Authors: Brenda Joyce
The Third Heiress (9 page)
The three men finally took their seats as the minister led the congregation in a final prayer. When it was over, he announced the location of the burial. Jill did not move as the guests began to rise. She was aware now of how hard her heart beat, of being absolutely exhausted, and terribly relieved that this ordeal was ended. She ducked her head, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone as they filed out, but especially not the Sheldons.
Several women cried out.
Jill leaped to her feet and turned in the direction of the cries, only to see Marisa lying on the floor of the aisle in a dead faint.
A scant second later, Alex and Thomas were there, kneeling beside her, attempting to revive her. Jill stared, watching as Thomas patted her cheeks. Alex stood, demanding smelling salts. Extending his hand over several guests, the minister, obviously well prepared, handed Alex a vial. Alex knelt beside Marisa again.
And a moment later Jill watched Thomas walking Marisa out of the church, his arm around her waist, the petite woman leaning heavily upon him. Alex followed, beside them.
Jill left the church, the last guest to do so, alone.
J
ill paused on a busy London street. She wasn’t sure where she was—she had been trying to find the British Library after walking about aimlessly for an hour or so, ever since the burial, not wanting to return to the Sheldon residence in Kensington Palace Gardens. It had crossed her mind that not only could she kill time in the library, she might be able to find something out about Kate Gallagher there.
ill paused on a busy London street. She wasn’t sure where she was—she had been trying to find the British Library after walking about aimlessly for an hour or so, ever since the burial, not wanting to return to the Sheldon residence in Kensington Palace Gardens. It had crossed her mind that not only could she kill time in the library, she might be able to find something out about Kate Gallagher there.
Jill had bought a map from a street vendor, and now she opened it, trying to get her bearings. It was hard to concentrate. Not only had Alex and Thomas rushed to Marisa, helping to revive her in the church, but Thomas had then escorted her into the family’s limousine, driving Marisa to the cemetery with all of the Sheldons. She, Jill, had arrived at the cemetery the exact same way she had arrived at the church. She had been chauffeured alone in a tan Mercedes sedan.
She supposed she should be grateful that the family had not left her to her own devices. But she was not grateful, not at all.
Clearly Marisa was a part of the family. Jill was very disturbed, and
Marisa’s behavior was also very distressing. Obviously she had loved Hal. Meanwhile, the message she had received from Thomas had been both clear and deliberate. She, Jill, was the outsider—and she always would be. The only thing Jill was not sure of was whether Thomas wanted to hurt her purposefully or not.
Marisa’s behavior was also very distressing. Obviously she had loved Hal. Meanwhile, the message she had received from Thomas had been both clear and deliberate. She, Jill, was the outsider—and she always would be. The only thing Jill was not sure of was whether Thomas wanted to hurt her purposefully or not.
It had been one of the worst days of her life, and Jill stared at the map, a huge headache throbbing in her forehead. As it turned out, she was only four or five blocks away from the British Library. She sighed and tucked the map in her tote and started along Upper Woburn Place. She knew she was on a wild goose chase but she did not care. She could hardly think straight, her feelings were a jumbled, confused mess, and she was determined not to return to the Sheldons’ until everybody was sound asleep. Thank God tomorrow she was going home.
Jill finally saw the library, a huge modern building, on the corner just ahead. Her steps slowed, Kate’s image coming strongly to her mind, as pedestrians hurried to and fro around her. Jill hardly ever entered libraries. As a student, she’d never been able to find anything inside a library; clearly she had failed Library 101 or whatever the course had been. She stared up at the imposing and, to her eyes, quite ugly futuristic facade of the library, then decided to hell with it. She was already there—she would give it a try. Besides, weren’t librarians there to help amateurs like herself?
She shoved a hank of too long chestnut bangs out of her eyes as she crossed the wide space of the forecourt and entered the spacious, stonefloored foyer of the building. It was astoundingly quiet. Jill approached an information booth and was told she could not use the library.
“You need a Reader’s Ticket, my dear,” the pleasant woman with the bluish hair said.
“A Reader’s Ticket?” Jill leaned on the counter. “I only want to use the reference room—I need to look up old newspaper articles, maybe society pages, and things like that,” she explained with some desperation.
“You still need a Reader’s Ticket to get in,” the woman explained with a friendly smile. Her name tag read Janet Broadwick and she was sixty if a day. “But we have wonderful exhibits that are open to the public,” she said.
