“I have not been cold to you,” said Jane, nettled. “You’ve been busy with teas and ordering the servants to twist bows and make cakes. I’ve had errands to run. There are things I can only get in the city and not—” But she stopped short of criticizing her new home.
“Not out in the sticks,” said Helen. “I understand our real trouble this week, don’t you worry. My simply divine new life will not come between us. You absolutely must give up that dreadful job and come live with us. Alistair is quite wealthy enough to feed another mouth, and I refuse to strand my sister in the remains of the war zone.”
“A touching invitation, if melodramatic.”
“Bother your sarcasm. You know what I mean. No one would think anything of it if you left that position.” Helen untied and retied the ribbon between her breasts. “Your Mr. Rochart is well known.”
“Is that so?” said Jane. She tamped down a surge of interest in the subject and calmly tucked a manufactured curl into the pearl comb.
“There is a mysterious air around him, that’s what I know,” said Helen. “Is it true he killed his first wife? Like the fey story of Bluebeard, you know, a forbidden locked room, and when the new wife enters it she finds all the dead wives hanging on the wall, and then”—she drew a finger across her throat with gruesome relish—“snick, she’s next.” Her eyes grew wide at her own imaginings. “Ooh, what if you’re in danger? Maybe you shouldn’t even go back to turn in your resignation. Stay here with me. They can ship your trunk.”
“His wife died in the Great War,” Jane cut in. “Fey bomb, I believe.”
“You believe. But you don’t know.”
“I’ve seen more of him than you, and I don’t believe he’s a Bluebeard for one instant,” said Jane. “If he were, he would’ve advertised for someone beautif”—a gesture with her hand cutting off the word—“someone not me. Besides, I’ve been there for a month. Surely he would’ve chopped me into bits by now.”
“Maybe he likes it to be a surprise when it happens,” said Helen thoughtfully. She cast around for more gossip. “Well, everyone knows his daughter has some sort of deficiency, so he keeps her locked up in the garret and no one ever sees her.”
“Untrue,” said Jane. “She can go nearly everywhere in the house.”
Helen pounced. “Nearly?”
“Well, not the studio, but that’s off limits to everybody. And not the western wing, but you see it’s damaged.…” Jane trailed off, annoyed by Helen’s raised eyebrows. “Well, tell me the rest of the lies.”
“Well, he had an affair with the Prime Minister’s wife, and that’s perfectly true and not lies at all, despite the fact that his cheeks are thin and he never pomades his hair. She met him at a dance last spring, and then she went down all the time to see him, and finally stayed down there for a month. And when she came back she was so refreshed and glowing, she looked ten years younger. The Prime Minister didn’t even have a clue, but everyone else was laughing and making cuckold horns behind his back. How’s that for facts?”
Jane was cold inside at the thought. “Facts?” she managed. “You haven’t produced one. There, now your hair’s done. Let’s put you in the dress.”
A knock on the door was followed by a maid backing in with a tea tray.
Helen jumped up. “It’s not time for my dress,” she said. “First there’s morning tea, and then there’s you to get dressed and brushed and curled, because like it or not, I intend for you to be stunning. Two sisters, each more ravishing than the next! Men dropping dead at their feet!” She staggered dramatically to Jane, sank to her knees, and laid her head in Jane’s lap. “Now come eat something.”
The tea was delectable—little cream-filled cakes, slices of crisp hothouse cucumbers, chocolates and sugared almonds piled in silver bowls. Helen replenished Jane’s plate faster than Jane could empty it. She cradled a warm cup of black tea and tried not to think of Mr. Rochart’s past affairs. Of course men had them. Eyeing her sister’s frothy nightclothes—of course people had them.
Helen caught Jane’s eye. “Are you still thinking about me living here? I was perfectly well chaperoned, I promise you. Everyone knows I have no family. Where was I supposed to live?”
“By yourself, in our flat,” said Jane. “I would’ve sent you money.” Most governesses lived with their families, of course. But Jane’s school had refused to let an ironskin board there with the pupils. Helen’s family had agreed to let her share a flat with her sister so Jane wouldn’t have to live alone. But they had insisted it be a nearby flat, and in that part of town it had taken both girls’ scanty salaries to barely cover the rent. Though Jane could be cross, she suspected that deep down Helen was grateful not to have to live with her charges. Helen was never the mothering type.