Page 5 of One Last Smile

I sigh and shake these troublesome thoughts from my mind. I will have a good day today. I will enjoy a cup of coffee and a light breakfast, and I will spend the day exploring the beautiful grounds of the Carlton estate. If I can, I will endeavor to get to know Lucas better before I begin his instruction tomorrow. I will be an excellent tutor, and when he graduates, I will part from this family on good terms. Their infighting is of no concern to me, and whatever affliction Lucas suffers from that he imagines seeing a girl from a painting in his walls… well, I will do my best to relieve him of his fear, but at the end of it, I’m only hired to ensure he passes sixth form. It’s best if I don’t allow myself to get too close to my charge this time.

I head to the breakfast room, a smaller dining room with a large window that opens to the west garden, and I find Veronica there enjoying a cup of tea. It seems she is an early riser as well.

She sees me approach and practically hops to her feet. “Mary! How delightful to see you! Sit. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”

I’m about to protest that I prefer coffee in the morning, but she’s already on her way to the kitchen. I drink tea in the afternoon rather than the morning, but, as they say, when in Rome one must do as the Romans do.

She returns a moment later and sets a cup and saucer in front of me. She beams at me as she takes her own seat and asks, “Tell me, how do you like it here so far?”

I think it’s prudent that I not answer that question with perfect honesty, so I only say, “You have a lovely home, and Lucas seems a very bright child.”

“He is brilliant!” she replies, practically glowing at my compliment. “He takes the most after me.”

I doubt that. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Oliver is a carbon copy of his father. You’ll meet him tonight, by the way. He returns this afternoon, so he’ll be home in time for dinner. But that rakish attitude and rather… well, I don’t want to say lazy.”

And yet, the word leaves your mouth so easily. I sip my tea, hoping the caffeine will soften some of the sarcasm in my head.

“And Eliza… well, Eliza is special in her own way. She takes more after her grandmother, I feel. Sebastian’s mother, that is.” She chuckles. “My mother was a hard-drinking and harder-swearing sailor’s daughter who disowned me when I married for wealth.”

She laughs as though she’s just said something hilarious, then stands. “Shall we take that walk I promised you yesterday?”

I blink and look down at my barely touched cup of tea. I take one more sip—it’s really quite good—and set it on the table. “That sounds wonderful.”

The air is crisp despite the bright sunshine, and I find myself wishing I’d brought my coat when we step outside. Veronica has her arm in mine, and she leads me on like we’re childhood friends. She talks nonstop about the different flowers, trees, and shrubs represented by the various meadows, copses, and gardens present. She seems particularly proud of the “genuine Kentucky bluegrass” that forms the carpet of the expansive east meadow.

We walk through that meadow toward a fenced arboretum dominated by a large tree of curious shape in the center of the four-acre space surrounded by many different exotic species of shrubs and flowers.

“That’s a baobab tree,” she explains, gesturing toward the broad-trunked plant with its short crown of five-pointed leaves. “Sebastian had it shipped from Africa. He just loves Africa. We honeymooned there.”

“Oh, you went on safari?”

“Goodness no!” she says with a laugh. “Could you imagine me holding a gun?” She laughs again. “No, that was Sebastian’s thing. We simply took a vehicle tour of the grasslands and the forests.”

I decide it’s not worth my time explaining to her that what she’s described is a safari and that what her husband engages in is called a hunt.

“I just love plants,” she says. “When I was a girl, I would pretend that I was a fairy princess. I would run through the grounds at my father’s house, commanding the fairies to bring me the sweetest fruits and the most beautiful flowers! Their estate wasn’t so impressive as this, of course. Where did you grow up?”

She speaks with a manic intensity that belies a deeply anxious personality. I try not to psychoanalyze everyone I come across, but she radiates tension from every pore. I wonder what it is that makes her so nervous.

“I grew up in London as a young girl,” I reply. “My family moved to Boston when I was eleven.”

“Oh, how wonderful! Did you find the city exciting?”

I shrug. “I found it the same as any other city, I suppose. My sister loved it. She always said that things happened in the city. She didn’t think she could stand living somewhere quiet.”

Speaking about my sister reminds me of the portrait I found in the attic the night before. I feel a strange compulsion to learn what I can about that girl, whoever she might be. A quiet voice in the back of my mind warns me I should leave this be, but the memory of my sister laughing and dancing in the streets of Boston causes a fixation that will only dissipate once my curiosity is satisfied.

I find myself sympathizing very much with the unfortunate cat who allowed curiosity to overwhelm her.

“I was exploring the attic last night,” I begin.

“The attic?” She looks at me quizzically. “Whatever for?”

“Oh…” I redden, realizing only now how presumptuous it was of me. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been snooping.”

She laughs. “No need to apologize. My Lucas is curious much the same way. He just loves finding hidden things: hidden rooms, hidden spaces, hidden stories. He’s quite inquisitive. You two will get along famously.”

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