomena more than a few times in my life.”
“I see.” Her tone said otherwise. “Anyway, as I was searching through those files, I found a list of Hugh Glyver’s character references. One of them was George Markham, Baron of Porthleven.”
“I may have heard the name,” Jeremy said.
“He had two addresses listed. One in Belgravia and one in Cornwall called Markham Manor.”
“And…therefore, what?” Jeremy asked.
“Well, nothing really, except that my mother worked in service in Cornwall before she and my father married.”
Jeremy held his fork in midair. “I don’t see the connection. But I didn’t know your mother was in service,” he said.
“I can’t say there is a connection, but in another file, I found my birth certificate. It says I was born at Blissdon Park, in Cornwall.”
“And what, pray tell, is Blissdon Park?”
“That’s what I mean to find out. It’s odd that Louis Blissdon was living in London while my mother was having me at Blissdon Park. Occasionally, my parents referred to where they met as Blissdon Park.”
“I share your befuddlement at that. Odd. You’ll no doubt investigate, and I daresay you ought. Could they not have had an illicit going-away dalliance before his London residency?”
Sabrina made a face. “As tempting as it must be to want to suggest that perhaps I acquire my errant tendencies from the passions of my progenitors, I assure you that had it been something that mundane, they would have told me with glee. No, they were married right before he left for London.”
Jeremy grinned at her as the porter cleared their plates away. The waiter took their brandy order, and Reggie was on his way to their table when Sabrina opened her mouth to elaborate.
“Later,” she whispered.
Reggie Alman appeared remarkably more upbeat than he had an hour earlier. His face was ruddier, his smile more intentional. Perhaps he had tested the brandy for them. He presented them with a wrapped package. “We do hope you’ll consider us,” he said warmly. “And naturally, you are our guests this evening.”
Jeremy thanked Reggie profusely, and Sabrina even granted him a smile with her nod. They left without finishing their brandies. They were quiet on the way home, each lost in thought.
“Jeremy, I’m exhausted,” she said, when they reached her house.
“Me too. Let’s talk tomorrow. I want to review everything. And I’ll do more research before choosing our next club to visit.”
“Please do—I’ve about one more of these excursions in me, but that’s it. Oh, by the way, I’ve sent the file with my documents over to Lena. Let’s see what she thinks, and I suspect she’ll do some investigating on her own. She loves that family history pursuit.”
“Excellent idea.”
“Yes, and we’ll talk more tomorrow. Thanks for understanding, my dear friend.” Sabrina gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Walters had left on a small lamp for her in the hallway, as he always did, but the entire house was quiet.
As Sabrina walked up the stairs, she heard movement above her, but it was merely the familiar sounds of the old staircase settling. When she reached the landing, she looked toward Felicity’s open door and saw the empty room. Was Felicity staying with her sister in the new flat?
She hurried into her own room, shut the door, undressed and fell into bed. She needed to be alone, and fully closing her bedroom door would ensure it, should anyone come home late. She wanted to sort out what she had learned, clarify her questions, review answers.
But her eyes closed, and her tangled dreams provided no answer to a woman feeling untethered to much of what she thought she knew.
Chapter 28
When Felicity arrived at Bel’s flat, most of her sister’s scant belongings were already in an exposed cart under a tarp that didn’t cover everything. The owner of the rig stood next to it looking bored and restless while his horse stayed perfectly still.
Bel was breathless as she whipped open the blue door to her sister. “George has hired a driver for my things, but we must hurry as the lorry’s only been let for a couple hours. That’s what the hired man told me. I have a few more items to gather up here.”
Felicity looked around at the nearly empty hovel. The rickety little table still sat in the middle of the room. “Shouldn’t we put this table in, then? You’ll need it.”
Bel waved her away. “No, my new flat has a built-in table and benches in a real kitchen. These suitcases are all that’s left. If we each take two…”
“And where are we to ride—in the back with the boxes?”
Bel laughed. “Of course not. George has arranged for a different driver to carry us. Let’s get these cases to the lorry.”
After heaving the luggage into the bed of the wagon, a second driver arrived in a regular hansom. A tall, distinguished man got out.
Felicity watched.
“Ah, George. I didn’t know you’d be accompanying me.” Bel stood in front of him looking awkward. He glanced over at Felicity.
“Hello, I’m Felicity, Bel’s sister,” she said, holding out her hand.
He greeted her coolly, looking back and forth between the two women as if to spot a resemblance. “You have similar features,” he said, finally. “Listen, I’m not going onto the new place yet, but I wanted my driver to take you there. So, you ladies go on ahead.”
Bel looked surprised. “Well, George, you’re most welcome to join us.”
