The Rumor (A Secret Past--Volume Two) Page 3

  “Is that really so odd?” Helen said quickly, causing Clara to pull back and narrow her eyes in assessment. “He said they only just finished building the house in the last year. How familiar can they be with the neighborhood and its families?”

  It bothered Clara that Helen couldn’t bring herself to look her in the eye. Clara pressed on, her tone more serious than before. “He also mentioned something about Mother having a sister. His cousin’s wife heard there was some kind of scandal but wasn’t sure about the details or even what the nature of it was.”

  “A sister?” Helen was looking at Clara now, her expression initially full of disbelief but it quickly gave way to curiosity and wonder. “Mother with a sister she never told us about,” she pondered aloud. “I don’t know what to make of that. Was he sure?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s true,” Clara said. “I’ve been doing my best to look into it and from what I’ve found, her name was Amelia.”

  “Was? Is she dead?”

  “I... I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. I couldn’t find out what happened but it’s very likely she’s alive somewhere.” The idea intrigued Clara. “I wonder what she would be like.”

  “I wonder what she did,” Helen said. “Do you know if she’s supposed to be older or younger than Mother?”

  “Everything I’ve uncovered says they’re twins,” Clara explained.

  “How did you manage to find all this out since last night?”

  Clara pressed her lips together and placed the dress in Helen’s lap so she could stand up. Crossing the room to her jewelry box, she shielded it from Helen’s sight as she retrieved the photograph from its hiding place in the lining. She put the concealed the shimmering button beneath two simple necklaces, arranging the delicate chains until it was no longer visible.

  “Oh my lord,” Helen muttered when Clara put the photograph in her hands. Shifting closer so they both could see the image, the dress fell from her lap and onto the floor. “They’re identical. If I hadn’t seen that look on Mother’s face so many times,” Helen said, pointing to the seated woman. “I wouldn’t know which was which.”

  Clara turned the image over. “See, Martha and Amelia, 1899.”

  “I don’t know which is stranger, that there’s two of them or how young they look,” Helen quipped.

  “The more I look at it, the more I see how much we resemble Mother,” Clara said quietly.

  Helen scoffed. “Me perhaps. I certainly inherited Mother’s fair hair and nose.”

  “And the way your hair curls just so,” Clara added with a twinge of envy.

  “But your hair is far darker and your complexion lighter,” Helen continued. “You must have gotten those from Father. Where did you find this?”

  “It was in one of the spare rooms. The one with all the family portraits.” Clara bent over to retrieve the dress from the floor.

  “What were you doing in there?” Helen asked, handing it back for Clara to put away again.

  “I wanted to be alone and undisturbed. Since everyone knows to look for me in my room, I needed to be elsewhere. I found myself in the spare room and started looking through the portraits.”

  “And then Mr. Flint mentioned it when you snuck out and met him,” Helen said, bringing the conversation back around to Clara’s illicit activities. “You’re not likely to find out much more here. But I have some calls I need to pay now that we’re back in the neighborhood.” Clara looked over and saw a smile creeping to Helen’s lips, a devious gleam in her eye.

  “Do you really think you’ll be able to get anything out of Mother’s friends and acquaintances?” Clara asked doubtfully. “If they haven’t slipped and said anything to you by now, what makes you think they’ll talk now?”

  “I wasn’t referring to anyone from our social circles,” Helen explained. “But Mother knows you’re always pushing me to be charitable to those less fortunate in the neighborhood, the farmers and tradesmen and their families. We might not know them very well, but I’m sure they know about the families hereabouts and their memories are just as good as ours; better, I’d wager.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Clara asked. She could see it was more than just simple curiosity. There was a quiet malice in the way Helen was not just prepared but eager to dig up their mother’s probably unpleasant past.

  “I have my reasons,” Helen said stonily, offering Clara no further insight or peace of mind.

  “Can you... ask about me as well?” Clara asked softly. She wasn’t sure Helen had even heard her at first.

