He nodded distractedly. “We can teach you later.”
Viv was too embarrassed to admit it hadn’t occurred to her thathewould speak it. Yet the impulse to communicate silently had been second nature to him.
Of course she’d known Marjorie Wynchester was hard of hearing, but in Viv’s experience, the needs of one person did not generally inspire those around them to go out of their way to provide accommodations.
If she’d been forced to guess, Viv would have predicted the onuswould be on Marjorie to learn to read lips, or to sayCould you repeat that a little louder?a thousand times a day. Or just to live her life in constant confusion.
The discovery that the entire Wynchester family had learned sign language in order to communicate with their sister meant Viv was forced to reevaluate her opinion of them. Again.
Maybe the line between Good People and Bad People wasn’t always as clear as she’d believed.
“Think back to Quentin’s state of mind the day he didn’t come home,” Graham said. “Did he voice any particular goals?”
Viv stared at him. How could these geniuses interview even a fraction of Quentin’s friends without realizing their one and only goal was to become a Wynchester? Did he just want to force her to say it aloud for his own amusement?
“Besides training to join the world’s greatest investigative philanthropists?” she replied icily, then realized of course Graham must be asking about hints of any conflictoutsideof the obvious. “Oh, you mean our argument. I’d told you Quentin and I parted on bad terms.”
Tommy nodded. “Jacob said your cousin and his friends were Good Samaritans. I think it’s noble.”
Of course she would. Wealthy white women didn’t die for being noble. Especially ones who could pass for wealthy whitemen.
People like Viv’s mother on the other hand… People like Viv and her young cousin…
The Wynchesters either didn’t understand or didn’t remember what life was like for ordinary people.
Worse, Quentin already had a family.Vivwas family. She kept him fed and clothed and comfortable. He didn’t realize how much it hurt for her not to be enough. Even at home, in the house she maintained no matter the ache in her back or the toll of never getting sufficient sleep.
No matter how hard Viv tried, she was never good enough for the world around her. Including the cousin who was her only other family alive. He shared a surname with her and wished he didn’t.
Marjorie leaned forward. “Did your row have anything to do with your plays?”
“Or him dressing in a way you didn’t approve of?” added Tommy. “Or falling in love with the wrong person?”
“No,” Viv answered. “Though you’ve got the wrong idea about what sort of love affair would most disrupt my life. I’ve spent a decade being Quentin’s caretaker. Once he reaches his majority, he won’t need me anymore.”
“Won’t that give you more time to work on your plays?”
“It would, if I had a table to write on. My newspaper money barely covers stationery. It’s not enough for food and rent.”
“Quentin would kick you out?” Kuni said in surprise.
“If he marries, he’ll want and deserve privacy. Even if he’s willing to house a spinster cousin post-wedding, if Quentin takes a childbearing wife, the only place for a nursery is my small bedchamber. Before, he needed me. Soon, he’ll need me gone. I’m caught in-between. But I would happily move out tomorrow if it meant Quentin could come home today.”
Tommy nodded her understanding. “Your fears are about whatyouare going to do with your life, not how Quentin wants to live his.”
“As long as he’s happy and safe,” Viv confirmed. “On my Aunt Kamia’s deathbed, I swore to protect Quentin from harm. Which includes out of gaol and out of the hospital, but also to protect him from his own poor decision-making. He has neither deep pockets nor lofty connections, and therefore should not comport himself as though he were invincible. And he ought to remember once in a while that I am only human, too. These are old arguments. But the words we threw at each other this time cut a little deeper.”
“We’ll find him,” Jacob promised, his brown eyes full of empathy. “We’re doing everything we can.”
“Are you?” she asked softly. She wanted to believe him. But if his claims were true, then why was Quentin still missing?
“Based on the intelligence we’ve been able to gather,” Graham began.
Viv listened as he summarized the facts of Quentin’s disappearance, and the steps the collective had taken to uncover his whereabouts. As the Wynchesters talked, Viv jotted notes in her latest writing journal. She always carried around a script in progress, so she could scratch out a few lines of dialogue while waiting for water to boil, or while waiting for it to be her turn at the market. Everything around her was potential fodder for a future play.
This was no exception. The Wynchesters were practically a Drury Lane production in their own right. The lengths they had gone to in the hunt for Quentin were astonishing. They’d actually paid boatmen to search the canal tunnels and sent several scouts all the way to the Chislehurst chalk caves!
London’s finest Bow Street Runnerswishedthey had half the influence and reach of the motley family in this room.