“Thank you,” he said in warmer but offhand manner, “but I’ve got some appointments over this way, so I’ll come by tomorrow to see you’re settled in. Pleased to meet you Miss West.” He gave a slight bow in Felicity’s direction.
“Likewise,” she answered, with a polite smile.
Once in the cab, Felicity turned to Bel. “Well, you didn’t mention he was public school, upper-class and not bad looking at all.”
Bel blushed. “There’s a great deal more to tell you,” she whispered. “But let’s get me moved in and settled. We’ll have a late tea and a good talk.”
Well, that was a wrinkle he hadn’t counted on: the sister being there. He couldn’t suppose Bel kept her relationship with him a secret from her sister, but he had hoped to remain the faceless man in her life. He would have to make an adjustment, but maybe that could be beneficial, as well as profitabl
e.
What a hell pit this area remained. He passed half-naked children playing in the street, drunks leaning up against any available wall and women looking a decade older than their years smoking and gossiping in clusters.
Markham walked to the end of the block and over two more blocks to a main thoroughfare where he hailed a taxi. He sat back in the seat as the rig rocked over uneven pavements, dodged pedestrians and generally bruised most of his musculature. When the driver reached the edge of St. James Park, Markham had the beginnings of a plan.
He refused to give Glyver the satisfaction of finding Bel until he was ready to pay handsomely for the information, but, in the meantime, he might be able to leverage his information about her sister. After all, Glyver thought Miss Felicity West worked for him.
Markham wondered how much money the truth would be worth to Glyver. He would be exceedingly angry to discover his lady detective served another master, but he would be in a right fury at Bel because he blamed her for everything. On the other hand, Markham had to be careful. He needed money, and Glyver had plenty, but Markham decided to tread carefully.
Markham thought Glyver so insane with obsession about Bel that he was dangerous. She could end up dead. If Glyver killed her as he seemed hateful enough to do—where would that leave Markham? Without his leverage for starters. Then there was the child, of course, his child, but when the time was right, he’d find a way to make certain that everyone knew the name of the rightful heir of Markham’s lands and title. Markham had to protect himself on several fronts at once. He always suspected Glyver knew more about him than he would like.
Chapter 29
Lena awoke to the dull, loud, repetitive thud of her lion’s head door knocker. Wrapping herself in her robe, she hurried to the front door and saw a deliveryman through the keyhole. She opened the door, took the large flat envelope and headed for the kitchen. While her coffee percolated, she opened the slim package. It was from Sabrina and dated the day prior.
Lena,
Please look this over and tell me what you think. I found this file while looking through my father’s files for the Glyver divorce documents. I am dumbfounded, and now I question everything. Note the date of my parent’s marriage—and my birth seven months later. My parents. And if Louis Blissdon was in London…could it mean he is not really my father? Am left with no answers but multiple questions, none of them comfortable. And now we must celebrate my birthday in April? Sabrina
Sabrina had clipped a note to a file containing her birth certificate and other documents. There were hand-written notes and a couple photographs, including one of her mother as a young woman. She was a stunning beauty, a more femininely dressed version of her daughter. She was “a Sabrina” in women’s clothing. It was a revelation to Lena, but she wasn’t sure what it revealed.
A picture of Sabrina’s parents together on a riverbank showed Sabrina inherited features from both parents—she had her father’s eye shape, dancing eyes and physical build; she had her mother’s sensuous mouth and high cheekbones. They were most assuredly her parents.
The birth certificate showed Sabrina’s birth as April, not October, as both women had thought. Most mystifying was the father’s address: London. Nothing on his family.
Her mother’s information was sparse, too. Charlotte O’Brien, Age: 17, Domicile: At Service, Blissdon Park. Nothing on her family.
Lena gently lowered the papers onto the table. She stood up, took her coffee and walked to the small veranda overlooking the pretty postage stamp of a garden. What it lacked in size it made up for in color and texture. It had become her own private paradise, and she spent long hours making it beautiful and strong. This was Sabrina’s favorite place to sit, too, early mornings and late evenings. A copse of trees at the back and on one side of the quarter acre hid the neighbors’ prying eyes. The other side gave them a view of the wide expanse of treetops leading to the River Thames in the distance.
Lena imagined Sabrina would feel agitated and fearful about what these documents might portend. Sabrina knew almost nothing about her own history, and like her mother, she was an only child. So, Lena understood that the newly revealed birthdate and her father’s absence at her birth would engender questions.
Based on the documents, Lena did not question Sabrina’s paternity. But she’d like more information on Louis Blissdon’s and Charlotte O’Brien’s backgrounds. She would start there.
Lena studied the documents off and on all weekend. By mid-morning Monday, she decided on a course of action and charted her destination. Anticipating hours of sitting, she dressed comfortably. In her large bag, she packed a sandwich, an apple, several blank notebooks, pens, a small bottle of ink, and her reading glasses.
