Chapter Fourteen

"The weeping one?" Winnie looked confused. "Mari?

She's the most cheerful person I know."

"Of course, you two already know each other," Izzy said. "I had actually forgotten that."

My eyes locked on to Oliver who was standing with one arm propped up against the top of the fireplace, as though he thought he was some sort of Austen hero. It was strange to see him in person again. I would be lying if I said I hadn't thought of him over the last six months, though I had almost convinced myself I had imagined just how dangerously handsome he was. Unfortunately, if anything, my memories didn't do him justice, and the sight of him now was creating a rush of peculiar feelings that I didn't have time to sort through.

His black suit, stark in its simplicity, was cut to perfection. In fact, everything about him was severe and buttoned up. Despite the warmth of the day, he wore his long, dark coat, which gave the impression he did not intend to stay and make himself comfortable. I felt an overwhelming and bizarre urge to mess up his necktie and tuck a daisy behind his ear.

"We haven't exactly been formally introduced," I said.

Izzy grinned. "Well, I can take care of that. Oliver Lockhart, please meet Miss Marigold Bloom. Mari, this is Oliver."

Oliver snorted. "Marigold Bloom? What a ridiculous name. It sounds made up."

There was a brief, awkward pause.

"I suppose all names are made up, really," I said cheerfully, and it was Maud's turn to choke on a laugh.

Something flashed in his eyes. "And what is Miss Bloom" – Oliver said my name as if he remained dubious of its authenticity – "doing here exactly? I thought you said whoever was on her way would be able to help me."

"Marigold is one of our newest recruits," Mrs Finch said matter-of-factly. "Indeed, it is thanks to your intervention that we found her, and I think we can all be grateful for that."

There was a murmur of agreement and Max appeared at my side, smiling down at me. I blinked, momentarily overwhelmed. Looking directly at Max was a bit like looking into the sun. I still wasn't used to his gleaming handsomeness. I had heard that in society he was considered something of a stiff, haughty figure, but around the members of the Aviary he always seemed utterly relaxed and his manners were flawless.

"Here, Mari, come and sit down and have a scone," he said, offering me his arm like the gentleman he was. "They're delicious."

"He'd know," Maud said with a sly grin. "He's had three already."

"Shall we get back to the matter at hand?" Sylla asked, pouring herself a cup of tea. "Now that Mari is finally here."

"I only sent her the note half an hour ago," Izzy protested.

Sylla simply harrumphed as though the limits of time and space did not apply to her.

"Miss Bloom may be one of you," Oliver said grudgingly, "but I still don't understand why he is here." He gestured to Max.

"This is my house!" Max mumbled around his fourth scone.

"Oliver, I know it is one of your favourite hobbies, but don't be rude to Max," Izzy chided, coming over and standing next to her husband. "Or I shall write to Beth with several new and exotic seafood recipes."

"You wouldn't!" Oliver hissed. "That woman is a menace in the kitchen as it is."

"She absolutely would." Max grinned up at Izzy. "My wife is ruthless." The way they looked at one another made something ache in my chest.

"Oliver, Max is here in his governmental capacity. Once you lay out the whole story, then we will be able to decide if his help is required or if this is strictly an agency matter." Mrs Finch accepted the plate that Winnie brought over to her.

I felt my eyes widen at that. I knew that Max was involved at a high level with secret governmental business, but it was rare for his work to intersect with the Aviary's. I got the impression he and Izzy were careful to keep their jobs as separate as possible. I was also surprised to hear that Mrs Finch was considering taking on a case for a client like Oliver Lockhart – men of means tended to be able to solve their issues in far less covert ways than we typically offered.

"Everyone sit down and have some tea and something to eat," Izzy said, gesturing to the cluster of chairs arranged around the tea table, "then we can talk it all over."

"Is there anything left to eat?" Sylla lifted a brow. "Now that Vane has got his big bear paws on the cakes."

"I can always ring for more," Izzy said, cutting across whatever retort had sprung to Max's lips.

For a moment everyone settled in, and I was not displeased to find myself with my own plate laden with goodies. Izzy's cook really was excellent.

Reaching into my big leather bag, I pulled out a small box full of lavender shortbread, which I slid stealthily across the table to Max, who was sitting beside me. His eyes lit up as he palmed the box, slipping it into his pocket. Having discovered Max's sweet tooth when he visited the shop and devoured an entire tray of biscuits, it was an unspoken agreement that I brought a box whenever I visited.

"Marigold Bloom, if I wasn't already married…" he began, and Izzy elbowed him in the side.

Oliver made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

"So, Oliver," Mrs Finch said, drawing his attention back to her. "Why don't you tell everyone what you told me?"

I thought I saw a look of vulnerability cross Oliver's face, but it was gone in a flash.

