Chapter 16

Sixteen

THE SHERRY ROOM

I’d already figured out the Sherry Room was the countess’s room.

Her office, of sorts.

Although decorated in a lot of wood and heavy, dark-green velvet curtains, the stain of the wood was lighter than other rooms on that wing. And there were deep slashes of buttery yellow, not to mention the walls above the wood wainscoting were a mellow linen to soften the darkness and drive home the feminine in a wing like the one above it, both of which veered masculine.

The main feature of the room was the beautifully carved writer’s desk that had inlays of ivory.

This was gross now, and it was gross then, but that didn’t stop the desk being made in another age when they did that kind of thing. Nor did it stop it from being a testimony (but not an excuse) to why so many elephants gave up what they were forced to give to create such beauty.

This was the showstopper, but there were also two large and extraordinary paintings that looked like Turners (and very well could be), and as such, they were stormy and turbulent and morose.

Along with its beauty, there was a melancholy to that room.

And at one o’clock that afternoon, standing at the window looking out to the late autumnal desolation spreading to what seemed forever at the front of the house, I wondered if the spirits of Virginia and Joan, and even Margery somehow permeated the atmosphere.

Past countesses (and a countess’s daughter) who suffered for their status.

Suffered for Duncroft.

Ian was sitting on one end of the yellowish-green velvet couch sipping an espresso, Lou on the other side looking nervous.

She, too, had received a summons from Lady Jane.

This was weird, but then again maybe it wasn’t. When everything seemed weird, when did weird stuff stop being weird and just become the norm?

I’d had croissants and yogurt, and then for about an hour, I’d chilled out and quietly hung with Ian while he worked, before I took my bathroom tray and headed out, going to the Rose Room to take a shower and prepare for the day.

When I got there, I was grateful to see someone had taken away the bouquet.

I hadn’t seen Portia or Daniel yet that day, but after I paid this respect, whatever it was about, to Lady Jane, who had been really cool with me last night, I was finding Portia and sharing a few things.

Then I’d work on Lou.

In other words, I had a packed afternoon planned of fun and revelry.

Not.

However, that morning, Ian had passed his laptop to me, and I’d checked. There was a train headed to Leeds from a town about half an hour away that left at four. And from Leeds, Lou would be in London in two and a half hours.

And that’d be one thing off my mind, and I could spend the week focusing on Portia’s latest shenanigans.

The door opened and Lady Jane came in.

I hadn’t mentioned yet, but it should be noted, Lady Jane made everyday, landed-gentry elegance seem effortless.

Today she was in light-gray slacks with a cream turtleneck and a gray and yellow scarf under a pale, pale-pink sweater blazer. Her blonde hair was appropriately teased and curled and gorgeously swept away from her face from a side part, in a manner it looked like it’d dip over her eye at any moment. Her lips were lined and filled with a becoming neutral that had just a hint of gloss. Her Clash de Cartier hoops were gorgeous, but not overdone, and best of all, unless you knew what they were, you wouldn’t know they cost seven thousand pounds.

The hallmark of true wealth: when you didn’t feel the need to scream you had it.

Although I had more of an edge to my look, and at that moment in my life I’d rather wear nothing than wear a sweater blazer, I took note how you could be you, and flawless, even when you were sixty-one years old.

Alternative thought, Richard was a fool.

Jane was regal. Stunning. Stylish. Mysterious. And I’d also learned…sweet. She knew and loved her children, and even if she communicated that in ways I wasn’t used to, she still communicated it. And she was loyal.

So many men had such treasure in their hands, and yet they chose to cast it aside to chase the sunrise of their lives, which was always fleeting.

“Thank you for coming,” she said, avoiding looking at Lou, per usual, and seating herself with a straight back, ankles crossed under her and hands folded in her lap in one of the two chairs across from the couch. “If you don’t mind, we’ll need to wait until Portia and Daniel get here. They’re on their way to the house. They’re just back from riding.”

Riding?

My sister and her man were enjoying their country sojourn, off on a horseback ride?

I felt my blood heat.

Ian looked over his shoulder at me because he knew that would make me mad.

Lou wasn’t aware that anything had gone on. I hadn’t had a moment alone with her yet.

I gave Ian a look that told him I wasn’t going to get in a hair pulling fight with my sister when she showed (I hoped) and kept my silence.

It was only a couple of minutes before Portia and Daniel arrived, in full riding gear, and Portia (who I’d never seen in such a getup), looked like she was a goddamn Olympic equestrian.

At least she didn’t have the hat on.

Though, that outfit had to be another hit to the money she should have saved if she intended to quit her job.

She lived in a posh, two-bedroom flat in Chelsea, for heaven’s sake. If she had no money, she wasn’t going to make the next month’s rent.

Her gaze raced quickly between Ian, me, then Lou, back to linger on Ian before she visibly startled when Lady Jane spoke, because she couldn’t see the woman as the high back of her chair was facing the door.

