A-Splendid-Ruin(16)

“I have always been her support,” Aunt Florence went on, musing almost to herself. “She relies on me so. Sometimes it is quite wearying. Someone is taking care of her while you’re away, of course?” She blinked slowly, as if trying to keep her train of thought.

I felt sorry for her, and sad. Sad also for myself as it became obvious I would get no answers to my questions today. Kindly, I said, “Yes.” It wasn’t untrue, really. Mama was in God’s hands now.

“When do you return?”

“I thought I might stay here for a time, if that pleases you.”

Aunt Florence set her cup and saucer aside. There was no evidence of her nervousness from before. Now she was all languor and drowsiness. “This has been so pleasant, Charlotte. But I fear I really must lie down. Will you help me to my room? I am so very tired.”

I helped her to her feet, and she sagged into me, trusting completely to my ministrations. Her soft eyes pierced with a longing and gratitude that discomfited, even after she’d closed them and rested her head on my shoulder.

I was glad now that Shin had stayed. Together, we took Aunt Florence from the sitting room and into that forlorn hallway. She seemed in a dream as we brought her upstairs to her bedroom. Though it was July and still bright daylight, the curtains were drawn and the room lit only by a dim oil lamp that glimmered faintly on the gilt-framed pictures and sent shadows jumping over the blue velvet-brocaded wall. It was strangely still, as if the room were a held breath. She sank onto a chaise by the window with a sigh. Before I could step away, she grabbed my hand, squeezing tight. “We’ll have tea again. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Shin put a crocheted blanket over her and said to me, “I will stay with her now, miss.”

In the hall, I was startled out of my sadness and dismay by my own reflection in one of the many mirrors. How tired I looked, as drawn as my aunt. I glanced away, only to catch myself again in the mirror opposite, a double, a triple, endless and infinite May Kimbles . . .

I frowned and looked more closely. There, something familiar. I erased my frown, smoothing my face into a semblance of what it had been before, a slight startle, raised eyebrows, and then, yes, there it was. I saw Aunt Florence where I’d never seen my mother, and it was not for lack of trying. My aunt said that I had the Kimble mouth, but Mama had never told me such a thing. I knew well the contours of my bones, my skin, every bump and flaw. I’d so often searched for something to tell me who I was, where I belonged. There had been times when I’d wondered if I was related to my mother at all.

But now I saw what I had never seen before—a family resemblance. How funny, to find a part of myself three thousand miles from where I’d started.

“I won’t disappoint my sister.” What a strange thing to say, especially given that Florence had dropped so completely from Mama’s life. Which of them had left the other first? Where had the Kimble sisters begun, and why had they so completely lost one another?

The clues Aunt Florence had given me chased themselves. “He was one of her passing fancies . . . Charlotte and I were so close . . . She has never been strong . . .”

What was the story? What had happened? How was I to discover it?

A door opening sprang me from my thoughts. It was Goldie’s. “I thought I heard something. What are you doing?”

“I just had tea with your mother.”

Goldie’s surprise was almost comical. “You what?”

“She was waiting downstairs. I told her I would fetch you, but she—”

“What did she say?” Goldie motioned for me to come into her bedroom, blinding with white furniture, gold wallpaper twined with green vines and tiny white birds, white lamps thick with golden fringe. It was hard to breathe within the overpowering cloud of jasmine.

“Tell me everything,” Goldie said.

“She wants me to have tea with her once a week. I said I would.”

“She said that?” Goldie frowned. “She’ll have forgotten that already.”

“I imagine so. Shin came in to give her laudanum.”

My cousin sighed. “Thank God. She is much better with it.”

“Don’t you wonder what happened, Goldie?”

“What happened to what?”

“To our family. Aunt Florence just told me that she and my mother were close. Like twins, she said. And then she said . . . Well, she said something that didn’t sound like Mama at all—”

“Exactly,” Goldie said. “You can’t believe her about anything, May. She doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“I did promise her we’d have tea again.”

“She won’t remember, and, to be honest, I think you should ask me or Papa the next time she asks you to tea. We can tell you if it’s a good idea that day or not. You don’t want to make her worse.”

I nodded. “No, of course not.”

“Now, if you don’t mind, May, I really think I should have a nap.”

A nap so late? That seemed odd, but perhaps that was Goldie’s habit. I went back to my room to wait for dinner. How different it was from that morning, when the fog had locked me inside so completely. Now the view was expansive, the city spreading below to the harbor, ships and steamers and tiny fishing boats with strangely shaped sails and brown hills ringing it all.