He cleared his throat. "I asked to meet here because I wasn't sure if the Aviary would be interested in taking on my case. I know I am not exactly the typical client, and I don't wish to take advantage of our … connection." The words were awkward, and he hesitated here, but no one spoke. Whatever the connection was that he was talking about, I assumed it was something to do with his relationship with Max and Izzy who seemed to know him fairly well.

"In fact," he continued gruffly, "I have done everything in my own power not to involve you in this mess for exactly that reason, but I have run out of places to go … well, people to go to who I really trust." Again, there was the slightest faltering in his rigid posture.

"You're among friends here," Mrs Finch said, and I was surprised again by the softening of her voice. There were undercurrents here that I didn't understand. "You did the right thing by coming to us."

Oliver sighed, but some of the tightness left his expression. "I suppose I had better tell you the whole story from the beginning."

Shifting in his seat, his frown deepened for a moment, and he appeared to be choosing his words with care.

"Eleven years ago – when I myself was eleven – my mother and my younger sister died in a carriage accident." His words were clipped, devoid of emotion, but in his face there was a pain that he couldn't conceal. "Being a child, I was never privy to the details of this accident and, honestly, I never had any reason to look more closely at it. Why should I? They were gone and my father and I remained." While his voice was steady, I could see that he was gripping the handle of his tea cup tightly enough that his knuckles whitened.

"My father passed away over three years ago. He and I did not have the best of relationships. He was a wealthy man and I have spent the time since his death trying to untangle much of the mess he left behind. Currently, I am attempting to remedy some of his more questionable business practices." Oliver placed his cup back on the table in front of him, flexing his fingers as though he wanted to shake the tension from them.

"Six months ago, I received a letter from one of my father's lawyers, referencing a trust that had been set up for my sister, one that she would be able to access on her twenty-first birthday – a date that was fast approaching. I was baffled by the existence of such a trust when my sister had been deceased for so long, and so I came to London to meet with him." Oliver's frown deepened. "The lawyer whom I met was an unfortunate blowhard with a tendency to waffle, but once he finally got to the point, he revealed that the trust remained in existence because my sister had never been declared legally dead."

"How can that be?" Izzy murmured.

"A pertinent question, Isobel." Oliver nodded. "And one that I asked myself."

"Much less politely, I'll wager." The words were out of my mouth before I could think better of it.

"Not a wager anyone would be wise to take," Mrs Finch said, with a small smile.

Oliver narrowed his eyes at me. "I was perhaps a touch … uncivil, but the man had taken me by surprise."

"And after your uncivil behaviour, did this lawyer finally get to his point?" Sylla asked, and it was clear Oliver was not the only one feeling impatient.

"Yes. He told me that after the accident only my mother's body was ever recovered. My sister was assumed to have also perished, but to have been washed away in a nearby river and therefore, without a body, could not be declared legally dead until seven years had passed. My father died just before we reached this deadline and I, of course, had no knowledge of any of this, so had not taken the appropriate steps to declare her dead myself."

"You had no idea your sister had never been found?" Maud asked.

Oliver shook his head. "We had a funeral for both of them. I did not know that we buried an empty coffin in Ellen's grave."

"How awful," Winnie murmured. "This must all have been such a shock."

Oliver's jaw tightened. "It was … unsettling. Rather than sign the papers that the lawyer had waiting for me and closing the door on Ellen's life, I decided I needed to do some investigating of my own. I was left with too many unanswered questions and naturally the one that haunted me the most was simple: what if my sister was still alive somehow? It seemed strange to me that no sign of her had been found, and I could not discover if my father had organized a thorough search or not." Oliver's expression cooled even further. "He was not a careful man where his family was concerned. I went to the library to try to find any news articles relating to the accident. That is when I ran into Miss Bloom. Or rather when she ran into me."

His eyes flicked briefly to mine. "However, even after I had survived Miss Bloom's violent onslaught" – he ignored my huff of laughter – "I could find no information in the library records at all, and so I did what I thought at the time was best – I engaged a private investigator." At this, Oliver grimaced.

"Well, there's your first mistake." Sylla crossed her arms, expression smug.

"It seems to me to be a perfectly sensible course of action," Max said.

Sylla rolled her eyes. "Of course it would."

"Unfortunately, the investigator turned out to be a blockhead," Oliver continued, resigned.

Shocking, Sylla mouthed.

"But he did discover one useful piece of information. The accident hadn't taken place in England at all. It happened outside Paris."

"Paris?" Several voices piped up at once.

"Which is where I would have travelled next had it not been for the actions of the aforementioned blockhead. It seems the investigator, a Mr Wylie…"

Here, not only Sylla but Mrs Finch, Izzy, Maud and Winnie all let out loud groans.

"I see his reputation precedes him." Oliver's lip curled. "To continue – in his infinite wisdom, Mr Wylie decided to put an advertisement in the paper."