“Good, you’re here. Please, come in.”

Hesitant, like the two naughty children they were impersonating, Portia and Daniel slunk into the room.

They barely stopped in front of the cold fireplace when Lady Jane launched in.

“Dorothy Clifton was a vital woman with a thriving career. She lived. She had family. Friends. It was a long time ago, but no matter the time that’s passed, the tragic fact she lost her life in this house is not a joke. It isn’t fodder for a prank. Frankly, I find it vile that anyone would think so.”

Daniel was contritely studying his muddy riding boots.

Portia was white as a sheet and staring at Lady Jane.

I only had Lou’s profile, but she appeared confused.

As for Ian’s profile, he was regarding them both like they were a mildly interesting play, but even so, he didn’t take his eyes off them.

“Portia,” Lady Jane continued, and I turned my attention, catching my sister’s nervous swallow. “I’m not impressed. I wasn’t impressed with your exit from this house, leaving your family behind with people who don’t know them at all well and expecting us to carry on like the integral connecting piece hadn’t vanished into thin air. But the results of your cruel plotting are abominable. I can only assume your hope for this week was for all of us to learn of each other, including learning to like each other. I can assure you that’s happening, the problem for you is, I’m not learning to like you.”

Harsh.

Fair.

But harsh.

Portia’s attention rushed to me, like I could save her.

Like I often saved her.

I pressed my lips together.

“You disrespected your sister,” Lady Jane went on. “Your stepmother. And me. Making matters worse, you invited them into my home to do it. It’s intolerable.”

“Mum—” Daniel began.

I shifted my attention to him and saw his cheeks were ruddy, and he looked miffed.

Then again, his girlfriend was getting a dressing down, one she deserved, but they were both adults, so this had to be humiliating.

Top that, there was an audience, and the brother Daniel was jealous of was part of it.

“Now,” Lady Jane cut Daniel off, standing. “We have a whole week to learn how to treat each other with respect. I hope I have your assurances there won’t be a repeat of some version of last night.”

“It was just meant to be a joke,” Portia said weakly.

“What was meant to be a joke?” Lou asked.

“Did your sister look amused last night?” Lady Jane demanded.

Portia cast her gaze to the floor.

“Do I have to ask again?” Lady Jane prompted.

“There won’t be a repeat, Mum,” Daniel said.

“Good,” she replied. “Now, I’m certain your sister has a few things to say. I’ll leave her to say them among family.”

With that, she dipped her head to Lou, acknowledging her for the first time, and she gave her version of a warm look to her son, and also, I thought was nice, to me, before she swanned out.

I was surprised she had all that in her. Surprised and impressed.

Then again, it was Lady Jane who said Daniel needed a taskmaster. I just hadn’t put it together at the time that all his life, that role so far had fallen to his mother.

It was Daniel who stepped up first.

“Jesus Christ, Ian,” he sniped, glancing at me briefly while saying, “No offense. I saw you last night and I could tell it went too far,”—back to Ian—“but it was just a goddamned joke.”

“Was it you who asked to put Daphne in the Carnation Room?” Ian returned coolly.

“Oh my God,” Lou whispered.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you,” Daniel bit.

“May be nice, though, if you explained yourself to me,” I butted in.

Daniel’s jaw rippled.

“Did you?” I pushed.

Daniel said nothing.

Portia said nothing.

“Answer her,” Lou demanded of Portia.

Shocker.

Even though Lou was family, she never butted into family stuff, not even when Dad was alive. And she never pushed anything. Ever. Particularly with Portia.

“What happened last night?” she asked.

“Danny and Portia left carnation bouquets for Daphne the two nights they’ve been here. The same type of bouquets David would leave for Dorothy because she loved carnations. Hence, she chose that room. And when David’s wife was away, and Dorothy would come to play, that’s where they’d tryst. Even Virginia came to understand that had become Dorothy’s room.”

And there was the explanation behind the reason Lady Jane seemed so shaken when I mentioned the carnations last night.

I didn’t freak out about all this new knowledge that only made what Portia did worse.

But Lou sure as hell did.

“You know your sister isn’t good with that kind of thing,” she snapped.

Actually snapped.

“Lou, it doesn’t have anything to do with—” Portia began.

Lou interrupted her. “I’m a part of this family, whether you like it or not. I care about you and your sister. So it has something to do with me, knowing you’d be so thoughtless. I mean, honestly, Portia. What do you think your sister does all day? And she’s here. Do you not get what that means? You can’t,” she answered her own question. “If you did, you wouldn’t be playing your usual mind games.”

“Mind games?” Portia spat.

“Mind games,” I said calmly.

Because…yes. Spot on. I finally got it, and Lou obviously already knew it.

That was what it always was.

Portia getting into trouble, and dragging me in. Portia pushing Dad and getting something out of the fact his need to become stricter and more demanding of her meant he did the same with me. Portia playing on my sympathies and my big sister loyalty and Lou’s need for her love and approval. Portia pulling shit like she did last night for whatever she got out of doing things like that.