“How do I get a Reader’s Ticket?” Jill asked, dismayed.
The official explained that she must submit the request in writing—and that it took four to six weeks to receive permission to use the library after that.
Jill stared almost blindly at her. “I can’t believe this,” she whispered.
Her headache increased in its intensity, becoming almost blinding. Her knees suddenly turned Jell-O-like, becoming weak and nearly useless. Jill grew frightened. She was afraid another blackout was coming on.
Her headache increased in its intensity, becoming almost blinding. Her knees suddenly turned Jell-O-like, becoming weak and nearly useless. Jill grew frightened. She was afraid another blackout was coming on.
“Dear?”
Jill shook her head. Tears filled her eyes. She began to shake and she knew she had better find a place to lie down before she collapsed, or worse. She had obviously pushed herself beyond her limits. Either that, or the funeral and the Sheldons had pushed her over the edge.
“Oh, dear!” the official cried in alarm, coming out from behind her desk. “Are you ill?” she asked, gripping Jill’s arm.
Jill gazed at her as her face came in and out of focus. “My boyfriend died,” she said unsteadily. “I just came from the funeral and I do not want to go back to his family—they blame me, you see. I was driving the car.”
“Oh, you poor dear,” Janet Broadwick said. “Come and do sit down.”
Jill didn’t protest as the woman led her into the back offices and to a chair. She closed her eyes and propped her chin in her hands, her elbows on her thighs. Her pulse finally slowed, becoming normal. “I found this photograph in his bedroom,” she found herself saying. And the next thing she knew, she was looking at this kind lady with the blue-white hair and she was telling her everything.
A few minutes later, Jill was sipping a hot cup of tea and nibbling a scone. And her rescuer, Janet Broadwick, was introducing her to the head librarian, one Katherine Curtis, a young woman clad in beige trousers and a gray cardigan.
Jill realized she was starving—for the first time in days. As she devoured the scone, Katherine asked her questions about Kate and Anne. “Let me see if I can help you,” she said, her expression stern but her eyes soft and blue behind the square black eyeglasses she wore.
Katherine left, her strides purposeful. Janet Broadwick patted Jill’s arm. “You are looking better, dear. You were turning green, I must say, a few minutes ago.”
“I’m hungry,” Jill said with surprise. “I can’t remember when I last ate.”
“Let me bring you a sandwich. In the interim, you stay here and rest. If anyone can find what you are looking for, it is Katherine. She is quite brilliant.” Janet smiled at her.
“Thank you,” Jill said, overcome by their kindness. This would never happen in New York. She watched her leave, thinking that the world was filled with such surprising moments, and she glanced around at the cubicles lining the hall. She then sank back in her chair, fatigue claiming her
body, wishing she had another scone and thinking that she could not get up right now if the entire library were on fire. And a moment later she was asleep.
body, wishing she had another scone and thinking that she could not get up right now if the entire library were on fire. And a moment later she was asleep.
“M
iss Gallagher. Are you asleep? I do think I have found what you are looking for.”
iss Gallagher. Are you asleep? I do think I have found what you are looking for.”
Jill jerked, realizing she had fallen asleep, and for one instant, she was terribly confused, because a young, attractive woman in oversized glasses whom she did not know was staring intently at her. She fought to focus, remembering then where she was and why, her exhausted mind so numb it wanted nothing more than to return to the welcoming embrace of sleep.
Suddenly Jill blinked, realizing what Katherine had said.
“Are you awake?” Katherine did not smile, her blue eyes behind her thick lenses very intent.
“Yes.” Jill brushed her bangs away from her face. “I fell asleep.”
“Yes, you did, and soundly, too. You needed it, obviously. I have been screening society pages for the year of 1906. You must see what I have found.” Still she did not smile, but her eyes were eager and bright.
Jill accepted the photocopied page.
“It’s from the
Herald,
” Katherine explained. “Here.” She pointed to a small paragraph in the middle of the page.
Herald,
” Katherine explained. “Here.” She pointed to a small paragraph in the middle of the page.
It was a few short lines, sandwiched between other equally terse paragraphs. “American heiress Kate Gallagher, newly arrived in London with her mother, Mrs. Peter Gallagher, from New York City, is the guest of Lord and Lady Jonathan Bensonhurst. Miss Gallagher will make her come-out at the Fairchild ball with Lady Anne Bensonhurst on Thursday, October the first.”