"Let me guess." Sylla examined her fingernails. "The advertisement claimed you were looking for information on your long-lost sister because there was a fat inheritance with her name on it waiting in the wings?"

"Yes."

"Oh no," I murmured softly, my eyes widening in understanding.

"Oh yes." Oliver rubbed his temples. "I have been absolutely inundated with claims that my sister is alive and well and ready to collect her money." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fat stack of envelopes tied together with a piece of string. "Here is a handful of the letters I have received. I thought perhaps you might like to go through them." His voice was tinged with weariness now as he threw the letters down on the table.

"Do you… Do you believe any of these letters are legitimate?" I asked hesitantly. "Do you believe your sister could be alive?"

A hush fell, something solemn lingering in the air.

Oliver looked down at his hands. "I don't know what to believe," he said finally. "Not now."

"Tell them the rest of it, Oliver," Mrs Finch said gently.

Oliver stood and stalked back towards the fireplace, as though he couldn't stand to be sitting around a tea table, looking at us. Instead, he stared into the grate – one that, as it was still so mild, I had filled myself with a playful spill of sunflowers, each petal like a lick of flame – his hands clasped behind his back as he spoke.

"A week ago a couple arrived on my doorstep in Yorkshire with a young woman in tow who they claim is my sister." He said the words quickly. "As you can imagine, it was not the first time this had happened since the advert was placed, but there are several key differences in this case."

He turned back to us, his fingers closing round the top of the back of his chair.

"This couple, a Mr and Mrs Lavigne, claim to have been living in France for the last twelve years. They arrived with a file full of papers, stamped by the British consulate, which confirmed the identities of them and their daughter, who they adopted eleven years ago. According to them, they rescued Ellen – who now goes by the name Helene – from the river after her accident, though the child had no memory of who she was or what had happened to her. Recently, however, they say this has changed."

"Hmmm," Sylla murmured. "Convenient."

"But possible," Winnie put in. "A head injury sustained during a carriage accident could lead to memory loss. There is much we don't yet understand about the human brain."

The earnest and deeply enthusiastic way she said it conjured unfortunate images of Winnie's lab full of jars of floating human brains. The haunted expressions on several of my colleagues' faces told me I wasn't the only one to picture the ghoulish scene.

"Could Helene be your sister?" Izzy asked, breaking the spell.

"My first thought was no. The Lavignes claimed to know nothing of the advertisement, but I was struck by the timing, and while she is the right age and does resemble my sister, I felt no particular sense of recognition when I saw her."

"But if it has been eleven years…" Maud began.

"Would I recognize her?" Oliver finished. "I thought so, but … perhaps not."

"So you think Helene is another imposter?" I asked.

Oliver's grip on the chair tightened. "I don't know." The words sounded painful. "Sometimes she is like a stranger, not knowing her way around the house, or not remembering a particular anecdote. But there have been other things, things Helene has said, things I was sure only Ellen knew. Stories about our past…" He trailed off here for a moment. "And then, most importantly, there's the scar."

"What scar?" Sylla sat up straighter.

"My sister had a small crescent-shaped scar on her palm," Oliver said, gesturing to his own hand. "She got it during a childish mishap when we were playing together. Helene has not drawn attention to it, but I noticed it was there when she removed her gloves."

Max frowned. "Plenty of ways to affect a scar if one wants to use them as disguise."

Izzy snorted. "We once passed off Max as my deaf great-aunt thanks to Sylla's skill with theatrical make-up."

"No!" I exclaimed, temporarily diverted.

Max only smiled serenely.

"The issue is" – Oliver sat back down, leaning forward so that his elbows rested on his knees – "that Helene may or may not be Ellen. But if she's not Ellen, then how does she know the things she does? Stories about our childhood, nicknames, jokes we shared." He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. "Things no one else could know."

"She would have to know them from Ellen herself," I said, the realization dawning.

"So either Helene is Ellen, or the imposter met Ellen at some point?" Sylla summarized.

Oliver's jaw ticked again. "Precisely. As it stands, the Lavignes seem convincing enough to warrant further investigation. They have remained in my house in Yorkshire, where my staff are keeping an eye on them until I return. I did not want them anywhere near London while I came to consult with you, though they believe I am looking into their claim."

There was a long pause as this sank in.

Finally, Max broke it. "I can certainly dig around for some more information on the accident, but it seems to me that the Aviary will be best equipped to deal with this particular problem."

"Naturally," Sylla said. "I take it we will be sending someone to Yorkshire?"

"Yes," Mrs Finch said calmly. "We're going to send Mari."

My squeak of protest was drowned out by Oliver's horrified "You're going to send who?"

"Izzy's charm is busy with a separate case," Mrs Finch said. "And, besides, Mari is perfect for the part."

"What part?" I asked suspiciously.

Mrs Finch sipped her tea serenely. "The part of Oliver's fiancée, of course."