The Forgotten Room(112)

I held the door open to let the maid pass. “Go downstairs to the lobby. The nurse can show you where the coffee is, and there are some chairs down there, too.”

Prunella was dressed all in black, a crow against the crimson red upholstery of the small couch. A fox stole stared at me from its perch around her shoulders. She pressed a starched white linen handkerchief against her nose. “It is an abomination to see all these people in my father’s mansion. He must be rolling over in his grave.” She said the word people with the same inflection I imagined she’d use for the word rubbish.

“This is a pleasant surprise, Aunt Prunella. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.”

She sniffed. “I grew tired of waiting for you to visit me. I might be dead before you made time for me, so I am here instead. And I have something I need to tell you.”

“And I, you,” I said. “But first would you like a tour around the house to show you how it’s all changed since you lived here?”

“Good heavens, no. It is quite enough to simply smell the changes from this room.”

Without waiting for her to grant me permission, I sat down on a chair opposite. “Aunt Prunella, were you aware of a hidden compartment behind a brick in the attic fireplace?”

Her eyes widened, but she shook her head. “No. Harry used the attic as his studio and never allowed me up there, and certainly never showed me any secret compartment. Of course, I did manage to sneak up there from time to time to see what he was up to and saw all of his canvases stacked along the wall. I inherited them, you know. Only because they weren’t considered worth anything to auction.” She said this last softly, as if musing to herself. Glancing back at me, she said, “Why do you ask?”

“I found some letters hidden there, presumably by Harry. And a letter to my mother, Lucy. Olive’s daughter.” I looked at her closely, but she never flinched—either from good breeding or because she already knew. And an engagement ring, I almost added but didn’t. The pain and loss were still too fresh and real to me. I’d tell her one day. Just not today.

“Was there anything in there to tell us what happened to Harry?” she asked, leaning slightly forward.

“Not exactly, but a patient here, Captain Cooper Ravenel, and I stumbled upon some information quite by accident. We discovered that after Olive married my grandfather, Harry changed his name to Augustus Ravenel.”

Her eyes brightened with recognition. “Augustus. My father’s middle name was August, you know. And my brother—the eldest of the twins—was called Gus.”

“What happened to him?” I asked, immediately wishing I hadn’t when I saw the color slip from her face.

“He died. In a barroom brawl.” She shook her head in distaste. “He died right before Harry left. It was all quite . . . unsavory.” She pressed her handkerchief to her lips as if wiping away a stain. “Do you know what happened after Harry left New York?”

“Just the basics, really. After a stint in Cuba, he moved to Charleston, where he became a renowned painter. He even had a few exhibits here in New York that my mother brought me to as a child, although at the time I never realized that Harry and Augustus were the same man.” I paused, watching as Prunella clenched and unclenched her fist on top of her cane. “Captain Ravenel is Harry’s grandson.”

Her eyes glowed with a dim light. “Is Captain Ravenel still here? I would like to meet him. The last remaining Pratt.”

I swallowed, pressing back the tears that threatened every time I thought of him. “No. He was discharged last month and went back home to Charleston. He’s getting married in November.”

She watched me closely, as if I’d given too much away, then relaxed back against the sofa, her face softening. “So Harry married and had children after all.”

“Yes. But he never forgot about Olive, nor she him.” I pulled the ruby necklace from inside my blouse. “That’s how I came to own this. And the small miniature that Harry painted of Olive wearing this necklace was passed down from Harry to his son John and then to Cooper. Cooper showed it to me.”

Prunella examined the necklace carefully, then raised her eyes to meet mine. “You look so much like her, you know. And so did your mother. I saw it when Philip brought Lucy to meet me that first time. That’s how I knew that Olive hadn’t disappeared, too.”

She was silent for a moment as I digested her words, understanding that she’d known all along the connection between Lucy and Olive. She continued. “I never could determine how your mother managed to snare my stepson, although I was quite sure it had been deliberate. But I could never say anything because there was you. You were like the daughter I never had, so sweet and full of joy. I know I never showed it, but I always looked forward to your visits. It was the one bright spot in my rather bleak life.” Her lips curled up in a semblance of a smile.

“Olive didn’t steal the necklace, did she?”

She looked down at her hands, well tended and soft. “No. I was upset. Vengeful, I suppose. You see, I imagined myself in love with her father.”

Her gaze bore into me, but I didn’t flinch. I knew she would tell me more if I showed her that I wasn’t appalled by her confession. That I wasn’t there to judge her.

“But he rejected me for another. Not that I could blame him. I was a spoiled girl, who knew nothing of love. Of course he rejected me. But I was angry, unused to anybody telling me no. And when I saw that necklace on Olive, I couldn’t believe that my brother would have given a maid, a maid, something so valuable, regardless of where it had come from.”