Jill trembled, wide awake now, and reread the few lines. She glanced at the date on the top of the page. It was dated September 6,1906. Her mind raced.
Kate was from New York City, as her own family was. A coincidence? She had just arrived in London with her mother. Jill’s head felt as if it were spinning. Kate’s father’s name was Peter. It was the exact same name as Jill’s own grandfather. How odd! That had to be another coincidence. Weren’t there too many coincidences now? And how did Hal fit into all of this?
Her thoughts raced. And as Jill stared at the page, the words and letters
blurred, becoming indistinct. Jill no longer comprehended the words in front of her eyes, instead, she saw the two girls, clearly, so vividly, it was as if she were there.
blurred, becoming indistinct. Jill no longer comprehended the words in front of her eyes, instead, she saw the two girls, clearly, so vividly, it was as if she were there.
Their heads were close together, the one as dark as night, the other brilliantly red. Anne and Kate were two best friends, and they laughed and giggled and gossiped, choosing fabrics and accessories for the gowns they would wear to their debut, planning their lives on that single night, filled with hopes and dreams for the oh-so-bright future.
And suddenly Jill was staring at the small black-and-white paragraph again. Good God. The vision had been brief, but it had been so strong, it was almost as if Jill had traveled back in time to another magical, incandescent era.
Something strange was happening to her. She felt, with every breath she took, that this was the most important moment in her life. It was more than the desire to have a family—that feeling had always been with Jill. She felt as if her entire life had been leading to this moment: to find out who Kate Gallagher was.
O
ne of the house’s many servants let Jill in when she finally returned from the library. It was almost eight, and the house was silent. If the Sheldons had had guests join them after the funeral, they were now all gone, and Jill suspected that every member of the family was in his or her bedroom. She was relieved.
ne of the house’s many servants let Jill in when she finally returned from the library. It was almost eight, and the house was silent. If the Sheldons had had guests join them after the funeral, they were now all gone, and Jill suspected that every member of the family was in his or her bedroom. She was relieved.
“Miss Gallagher, I was told to tell you that there will not be a supper tonight, but I can bring your meal to your room.” The butler, if that was what he was, spoke matter-of-factly.
“That would be wonderful,” Jill said, meaning it. She remained hungry, and she intended to eat and then dive right into bed. “What is your name?” She smiled at him.
“Jamieson. Is there anything I can get you now?” he asked dutifully.
“A bite to eat would be perfect. I’ll just go upstairs, thank you.” Jill watched him disappear down a corridor that undoubtedly led to the working part of the house. She was about to go upstairs, the better to avoid any member of the family, when she suddenly wished she had asked Jamieson for a glass of wine. Having helped herself to a drink last night, she did not hesitate.
The living room where she had first met the Sheldons was directly across the foyer from her, both wide doors were open, and it was lighted but empty. It was hard to believe that it had only been yesterday—a mere
twenty-four hours ago—that she had met Hal’s eccentric, aristocratic family.
twenty-four hours ago—that she had met Hal’s eccentric, aristocratic family.
It was even harder to believe that today he had been buried.
Swiftly, Jill crossed the foyer and entered the salon, moving directly to the bar cart. She could not think about the funeral now. It hurt too much. She quickly poured herself a scotch, this time with ice, taking a few sips. As the alcohol dimmed her grief and sorrow, she finally glanced around at her surroundings. Scotch, she decided, wasn’t half bad.
She had not really paid attention to any details before. The living room had a half-dozen different seating areas, a dozen fabulous Aubusson rugs, and every item of furniture was a period antique. Some of the occasional tables had marble tops, and most of the smaller chairs had gilded arms or legs. She halted. She stared again at the Matisse on one wall, then realized there was a Chagall print not far from it.
A huge landscape was on the adjacent wall. Jill did not recognize it at a glance, but had little doubt it was by a master. She walked over to it. It was a Corot.
Jill had already accepted the magnitude of the differences between her world and Hal’s. Again, grimly, she wondered, What
had
Hall been thinking? What if his family was right—and she had been a fling?
had
Hall been thinking? What if his family was right—and she had been a fling?
Jill refused to continue her thoughts. But, perhaps, coming to England had been a huge mistake. She was learning things, seeing things, she had no wish to be made aware of.
She thought about Marisa. Just who the hell was she to Hal?
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