“Actually, you were brought here at Muriel’s insistence,” Janet replied. “She knew she was dying and insisted Clarence send you to me till everything was done with and settled. He was against it at first, but in the end he agreed, simply, I believe, to appease Muriel. A dyingwish, if you will. She was always sympathetic to my circumstances. Never judgmental, unlike Clarence. I like to believe the time you spent here was her parting gift to me, and may God bless her for it. That said, it broke my heart all over again when I had to give you back.”
The familiar image of the lady on the chaise-long appeared in Annie’s mind. “I have only a vague memory of her. I think of her whenever I smell roses.”
“Her favorite perfume,” Hattie said. “Muriel Fairfax was a fine lady. I’ve no doubt she’d have been a good mother to you, had she lived.”
Annie pondered a moment. “A little while ago, you said there were other things to consider. What things? What haven’t you told me?”
Janet glanced at Hattie. “I believe we’ve told you everything from our perspective, Annie.”
“Your perspective? What does that mean?”
Hattie cleared her throat and rose to her feet. “Tea. I’m going to make some tea. Then we’ll move to the parlor and decide how to proceed further.”
Annie shook her head. “Proceed further?”
“We need to discuss what this means for the future, Annie,” Janet said, quietly. “Yourfuture, specifically.”
There it was, subtly delivered, yet like a dagger through the heart. An allusion to the potential, heartbreaking consequence of Annie’s true parentage. A fear that had lingered in shadows at the back of her mind from the moment she’d learned the truth of her birth. So far, she hadn’t found the courage to face it, yet there was no escape. Even Leo had alluded to it. The fear slid from her mouth, whisper soft. “He’ll not want me now, will he?”
“Tea,” Hattie said again, shrugging her coat off. “Go and settle yourselves in the parlor. Did you eat today, Annie?”
“No.”
“Tea and toast, then.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’ll eat something anyway.” Hattie set the kettle on the hob. “Go on, off with you both. I won’t be long.”
Annie followed Janet into the parlor but wandered over to the window, her sight turned inward.
“You know, Annie,” Janet said, seating herself on the settee, “this doesn’t necessarily mean Julian Northcott will no longer want—”
“Why ‘Aunt Sybil’?” Annie, still staring out of the window, folded her arms against the pain of hearing Julian’s name. “Was she someone you invented, or was she a real person who once meant something to you?”
Janet replied after a notable stretch of silence. “Though Clarence agreed to let you stay here, he insisted I use an alias for precisely the reason you mentioned earlier; his fear you might remember certain things about the time spent with me. That, and the fact he wouldn’t allow my name to be spoken in his presence. I’m certain the last thing he wanted was to hear it from your lips. In any case, I chose ‘Sybil’ as my alias. Sybil was David’s mother’s name. Your grandmother’s name. And yes, she meant something to me. Might I assume you saw the mourning brooch when you were in my bedroom?”
“You might.”
“The hair was hers. She was a sweet lady.”
“And the small portrait?”
“My mother, so your grandmother also. She died two years before you were born.”
“What was her name?”
“Amelia Elizabeth. I wanted you named for her, but Clarence refused. He settled on the same initials, however.”
Annie pondered her father’s—her uncle’s, she supposed now—lack of forgiveness. He’d been a man accustomed to dealing with all manner of people. People who were suffering and in pain. To havecast his sister aside, especially given the tragic circumstances, seemed to go against his nature and his profession. He had always been a kind man. A kind father.But not an honest one. Why didn’t you tell me the truth? Why?
“And the dog?” she asked.
“Which dog?”
“I remember a black and white dog.”
“Ah, Meg. David’s dog. A collie, always at his side. She was with him when they found him. In fact, she wouldn’t let anyone…” Janet’s voice faltered. “She wouldn’t let anyone near him at first. She was always very protective of him. She lived for several years after his death.”
