Page 67 of Bloodlines and Birthright

“Aunt Letitia?” Matt prompted.

She looked up. “Yes, Matthew?”

“Are you all right?”

“Quite all right. India, I’d like to invite a friend over for afternoon tea tomorrow.”

“Of course, but you don’t need my permission,” India said.

“I want you to invite Beatrice and Charity, too. I’m not sure they’d come if I asked, but for you, they will.”

India blinked. “Is there a particular reason for this afternoon tea?”

“As Lord Farnsworth said, family is important. Although Charity is touched in the head, she is still my niece, and I ought to help her since she’ll never secure a husband. Her madness comes from Beatrice’s side, you know. We Glasses are quite normal.”

Willie wiped gravy from the corner of her mouth with her thumb. “Charity doesn’t just have a screw loose. She’s got a cruel streak.” Her gaze flicked to Cyclops then back to Miss Glass. “You don’t owe her any favors, Letty.”

“Even so, I will ask my friend, Miss Cripps-Brierly, to approve Charity’s application to the Hanover Square Society. She’s on the membership committee. As long as Charity behaves herself at afternoon tea, I’m sure Miss Cripps-Brierly will do me this favor. She’s quite a good friend, you know.”

“I’ve never heard you mention her,” Matt said.

“Really? I can’t think why. I talk about her all the time. Indeed, she was here only yesterday.” She frowned. “Perhaps it was the day before. So, Mr. Barratt, have you written any interesting articles for that newspaper you work for?”

While everyone else exchanged worried glances about Miss Glass’s mistakes and lapses of memory, Oscar told her about our final dinner in Rome. It didn’t seem to bother her that he’d not answered her question. She enjoyed his story of the miscommunication with the waiter who was offended when we’d called the restaurant noisy. Apparently he thought we’d said noioso, which meant boring in Italian.

“We were asked to leave shortly after that,” Oscar finished with a laugh.

The evening ended pleasantly, and I promised to return the following day to meet Matt to discuss potential locations for the library. Oscar and I left together, and shared a cab. He was quieter than usual, reflective. I wondered if he was thinking about Miss Wheeler and when he’d see her again, but his next words proved his mind had returned to the dinnertime conversation.

“I was just thinking. Not all families are related by blood.”

“Are you referring to adoptions?” I asked.

“Yes, and friends who become as close as brothers. Take us, for example. I’d much rather spend time with you than Isaac.”

I felt warmed by his kind words. I’d much rather spend time with him than almost anyone, too, but I didn’t say us much. He had a habit of misconstruing my meaning when I was simply being friendly.

“You mustn’t lose touch with him altogether, Oscar.”

“I won’t, for the sake of his children. I want them to grow up knowing me.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“My sister rarely speaks to him anymore, too. It’s a shame. Little Huon and the baby could benefit from the company of their cousins.” We passed a tea shop with a light on in the recessed doorway, even though it had closed hours ago. It was probably on to keep the vagrants away. “I wish some enterprising Italian migrant would open a coffee house in London like the one we frequented in Milan. I liked that place.”

“So did I, until the anarchist’s bomb went off,” I said.

“That reminds me. Do you really think you saw Rocco there? I know you said you recognized his shoe buckle, but he just doesn’t seem like the sort to be involved in causing anarchy. He seems more like the fellow he claims to be—a victim of De Angelis’s bullying, forced to spy on his lover or have his nature revealed to the Carabinieri.”

It was something I’d wondered about since we left Monteoro, and I still couldn’t decide if Rocco was afraid of De Angelis, or was in fact an important cog in the anarchist cell. There was one thing I knew for sure, however. I’d found Rocco compelling. Frighteningly so.

That was another thing I wouldn’t tell Oscar.

I arrived at number sixteen Park Street the following afternoon, just as an elderly woman was leaving. Instead of waiting for Bristow to close the door of her carriage, she slammed it shut herself. Bristow managed to contain his surprise to a blink and quickly stepped back onto the curb as the carriage lurched forward.

He invited me inside and directed me to the drawing room where Matt and India both sat along with Miss Glass, the dowager Lady Rycroft, and her daughter, Charity Glass. Charity was the only one who looked happy. Indeed, she sported an air of satisfaction, whereas the rest seemed rather dumbstruck.

Matt rallied when he saw me. “Good afternoon, Professor. Would you mind waiting for me in my study? I need a few moments with my aunts and niece.”