‘You knew, of course, of the profound affection that existed between your son and Miss Beckwith.’
‘He was young. He… his head was turned by her. That was all. He could never have wed the girl, it would have made him a laughing stock.’ Josephine twitched her skirts, though they were perfectly draped. ‘Pray tell me, what did the girl say in this letter to Brighton?’ The question was carefully spoken, her composure impenetrable once more.
‘I do not know exactly, Mrs Alleyn, other than that she wrote to break off all connection with your son.’
‘Well. Strange that she had the decency to do that, before acting so abominably.’
‘Strange indeed,’ said Rachel, attempting to emulate Josephine’s tonelessness. She didn’t altogether manage it. Mrs Alleyn watched her for a while, as if thinking something over. Then, to Rachel’s surprise, the older woman smiled benignly.
‘My dear Mrs Weekes, forgive me if this conversation has seemed… censorious in tone. But I take my son’s wellbeing, and my family’s good name, most seriously. It would be to the greater good if from this day you consulted with me beforehand on all matters regarding any extra… activities. Stick to reading, Mrs Weekes. I know what’s best for my son. And perhaps it would be more… tactful of you not to encourage him to speak so openly about private, family matters.’
‘Yes, Mrs Alleyn,’ said Rachel, when it became clear that she would not be released without having agreed.
‘You may go up to him now.’ Mrs Alleyn waved her fingertips in an elegant gesture of dismissal. Rachel turned and left her, on legs that felt shaky after the encounter. She couldn’t tell if what she felt was anger, fear, or embarrassment.
She climbed the stairs, through the column of old air that ran through the Alleyns’ house like slow, dying blood. It caught in her chest, and she was gasping by the time she reached Jonathan’s rooms. He was there to open the door for her, ready for her knock. He smiled, but then cocked his head quizzically at her breathlessness.
‘I might come down next time, to meet with you. We needn’t always stay in my rooms. Although, I do prefer to be away from… prying eyes,’ he said, and Rachel shook her head. ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘Abi! I said Abi, instead of Alice… just now, to your mother…’ Rachel spoke almost to herself, and shook her head again, in disbelief. She swallowed. There was a hard lump in her throat; her face felt hot and ugly.
‘Abi? Who’s Abi?’ Something about hearing her sister’s name on Jonathan’s lips was so sweet that Rachel couldn’t stand it. Her chest shook, and tears wet her face.
‘Why do you weep? Come.’ He took her hands and led her to the armchair by the window. ‘Sit. Tell me what has happened.’ Rachel sat down and pressed her eyes with her fingertips.
‘Your mother…’ she began, but couldn’t decide what to say.
‘My mother what?’ said Jonathan, bleakly. Rachel looked down at his long-fingered hands, cradling hers, and tried to calm down. Outside, the wind tossed the trees and seethed through the cracks and corners of the city, sounding like a hungry ocean. The house creaked and shifted around them, as draughts nosed through doors and windows, down chimneys and under roof tiles.
‘No… it’s nothing. It’s only… she questioned me just now, on the wisdom of our… recent walk…’
‘And this questioning has left you in tears?’ He spoke angrily, ever ready to flare up against his mother.
‘No! No, it was not that… I made a mistake, that’s all. We were talking about… about Alice. And I said my sister’s name instead.’
‘Your sister? I had no idea you had a sister – you’ve never mentioned her.’
‘She… is lost. Drowned. It’s thought by everyone – everyone but me – that she has been dead these twenty-six years…’
‘Then she must have been a tiny child when she was lost.’
‘Yes. Not yet three years old, and swept away by a river in spate.’
‘But that is a bitter cruelty, to have lost a sister and a brother both. And her name was Abi?’
‘Yes. Abigail. But don’t you see?’ Rachel stared into Jonathan’s face, searching it, hoping that he would make the connection. If he thinks it could be true, then it could be. It could be. But Jonathan only looked puzzled. ‘Abigail was my twin sister; identical to me. Nobody is quite sure of… the details of Alice’s birth. She was delivered into Bridget’s care as a child of around three years, not as a baby. Abi was carried away by the By Brook, which runs to join the Avon at Bathampton… And… and… our faces, Jonathan! We wear the same face!’
For a long moment neither one of them spoke. Rachel’s tears went cold and stiff as they dried. She hardly dared to breathe, and then Jonathan stood and turned to the window, folding his arms. His shoulders were broad, sharp protuberances under the faded blue cloth of his coat; he’d tied his hair back with a thin black ribbon at the nape of his neck.
‘I don’t know…’ he said at last, quietly. ‘It is a strange thought, that Alice might have had a sister, and that you are she.’ He turned to face her again. ‘I can understand why you would want it to be so.’
‘I have always felt that she was not gone… Throughout my life, I have always felt Abigail’s presence in the back of my mind, and heard her voice, like a shadow, but one that comforts me…’
‘Her shadow indeed, perhaps. Many people believe that our loved ones never truly leave us.’
‘No, it is more than that… I can’t explain it very well. There was a bond between us, something special and strange. And I never truly felt that bond break, though I can hardly remember having her with me; I can hardly remember those days. Yet I never truly felt her to be gone.’ She gazed up at Jonathan imploringly, longing for him to believe it too. When she saw doubt in his eyes, her throat ached.
He sat beside her again, took up her hands and pressed her fingertips to his lips, and again his kiss made her feel both weak and strong, and quietened all her thoughts.
‘You have Alice’s kind heart. And you have the mirror of her face, but there are many differences between you. You are taller, and stronger in frame. You are stronger in other ways too… you have greater resolve. You are braver…’ he said.
‘All that could be the result of growing up, surely; of growing older?’
‘And why would my grandfather take in and sponsor a foundling child, of unknown parentage? He was generous to his own, but he was no great philanthropist…’
‘Abigail… Abigail was the sweeter of us two. My mother always said so. She was the sunnier, the more ready to laugh. Perhaps she charmed him, and he took pity on her…’
‘If anybody could have charmed Grandfather, it was Alice,’ Jonathan conceded. ‘But it does not stand to reason, my dear Mrs Weekes. How would he have come by her?’
‘By serendipity! By that same force that means I might find her now, after so many years, and after I thought myself cut off from family for the rest of my days. By that same force! For there must be some balance, some fairness, must there not? We can’t always suffer only loss, and never also feel God’s kindnesses, can we?’
‘God’s kindnesses?’ Jonathan echoed, with a bitter smile. ‘Dear girl, I don’t believe in any such thing. Some balance? Some fairness? No. There is none to be had.’ Rachel hung her head, but then felt his fingers lifting her chin towards him. His face was mere inches away, and in the light from the window she saw coppery flecks in his irises, hidden till then. ‘Take this current unfairness, for example. For years I have punished myself for the things I have done. And how is this balanced? That you seek me out, and find me, and yet come to me already wed to the least worthy man I can think of. And you speak of God’s kindnesses?’