  “Ask what about you?” Helen asked, looking away from Clara.

  “If they know about me, if they know who I am,” Clara said. “If Robert’s cousin and his wife have heard about mother’s sister, then surely they should have heard about the Davis’ sickly, reclusive daughter.”

  Helen continued looking away from Clara but promised, “I’ll see what I can do,” before she stood up from the bed and held the dress by its wide straps so that it hung in front of her for inspection. She glanced over at Clara and caught the dreamy look on her face, a blissful look that she’d spotted more than a few times during dinner the night before. “I’ll have Nellie clean this and replace the button but then I’m bringing it right back here for you,” she informed Clara. “And after I’ve gone on my calls, we’ll spend an afternoon going through my closet to see if we can find a few others to supplement your wardrobe.”

  “Helen,” Clara began to protest but her sister threw the garment over one arm and held the other hand up, calling for silence.

  “I insist. You need more options for when Mr. Flint calls or comes to dinner.”

  “But what about you—”

  “I have more dresses than I need,” Helen persisted. “And if Mother objects, I’ll just tell her I’m getting rid of the ones that are going out of style.” She raised her eyebrows, accentuating the smug look on her face that Clara recognized as an invitation for their mother to challenge her.

  “Thank you,” Clara said sincerely.

  Helen brushed off her sister’s appreciation and unlocked the door, but before twisting the knob, she turned back to Clara. “Did he kiss you?” she asked conspiratorially.

  Clara squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her lips together as the heat flooded her cheeks. She wanted to keep that moment to herself but knew that Helen would easily see through any denial. Helen had her answer had her answer. “You don’t have tell me anything,” she reassured her sister. Clara didn’t open her eyes until she heard Helen close the door behind her. Letting her breath out all at once she flopped back against her pillows and gave her mind over to reliving the kiss she’d shared with Robert.

  ***

  Clara and Helen don’t have much chance to talk privately during the next few days. Helen and their mother are out most days paying calls to the others in the neighborhood returning from spending the winter in the city. Spring is the small window between wintering in the city and summering along the coast. Some of their set didn’t even bother to leave the city until the heat of summer rolled in (though admittedly, most of those who did so not from preference but out of deference to their pocketbooks). Still, enough made the trek inland to keep Helen and Mrs. Davis busy and out of Clara’s hair for several days. It wasn’t the first time over the years that Clara wished she could join them, but her focus was far more narrow this time around: she just wanted to go with them when they called on Robert’s cousin.

  But even Helen complained that their mother was going out of her way to avoid stating just when they would be paying that call. Helen was doing her best to visit some of the farming families in the area after returning from their social calls in her effort to uncover more of their family’s unspoken history. So far though, she hadn’t learned much. Or at least, that was what Clara had to assume. Helen hadn’t said anything further to her and surely, if she had learned something significant she would have at least let Clara know that there was something to tell, even if she didn’t
have the time to delve into it right away.

  One morning, Helen rushed into Clara’s room and whipped the door shut, startling Clara. “Mother hasn’t said specifically that we’ll be calling at the Robinsons’ today, but I think that’s what she has in mind. Is there anything you want me to tell Mr. Flint if I see him?”

  The words were said too quickly and it took Clara a few extra beats to process their meaning. All she could think to say was, “What makes you so sure?”

  “Mother gave me express instructions on what to wear today,” Helen said with a brief roll of her eyes. “She wouldn’t care how I looked unless she’s expecting that I’ll be seeing a certain someone. She’ll be waiting for me downstairs so quick, is there anything you want me to say to him?”

  Clara’s mouth dropped open. She wanted to go. But she knew she wouldn’t be allowed and she didn’t want to Helen to have to point that out to her. She wracked her brain to come up with some sort of coded message that Robert would recognize and understand, something witty and clever but nothing presented itself. Thinking about him set her mind and body afloat with a multitude of sensations and emotions. Unfortunately they evaded her ability to put words to what they were. And her time was up.