From the new telephone, Lena summoned a hansom taxi. Her demeanor was serious. “The British Library, please, on Euston Road.”
Chapter 30
Bel and Felicity woke up Sunday morning to an apartment in a state of flux. Once they got the basics of the new flat arranged, they stopped for a late tea.
“I’m famished,” Bel said brightly. She continued putting various items on the counters, wiped the front of a cabinet with a damp cloth and then looked around. “A step up in the world, don’t you agree, Fels?”
Felicity was buttering a triangle of lightly toasted bread to which she added a spread of thinly sliced smoked salmon and slices of cucumber. “Absolutely, darling. I do think Mr. Markham is sweet on you. A bit standoffish to me though.”
Bel placed a small block of Stilton cheese and more salmon on a plate with slivers of cucumber and red radish. She broke two peeled oranges into sections and put them into a bowl. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said to her sister. “He’s reserved like that. They all are until you know them.”
“Who?”
“Well, that class of people. George Markham and Hugh Glyver went to Oxford at the same time. They’ve been friends since then.”
“Are we certain Hugh Glyver doesn’t know about you and George Markham?”
Bel stopped, her knife in mid-air. “Good heavens, no, he has no idea. He’d kill me. Kill both of us, I warrant.”
They sat in the built-in booth, the spread before them. Bel poured them white wine. They ate in companionable silence until the edge of hunger receded.
“To your new life,” Felicity said, raising her glass.
They clinked to the toast, then Bel leaned in and whispered, “I do have something to tell you.”
“Why are you whispering? Pray tell, what could it be?”
Bel shifted in her seat a couple times, cleared her throat, had another sip of wine, and reached for Felicity’s hands.
“I’m married.”
Felicity froze. “You’re—to Mr. Markham?”
Bel giggled. “Of course, silly. He took me to Penzance, and we got secretly married.”
Felicity squeezed her sister’s hands in a gesture of celebration. “But why is it a secret? Oh. Glyver?”
Bel nodded. “Well, I, we, need the money he owes me. Even though George is a Baron from—”
Felicity jumped up. “What? Oh, my God! What? A Baron? Of what, or is it where?”
Bel slipped out of the booth, too, and put her arms around Felicity. “Yes, he is. But he’s not a wealthy one. He has land, quite a lot I understand, and an old manor house, though we didn’t see it when we were in Cornwall—it’s up there somewhere—but, yes, he’s Lord Markham, Baron of Porthleven.”
“So? You’re a…?”
“A Baroness, yes! And my sweet daughter is The Honorable Sophia Markham.” Eventually, she will be Baroness, too.
“And I’m confused. Is Sophia really Markham’s daughter?”
Bel raised an eyebrow. “Of course she is. He’s not entirely positive because I’ve resisted confirming it to him. I can’t tell you why. I intimated she was his, but I never confirmed it. He seemed to assume she is, and I did not disabuse him.”
Felicity walked to the kitchen window and gazed inattentively at a sm
all garden below. “Hmm. That seems a bit odd, Bel, but I’m sure you have your reasons.”
“I don’t know if I do. Can’t explain it fully. I suppose there’s a part of me that doesn’t believe a Baron has married me for love, as I surely did not marry him for love.”
“Well, no of course not. But why the secrecy?”
“We can’t let Hugh Glyver know right now. He’s about to give a sum of money to me, George said, so we want to get that settled before making anything public. That and his adamancy Sophia not be illegitimate.”
Felicity walked back to the table and poured them both more wine. “To the Peerage, then,” she said with a fast clink and a big gulp. “Yes, I was just going to tell you: He’s given me money to try to locate you. I’ve reported back that I’ve had no luck, but I’ll have to return the balance of the funds soon.”
“Return his money and resign the job,” Bel said. “Being Hugh, he might think it a little suspicious, but ultimately he’ll find it commendable you brought back his money, and he’ll let you off easy.”
“What if he wants more information about Sabrina Blissdon?”
“Well, heavens, don’t give him any more. Tell him you’re moving back to Hampshire, or something. I hope you’ve given him the bare minimum.”
“Of course, the barest.”
After the sisters cleaned up the kitchen, they relaxed in Bel’s new living room. It was small but pretty. The furniture was mainly of the Indian Empire style with two upholstered wingback chairs and a low rattan table between them. On the opposite wall sat a heavy desk of teak with rattan chairs on either side of it.
“Ah, at last, a ray of hope. At least this way, I can give Sophia a decent life. I’ve been wondering, could you bring her here for visits, Fels? It would mean so much to me.”
Felicity nodded. “Of course. What a capital idea. I’ll bring her next time I come, unless—are there specific times I shouldn’t call on you?”