Page 26 of The Heir
“It seems, though, that you are well now?” Victoria pressed her hand.
Aunt Sophia glanced at her brother before answering. “A little prayer and reflection was what was needed,” she said. “That, and a dose of my brother’s good sense.”
Uncle Sussex chuckled. “I’m afraid good sense is not an attribute many would accuse me of possessing.”
“That is because they do not understand you as I do.”
They were smiling at each other, but the expression did not reach their eyes. Victoria watched them, aware of a tension in the air and also of a kind of silent communication.
“Aunt, why did you say Sir John’s story was impossible?” Victoria asked her. “That it could not really be a gardener out on the green?”
“Caprice,” answered her aunt promptly. “I admit it. I was bored, and some little imp got into my brain.” She shrugged. “Being old as I am is rather like being a young girl again. Sometimes one does things just to do them.”
Victoria regarded her aunt for a long moment. But Aunt Sophia was very practiced in the art of waiting and showed no impatience with the silence. If anyone seemed restless, it was Uncle Sussex.
And Lehzen. She wanted to leave this room now. Victoria swallowed. Something was wrong—with her aunt, with her uncle, with her governess.
And I cannot tell what it is.
“I am glad you are well, Aunt,” said Victoria out loud. “I will wish you good night.”
“Give me a kiss, Vickelchen.” Aunt Sophia used the cheerful nickname bestowed on Victoria by her German-speaking family.
Victoria bent and kissed her cheek. Aunt Sophia patted her shoulder. “Such a good girl, is she not, Sussex?” she said, as if she did not know she’d said the same thing just a moment ago.
Uncle Sussex beamed. “All I could wish in a daughter of mine.”
Of course, Uncle Sussex did have a daughter, somewhere. Did he ever see her? Or even write to her? What about his son?
“I’ll say good night, as well, sister.” Uncle Sussex kissed Aunt Sophia’s cheek, as well. “Come along, Victoria.” His waiting man picked up a lamp and opened the door so Uncle Sussex could shepherd Victoria and Lehzen back out into the dark.
“I trust you’ll forgive Sophia, Vickelchen,” said her uncle once the door was closed behind them. “She didn’t mean to cause trouble. She just . . . wandered a little far afield tonight.”
Victoria stood in front of him, in a circle of lamplight, in the middle of a palace filled with darkness and tried to understand him. This was a simple man, a sad man. That was the uncle she had always known. But now she glimpsed something more hidden behind his benign demeanor, and she could not comprehend it. She knew instinctively, however, that she did not like it.
“Uncle,” she said carefully, “if there was something I needed to know about Aunt Sophia or anything else, you would tell me, would you not? We are family.”
Uncle Sussex spread his hands. They were badly discolored with inks and dust. “What could I know, Victoria? I am a doddering old fool, sequestered away from the world with his clocks and his books.” He smiled again, as kind as ever, but his eyes remained distant.
Victoria felt her heart break.
“Well, good night, Uncle.”
“Good night, my girl.” He gave her a furtive smile and turned away, then strode quickly through the long line of doorways, following his waiting gentleman and the lamplight.
Victoria said nothing as she brushed past Lehzen, heading in the opposite direction, back down to her own rooms. Back through the shadows that would wrap her up and hide her from prying eyes.
Lehzen followed, holding the lamp up high.
“I don’t believe her,” said Victoria. Her words sounded dull and harsh in the empty rooms. The doorways seemed to make an endless tunnel from nowhere to nowhere. “But why would Aunt Sophia lie? Especially when she made such a scene, telling Sir John it could not possibly have been a gardener I saw.”
Lehzen was silent. She walked stiffly to keep the lamplight steady.
“She knows something,” insisted Victoria. “She said something to my uncle.”
Silence. Silence and footfalls and the hiss of the lamp burning and the soft scratching in the walls.
“How can we find out what it was? What can we do?”
