Say You Will(70)
“Summer.” Her mother’s expression softened, taking the bottle from Portia. “That poor girl.”
“Poor girl?” Portia gasped.
“You know about her?” Bea asked sharply.
“Of course, I know about her. I found out when I was pregnant with Imogen.”
Rosalind remembered what her mother had said, about losing faith while she was pregnant with Imogen, and the pieces fell into place. As bad as she felt, she couldn’t imagine how it’d have been to find out your husband had a child with someone else while you were expecting. She passed the whiskey back to her mother.
“Shouldn’t you hate her?” Portia asked hesitantly.
“For what? Being the victim of circumstance?” Her mother shook her head, her grip tight on the bottle. “Reginald did that girl more of a disservice than he did you. He didn’t even give her the love of a family.”
The vehemence in their mother’s voice shocked them still.
Jacqueline lifted her chin. “That girl shouldn’t be punished because of your father’s faults. If anything, I should be blamed for not bringing her into the fold sooner.”
Portia gasped. “What?”
Their mother nodded. “It’s my fault that you’ve all grown apart the way you have. I encouraged you to leave, thinking that you’d be better off out of this prison. I was bitter with my lot in life, and I didn’t want any of you to fall into the same trap. So I made sure each of you had a way out.”
“A way out.” Bea’s gaze focused. “What do you mean?”
“Did you really think the complete scholarship to Oxford was typical?” their mother asked blandly. She turned to Rosalind. “I asked Vivienne to write you a letter of recommendation to your design school, and I partly funded the scholarship as well.”
Bea shook her head. “You have no money, Mother.”
“I’ve squirreled away a little here and there, and I sold some jewelry. My own jewelry,” she said as Portia began to swell up. She took her third daughter’s hand and softly said, “I was ever so disappointed when you didn’t take the scholarship to Oxford. I could have killed your father for convincing you to stay here instead of going to study history, which you so dearly loved.”
Portia blinked owlishly. “That was you, too?”
“You deserved better than being Reginald’s minion.” She looked at them all. “I tried to help all of you. Imogen and Titania, too. Even Summer. I deposited the money she needed to go to law school.”
“Mother.” Viola took her left hand. “That’s …”
“Mad,” Bea completed for her. “But impressive.”
Jacqueline nodded. “And since you’re all feeling kindly toward me, I should tell you now that I have Reginald’s will.”
Chapter Thirty-one
Rosalind gaped at her mother, sure she’d just stepped into an alternative reality. She had the will? This whole time, while they were supposed to be looking for it?
Bea was the one who broke the silence. “Mother, I swore I just heard you say you have the will.”
“The will you asked Bea and me to find,” Rosalind added because it had to be pointed out.
Their mother took a swig of the rye and handed it to Viola when she held her hand out for it. Jacqueline lifted her head and nodded. “I had the will the whole time. Reginald’s copy. Barrows still has the original.”
They all started talking at once—loudly—except for Rosalind who studied her mother, wondering if they shouldn’t have been more worried about her sanity, because the only reason to have them search for something she had in her possession was madness.
Fran walked into the room, frowning. “What’s this? A quorum? Can anyone join?”
“You may want to run, Fran,” Viola said, slurring a little. She took another sip. “You probably don’t want to be here when it gets ugly.”
Fran looked at Jacqueline. “You told them?”
Their mother nodded. “It was past time, don’t you think?”
Rosalind held her hands up. “Wait a minute. You knew that Mum had the will she wanted us to find, Fran?”
“Don’t blame Lady Jacs.” Their old nanny came and joined the circle, sitting on the edge of the couch instead of the floor. “I was the one who pushed her to do it.”
Suddenly all the whispering and the nightcaps made more sense. Rosalind stared at them, not sure whether she should be horribly upset by their ruse or deeply impressed.
Shaking her head, Portia said, “Why? I don’t understand.”
“It was time to mend the rift in the family, wasn’t it?” Fran shared a look with her employer before facing the rest of them. “I won’t speak ill of the dead, so I won’t say what a blighter Reginald Summerhill was in life, but with him gone there was a chance for all of us to be a family.”