“Stop!”
“—And she couldn’t stand that your own father wanted Hazel Dreyer more than her. Birdie’s mother was pregnant when she left this house! God, it was so obvious!” Jasper wiped the spittle from his mouth and swelled his chest. “You’re so blind. Even I saw that Hazel’s dresses were let out around the time she left. Holly is probably your sister, Allene. You never guessed, did you? Did you, Allene?”
Allene jumped out of her chair, eyes shot with red and hands shaking. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she screamed. She stormed to the bedroom door and opened it so violently it slammed against the wall on rebound. Two maids and the butler had come running to the upstairs hallway and stared at the three of them through the opened door. “Get out, Jasper,” Allene ordered him, her voice shaking and face furious with tears. “Get out, and don’t you dare come back.”
“Finally something we agree on!”
He stormed out. They heard him flying down the stairs and out into the hazy October day. Allene finally composed herself, wiping her face with a handkerchief. She dismissed the servants with a wave of her hand. Tears streaming down her face, she clicked the door shut and faced the invalid in her bed.
Allene whispered, “Oh God. Is it true? Is my father . . . Holly’s father?”
Birdie stared at her lap miserably. God. Her family was nothing but a tangle of shame, but now Allene could make it better. She had to.
“Yes. He is.” Her eyes lifted to meet Allene’s. But soon, her heartache transcended to hope. “Oh, Allene. I beg you. You will take care of her, won’t you? She’s family. Promise me you won’t hold it against her—she didn’t choose her mother and father. They’re not her sins. She deserves a better life than she has.”
“Of course she does. But what will Father think?” She looked at Birdie. “She is family. Of course I’ll help her. I will.”
Birdie deflated against the pillows. Relief filled her. She already felt light as a sunrise knowing Allene would try to help Holly. Now she could concentrate on other things. There were tasks yet unfulfilled.
“And the rest—it’s true, isn’t it?” Allene finally managed to say, without meeting Birdie’s eyes. “You are having an affair with my fiancé, aren’t you? He wasn’t just helping you with groceries, was he?”
Birdie wanted to crumple inside of herself and disavow the truth. But she would not lie. Not now.
“Yes.”
Allene’s face curdled into something ugly and petulant, morphing into a despair that Birdie recognized as her own mirrored reflection.
“Oh, Birdie.” Allene sat down limply. “Oh, Birdie,” she repeated. This was not the behavior of a girl who was angry about being cheated on. It was the face of a girl who’d been left behind. Allene touched her lips the way she had after the girls had kissed that night at the engagement party. It was true what Birdie had said all those weeks back. Allene didn’t know what she wanted, but she knew what it felt like to lose it. “How long has it been going on?”
Birdie took a deep breath. “It started the day after Florence died. When—”
“When I asked you to keep Andrew out of my hair and get more information from him, because I couldn’t be bothered.” She laughed without smiling. “You said he was just helping you out with groceries. And I was too stupid to see the truth.” She flopped her hands onto her lap. “So this is my doing. I put you two together in that motorcar, didn’t I?”
Birdie nodded.
“Do you love him?” Allene whispered.
Birdie dropped her head into her hands. “No. He helped take care of me and Holly. He made sure I wouldn’t get fired from the factory. He paid extra wages so I could spend more time with Holly and Mother.”
“The factory?” Allene said, confused.
“He owns part of Ansonia. Didn’t you know? He’s my boss. I didn’t have much of a choice, Allene.”
Allene was silent for a while. No, she couldn’t have known. Her expression grew murky, and she whispered, “Oh, Birdie. Did Andrew . . . did he force you to . . .”
“No,” Birdie admitted, before adding, “yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I never pushed him away. I never said no. But it didn’t matter, did it? Because I had no choice.” The flat tone of her voice underscored the fact that Andrew wasn’t a pleasure in her life. Her shoulders drooped like she could barely tolerate the weight of the air.
“But I could have helped you,” Allene said, trying not to pout. “Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because you never offered, and I was too proud. At least with Andrew, he . . . he needed me.”
Allene’s eyes went red with tears. Her faced aged a decade in seconds. She looked more like her mother than ever before—knowing all, wishing none of it were true. “I need you too, Birdie.”
Birdie frowned. “Allene, you need the idea of me. So does Jasper.”
Allene laughed, the laugh of someone giving up. “Is that what this feels like? Losing an idea?” She stared at Birdie. “I’d tell you that you mean more to me than that, Birdie Dreyer, but I’m not sure you would ever believe me. And what about Jasper?”
“Lord, no. Jasper will never love anyone more than himself, and I think we both know it. Only one day, he’ll find that’s a lonely business. And then what will he do?” Birdie laughed, then winced from the pain. She brought her hands to her face, gingerly touching her left jaw, which was swollen worse than the day before. “This hurts so much I’d take a gallon of laudanum if I didn’t need to be awake right now.”
“Then take it and go to sleep,” Allene urged. Of course, quieting Birdie’s suffering meant quieting Allene’s as well. But enough was enough. Her body was failing, and soon, more teeth would fall out, and Allene’s book of revelation needed to happen sooner rather than later. So when Allene reached for the glass bottle at the bedside, Birdie did not stay her hand.
She took the draught and shut her eyes. If she were to die now, it would be a relief. But she knew somehow she wasn’t that lucky. Not yet.
CHAPTER 26
Allene leaned against the closed door, beyond which Birdie was falling into a drugged slumber. If only Andrew had drawn a bead on any other girl. She wouldn’t have cared nearly so much. But Birdie was hers. She was tempted to crawl into bed with Birdie, to slip her hands around that waist again, nothing but the thin fabric of their nightgowns between them. But there was no point. Birdie never reached for Allene; her hands never crept upward on her bodice, under her bodice, under anything.
Birdie had never belonged to her. She never could. And now Allene had all but handed her over to Andrew. Andrew! Of all people.