Page 106 of The Heir
“You’re fat,” Mama told her. “You cannot be stuffing yourself.”
At first, Victoria was able to keep her anger suppressed and her spirits up. She told herself that all she had to do was endure. Jane was at work. She would soon have news. By the time they reached Ramsgate, Jane would haveproof. Then Victoria would be able to tell Mama what had really happened to Dr. Maton. It would be something that could finally be turned against Sir John. Something even Mama could not ignore.
But it was hard. She was so cold; she was permanently hungry; and she was continually exhausted by the noise, the faces, the carriages, the late nights and early mornings. By Sir John’s hearty cheer. By the way Mama swung from tearful concern and gratitude in public to stern admonishments in private.
“Mama, my head aches,” Victoria said.
“And whose fault is that? If you had not gone riding when you should not, you would not be feeling the effects.”
“Mama, I’m ill,” she said.
“Ah, now it comes. You told us yourself you would try this tactic. Perhaps you regret that particular bit of honesty now.”
The days blurred. Victoria could no longer remember which town she was in. Sometimes she could not remember to whom she was speaking. When Sir John came into her darkened room to lay the letter down in front of her, she blinked at it stupidly.
One morning she found herself sitting up, with the pen in her hand and no memory of how it got there. She threw it away as if it were a snake.
Then came the morning when she could not sit up at all.
Chapter 51
In the end, Jane decided to tell Liza what was happening.
First, oddly, because Liza might laugh at her. She thought that if Liza scorned her fears about what Ned had done, she might find herself less worried about him.
Second, because she had to do something to bring Liza back to herself. Liza drifted around their rooms like an aimless ghost. Jane had expected her sister to fall quickly back into the old routines, but most days she could barely bring herself to walk down to the breakfast room.
“Were you in love with him?” Jane asked.
“I thought I was,” said Liza. “But I think I was in love with the idea that I was leaving, and I’ve managed to break my own heart over it. Isn’t that ridiculous?”
“No,” said Jane. “Not a bit.”
But what decided the matter was that Jane desperately needed someone to talk to. The princess had been gone three weeks, and although Jane had gone to the post office every day, no letter had arrived. Victoria had been certain that between her and Lehzen, they would be able to smuggle something out, and by now, the postmistress, Mrs. Carey, was very used to looking for anything from Miss V. Kent. But nothing had come.
She’s just being watched, Jane told herself.She said it would be difficult.But that didn’t help.
So, Jane told Liza what was happening to her. She brought up a tray with tea and a full sugar bowl and thick slices of bread and butter. She closed the door to their sitting room, and when Liza had fixed her cup of tea, Jane told her all about Dr. Maton and the princess’s determination to find out what had happened. Told her about the circumlocutions that had allowed the princess to speak to Gerald Maton, the mysterious “pension,” and the discovery that the family had burned his papers.
Jane told her the true reason Ned had given Susan money, about the duel and its consequences, about how she feared that Dr. Maton had been blackmailing Ned and perhaps Father, as well.
“Well,” said Liza when she’d finally finished. “You’ve been having a busy time.”
Jane giggled but quickly stopped herself. The sound was far too close to hysterics. “And now I’ve been left behind specifically to talk to Mr. Rea, but I don’t know how to do that. I can’t just turn up at the palace and ask to see him, and I can’t invite him to tea.”
In fact, she’d hoped to avoid the whole affair by retrieving the letters from Dr. Maton and Mr. Rea from Father’s desk. Surely, she reasoned, there would be enough in those that she could put off talking with Mr. Rea until the princess returned. But it seemed Ned had realized she might come back, and had spirited them away entirely.
“But why not invite Mr. Rea to tea?” asked Liza. “Make it on Thursday, when Mother is out. I’ll be in the house, so it will be perfectly proper, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
It wasn’t. “What if Ned sees him?”
There it was—the light in her sister’s eyes, the easy, confident self that had been missing since she returned.
“Don’t you worry, Jane. If it comes to it, I’ll take care of Ned.”
* * *
It did not “come to it.” Jane invited Mr. Rea for one o’clock. By that time, Ned was out about his own business, whatever that might be. It was Liza who met Mr. Rea at the door and ushered him into the blue parlor. There Jane sat in the round-backed chair that was her post when presiding over Mother’s teapot on at-home days. She had the tray ready, with the second-best cups and a plate of Cook’s finest shortbread.