  “I’ll think of something,” Helen whispered hastily, pulling the door back open. “I’ll scold him for not coming to call again or I’ll try to get Mother to invite him to dinner again.”

  Clara spent much of the rest of the day praying that Robert would chose that day to call on her again. Perhaps the universe would smile on them the way it did when he’d shown up at her door when the rest of the family was still away from home. As much as she tried to tell herself it was simply her desire to be able to see him alone and speak freely, there was a small part of her that knew some of the appeal lay in contemplating her mother’s frustration. She paced between the library, the sitting room, and up and down the stairway to peek out the window looking up the drive.

  Eventually, Helen and Martha returned from making their social rounds. Clara was hovering by the sitting room window as the car rolled slowly up the drive. Her posture slumped as she recognized the vehicle as one of her father’s. That meant it couldn’t be Robert. She spotted Helen’s face peering from inside, boredom and mild irritation evident for anyone to see. Her face brightened as she spotted Clara at the window.

  It was a few minutes before Helen hurried into the sitting room and pulled Clara onto the settee. “Mother is filling Father in so we have a few minutes. Robert wasn’t there when we arrived but Mrs. Robinson was very excited to meet us and she made a point of asking after you.”

  “She asked about me?” Clara asked, her voice barely audible.

  Helen beamed at her. “She said that Robert told her a great deal about you and said she understood if your health prevented you from joining us when we called but she hopes to meet you soon.”

  “I’ll bet Mother was pleased,” Clara remarked sarcastically. Inwardly she was thrilled at the knowledge that Robert had been telling his family about her. Should the fact that he’d clearly brought up her health woes be encouraging or discouraging? He hadn’t been too convinced about it that first day they met and he’d raised his suspicions when she’s snuck out to see him after dinner. It sounded as though he’d warned Mrs. Robinson that Clara shouldn’t be expected to call. He had to know it wasn’t because she didn’t want to be there, right?

  She almost missed Helen’s hesitation before dismissively remarking that, “Mother was in fine form but when I brought up the possibility of another dinner, this time with Mrs. Robinson and her husband in attendance, she agreed. Mrs. Robinson accepted on the spot. She really wants to meet you. After we left, Mother scolded me about extending the invitation the way I did but I’m sure she’ll do her best to turn it to her own purposes.”

  “When?” Clara managed to ask.

  “Tomorrow evening. Mother’s discussing it with Father now. I don’t know if she’ll come in here first or if she’ll go straight down to the kitchen to begin the arrangements with the staff.”

  Clara nodded. Her nerves had come alive and she became hyperaware of everything around her, the silky texture of her loose blouse where it fell against her skin, the tightness of her skirt where it cinched at her waist, the way her heart raced in direct contradiction to the slow, deep pattern of her breathing. A ringing rose in her ears, blocking out what Helen was saying; she was vaguely aware of her sister’s lips moving but all meaning was lost.

  Robert was coming. He’d be there, in the very room where she was sitting, the next evening. What’s more, members of his family would be there too. If only certain members of her family would be absent. But she pushed the unpleasant thoughts of her mother aside and focused on Robert. What would it be like to see him again after sharing that kiss? Would he try to get her on her own at some point during the evening? What would they talk about? Would he ask her to sneak out again and meet him? Would he kiss her again?

  “Clara?”

  Helen finally managed to break through. Blinking and offering an apologetic smile, Clara refocused on her sister. “Sorry, I was just—”

  Helen held up a hand, a knowing smile on her own face. “No need. I just need to know how long ago I lost you.”

  “They’re all coming tomorrow evening,” Clara said, ducking her eyes in embarrassment.