It was all just mind games.

Portia opened her mouth.

But I was done with this.

“It was you and I know it. Daniel doesn’t want to throw you under the bus, and you sure as hell don’t have the maturity to cop to it, but it was you. Daniel told you the story of Dorothy and David, and you knew I’d look into things when you asked us here. It’s tragic, mysterious and spooky, with Dorothy supposedly haunting this house, a famous story I couldn’t miss. You hatched your scheme and got Daniel to play along with it.”

As it had been last night, the guilt was written all over her face.

I was done with Portia’s guilt too.

So I kept going, “It wasn’t nice. It hurt my feelings. But it’s over, and we’re moving on. Not with forgiveness,” I hastened to add when Portia seemed to settle down and the familiar I-got-away-with-it smirk started to form on her mouth. “You haven’t said you’re sorry. But I have to share I am so…fucking…done. With all of it. And there’s more. And I want that done too, so we’re moving on.”

“There’s more?” Portia asked.

“Are you employed?” I shot back.

“Dear God,” Lou moaned when Portia’s expression again gave us the answer.

“You know what that means,” I noted.

“I also know you two can talk to the trustees,” Portia returned.

“What does it mean?” Daniel asked.

“We can’t and you know it,” I said to my sister. “You also know you’re supposed to report to them, Portia, if there’s a change in your employment status.”

“I’m taking a break.”

“Fine. Your life. Your choice. But you know if you do, your stipend reduces.”

“It does?” Daniel looked down to Portia. “To what?”

“It’s preposterous,” Portia snipped, to him, to me, to the universe.

“It’s what Dad wanted.”

“You and Lou could do something.”

“We can’t.”

“You haven’t tried.”

“And should we now?” Lou demanded irately. “When you’re putting your sister in a dead woman’s bed and fucking with her mind? Is it now we should step up for you, Portia?”

“What’s the matter with you?” Portia asked snidely to hide her shock and dismay that Lou was growing a backbone when it came to her.

“I’m tired,” Lou retorted. “My head hurts. I’ve been trying to prove how much you mean to me for nearly fifteen years, and I, too, am done.” She stood and turned to me. “I’ll call the trustees.”

“I can do it,” I replied.

“No.” She glanced at Portia. “This time, I’ll do it.”

And without another word, she stormed out.

“How much does your allowance reduce?” Daniel asked.

Portia glared at him.

“She gets two thousand pounds a month until she’s gainfully employed and then it’s up to Lou and me how much we’ll augment that,” I shared.

Portia turned her glare on me.

But now it was Daniel who was white as a sheet.

Telling.

And sadly for Portia, her tricks opened the door for me to test the waters of her and Daniel’s relationship to see how deep they ran.

But now…

Onward!

“And, I’ve made a decision,” I said to my sister. “I’m going to talk to Lou, and if the trustees don’t receive paystubs for six months straight, you won’t get more. And when you do, it’ll only be five thousand for six months beyond that.”

“That’s crazy!” Portia cried.

“This was all Dad’s last effort at tough love, sis,” I replied. “And since it hasn’t been working, now’s the time to get tougher.”

Portia told me something I already knew. “I can’t even pay my rent with that.”

“Then you’ll either need to get a job quickly or downsize.”

She was looking panicky. “Daphne, you can’t do that. I can’t even pay movers.”

Yup.

She’d squandered it all.

“Then you shouldn’t have blown what amounts for a normal family to about five years’ worth of income in eight months.” And just because I was in a foul mood, I remarked, “Nice riding boots, by the way.”

She didn’t even respond to my dig. She was in full-blown panic now, then suddenly her gaze dropped to Ian and her entire face flamed red.

And something else hit me then, though it’d been staring me in the face since the start.

Goddamn.

She then looked up at Daniel, hooked her arm in his, straightened her shoulders, and like a dare that I honest to God in that moment didn’t know if it was aimed at Daniel…or Ian, she declared, “I’ll move in with you.”

Now it was Daniel looking panicked.

Ian folded out of the couch saying, “How about we leave these two to wade through the aftermath of their bad decisions. I think there’s a conversation you need to have with Lou.”

It’d only been days, but the sight of Ian holding his hand to me was an endearingly familiar one.

I moved his way, accepted his offer, and he guided me to the door.

“I’m sorry about the flowers, okay? I honestly didn’t think you’d freak so badly,” Portia called to my back.

Ian stopped us as he felt me turn to her.

“You know, that hurts most of all,” I said in a voice that shared how deeply it did just that.

Portia flinched. Even Daniel looked alarmed at the tone of my voice.

I carried on, “That you haven’t bothered to pay enough attention to me over the years to know how much that would mess with me. Lou knows. My own flesh and blood doesn’t. Yes, honey, that hurts.”

After saying that, I looked to Ian.

And he guided me out the door.