The Magnolia Palace(98)

“No. You go.”

Miss Helen by now had reached the porch. “Come on, you two.”

Veronica touched the arm of his coat and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, Joshua, about the diamond.”

“So you did take it,” he whispered.

“I did, and I’m sorry about that. I’d like to explain.”

But she didn’t get the chance. “Come on, I don’t have all day!” yelled Miss Helen.

They gathered at the front door, where a cornflower blue bench sat between two porch lamps. Miss Helen gave a firm knock.

An older man with a thick head of silver hair and round spectacles answered the door. He surveyed them with a baffled look on his face. “Can I help you?”

Miss Helen swallowed before answering, the only sign of nerves that Veronica could see. Her face remained a cold mask. “Archer. What on earth are you doing in this godawful town? I’m guessing you’re playing every Sunday in some two-bit church, teaching a choir of tone-deaf vagrants. My father would be very upset that you threw away your talent. What a waste.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Miss Helen?”

“That is correct. Let us in.”

He did, stepping back into a small foyer as Miss Helen waltzed through the doorway. Joshua motioned for Veronica to enter next, then hesitated a split second, waiting until the owner of the house had specifically beckoned him inside as well. It occurred to Veronica how blithely she walked through the world, as she and Miss Helen didn’t think twice about the invitation, while Joshua could never assume he was welcome.

“What are you doing here, Miss Helen?” asked Archer Graham. From another room came the sound of someone washing dishes.

“I’m seeking answers. Where’s Miss Lilly? I’m fairly certain she’s on the premises.”

“Lillian!” the man called out.

They’d found her.

The running water stopped. “Yes, darling?”

The trio followed him into the kitchen, where a woman in her late sixties stood at the sink, drying a glass. She saw Miss Helen and froze for a second, before carefully placing the glass on the counter.

Joshua had said the woman had been the top model of her time, and Veronica could see why. She had perfectly classical features, including a regal nose and dewy brown eyes. While her skin was delicately wrinkled, the bone structure underneath was undeniably handsome, with a strong chin and high cheekbones. Veronica, fifty years younger, felt like a wallflower in comparison, with her mop of hair and gangly limbs. Fashions and styles had changed, but Miss Lilly, as Miss Helen called her, would always be a beauty.

“Would you like some coffee or tea?” asked Miss Lilly, as if they were neighbors who’d popped in to say hello.

“Tea for all of us,” demanded Miss Helen, equally determined to remain unflappable.

They all accepted Mr. Graham’s invitation to take a seat at the kitchen table. The dark wood was etched with scratches like ancient hieroglyphics, mottled with water stains, a far cry from the glossy mahogany tables at the Frick. Veronica had noticed a mantel full of photos as they’d passed through the living room, of the older couple with a young woman who held a baby in her arms. This was a table where children and grandchildren sat and made a mess and it didn’t matter.

“I am here with my colleagues,” announced Miss Helen. She waved in Joshua and Veronica’s general direction. “Go on, introduce yourselves.”

Joshua gave a slight wave. “Joshua Lawrence, I work part-time at the Frick.”

“Nice to meet you, Joshua,” answered Miss Lilly. “I’m Lillian, and this is my husband, Archer.”

Veronica’s turn, but she wasn’t sure how she fit in to the puzzle. “Veronica Weber. I’m rather new on the scene.”

Miss Helen cringed briefly at the sound of her last name, but then nodded her approval, as if they were children who’d finally behaved properly.

“I received your note, Miss Lilly, after Mother’s death,” Miss Helen said.

Lillian poured hot water into a teapot and placed it on the table, where Archer had laid out cups and saucers, a small pitcher of milk, and a sugar bowl. “Your mother was a kind person, in her own way. I was sorry to hear of her passing.”

“Well, that was long ago. I won’t waste time. I’m here because of that letter. You implied that you had something to tell me, about the circumstances of November 1919.”

“It’s 1966, Helen. What took you so long?”

Miss Helen gulped at the insouciance. Clearly, she’d never been called “Helen” by a servant, current or former. “Well, as you know, Miss Lilly, I had a library to run, as well as having to deal with the transformation of the mansion into the Frick Collection. It was a busy time.”

“Of course.”

“Go ahead, then. You may apologize.”

Lillian cocked her head, her eyes flinty and sharp. “For what?”

“For the trauma you put my family through. I assume that’s why you wrote to me.”

“Well, you’d be wrong. I should think you ought to apologize to me, after what you put me through.”

Miss Helen leaned forward in her chair, itching for a fight. “Two words, dear girl: Richard Danforth.”

At that, Lillian deflated slightly. “That’s true. I am sorry about that. I was young.”