  “They are,” Helen reinforced. “Mother’s determined to make a certain match but she underestimates Mr. Flint’s determination in making his own match with you.” Again, Clara flushed. Helen thrilled to see Clara looking so vibrant. There was brightness in Clara’s eyes and the color that kept stealing into her cheeks shattered the fragile image of Clara in Helen’s mind. Her pallor and quiet nature had always seemed to confirm Clara’s frailty and sickliness. Now she could see that life wasn’t something Clara held onto with a tenuous hold; it coursed through her with startling strength.

  “As we were taking our leave, Robert and Mr. Robinson returned home,” Helen teased. She watched as Clara’s eyes widened, drinking in everything Helen said. “He was unmistakably disappointed to learn you weren’t with us but his spirits picked up when he found out about the dinner plans. When we reached the car, I realized I’d left one of my gloves behind in the sitting room. Mr. and Mrs. Robinson remained behind with Mother discussing the time they should arrive while Mr. Flint escorted me back to retrieve my glove.”

  “Helen,” Clara exclaimed in a scandalized voice.

  “I knew he wanted to ask more about you but I didn’t think it would help for him to do so in front of Mother. I simply orchestrated a way for him to do so where we could have privacy. The fact that Mother likely thought it confirmation of her own plans taking shape...” Helen trailed off with a smirk on her face.

  Clara shook her head gently but the smile showed she did so as much from admiration as from a desire to scold.

  “He seemed to know that you weren’t really home sick and asked me to apologize for him that he hasn’t been by to call. He said he was looking into something and that if he told you, you would understand.” Relaying the message, Helen’s confusion and ignorance were plain to see. Clara wasn’t entirely sure she understood what business Robert might be referring to but she trusted him and this second-hand assertion that he had not forgotten her. “He lamented not having time to explain it all in a written message but did manage to scribble this for you.” Helen glanced over her shoulder to the doorway, making sure that no one was there before pulling a small note from her sleeve and handing it over to Clara.

  Taking the note in her hand, Clara hesitated to open it and read it in front of Helen. “Thank you,” she said, tucking it away in the waistband of her skirt. It was lucky she did because the unmistakable sound of their mother’s footsteps echoed through the hall, announcing her approach.

  “Clara,” Martha said loudly as she entered the room. “You look flushed, dear. You haven’t been reading by the open window today, have you? You know it gives you headaches.”
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  “I’m fine, Mother,” Clara assured her.

  Helen took the initiative and redirected the conversation. “Clara was just scolding me because I haven’t been to visit all the farms in the neighborhood yet. She made me promise last week that I’d check in and see when they’re expecting the first wave of strawberries to be ready. She wants to be sure there’s enough for cook to make those delicious jams and preserves of hers.”

  Martha and Clara both turned puzzled faces to Helen. Her own expression was solid and sure. She had something in mind and wasn’t giving anything away. Clara felt Martha’s attention turn to her and grasped at Helen’s cryptic remarks. “Yes,” she said slowly. “Last year’s crop was... disappointing. Cook didn’t have enough to... make as much as she likes.” Helen’s eyes encouraged her to keep going but the pieces hadn’t finished connecting in Clara’s brain.

  “And you said there were some farms hit hard by sickness this winter,” Helen added. “Much cause for concern in the neighborhood. And now that the weather’s improved, you’re curious to know how they’ve all fared.”

  “Really?” Martha’s response rested somewhere on the border between sincerity and sarcasm.

  “You know Clara’s always taken a greater interest in the state of the neighborhood,” Helen remarked off-handedly. “Obviously she can’t put her own health at risk and visit them herself.”

  “Helen was kind enough to agree to go in my stead,” Clara said, finally understanding what Helen was doing. “She’s decided to go see as many as she can tomorrow.”

  Martha whipped around to face Helen. “Tomorrow?”

  “Before the dinner, Mother,” Helen said in a placating tone. “I’ve already told Clara about our guests and she’s volunteered to help you with anything here while I’m away. That way you won’t be stuck preparing for dinner alone and I won’t have my promise to Clara weighing on my conscience.”