“Och, no. I’m Mona, the maid.” She leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Herself is still abed, too delicate to leave her room in such weather. Between you and me, she’s the constitution of a bear and will outlive us all.”
She closed the door behind me. “She told me not to offer refreshments, but ye look like ye could use a nice cup of tea. I’ll bring some in just a moment.” She jerked her head to the left. “Herself is right through that door. Give a knock first, or we’ll both be hearing about it.”
I watched Mona waddle away toward another door I assumed led to a kitchen, the tight black fabric stretched and shiny across her back. I wondered if she’d once worked for the Pratts and had stayed with Prunella not necessarily out of loyalty, but because she had no other options.
I took a quick assessment of the room around me, familiar only because of the furniture. It seemed bigger here, out of place in the tiny apartment, with china figurines and objects d’art cluttering the heavy dark wood of the oversized pieces. Small paths had been carved between three large sofas and various accent tables and bookcases to allow passage from one room to the next, giving the room the appearance of the ocean’s surface after the sinking of a large ship, the debris scattered haphazardly without thought of placement or usefulness.
It struck me as incredibly sad how this was all that remained of a once glamorous and privileged life, the beauty of all these things diminished by the peeling wallpaper and faded draperies of the drab apartment. My father had managed Prunella’s finances until his death, which must have precipitated her move across the river. A move she must have loathed, and probably still did. I almost turned away then, to let myself out of the door and into the rain-cleansed air.
“Mona? Who was that? I hope you’re not keeping the door open too long—I don’t want to catch a draft and be chilled.”
The voice hadn’t changed in all those years, the same imperious intonations, the perfect finishing-school accent. It reminded me of my father’s grimace as he told me that we had to visit Aunt Prunella again.
I’m a grown woman. A doctor no less, I reminded myself. I lifted my hand and knocked and, without waiting for a response, pushed the door open.
I didn’t see her at first. The small bedroom was the repository of an enormous mahogany four-poster bed and the largest armoire I’d ever seen. An oversized Victorian dresser and settee were crammed into the tiny room, making it easy to miss the diminutive woman propped up against overstuffed pillows in the bed. She was even smaller than I remembered, as if the passing years had pushed out pieces of stuffing.
“Aunt Prunella?”
She squinted at me. “Move closer so I can see you.”
I moved two steps closer to the bed.
“Closer. I don’t know why you insist on standing across the room.”
I bit back a smile, suspecting that vanity was the reason for her lack of eyeglasses. I moved so that my legs pressed against the side of the mattress.
She didn’t say anything for a while, her sharp blue eyes examining me closely, as a jeweler might examine various stones to determine their worthiness. Lifting her eyes to mine, she said, “Kate did you say? I remember you as a little girl, of course. You have the look of your mother. The same heart-shaped face with that pronounced widow’s peak.”
It was clear she hadn’t meant it as a compliment. “My father used to say that, too, although I wasn’t sure I agreed. My mother was a beautiful woman.”
“Was?”
I nodded. “She died a few years ago.”
If I thought she’d offer condolences, I would have been disappointed. I looked around for a chair, but the settee was across the room, so I remained standing where I was. “I’m afraid you and I lost contact after my father died. I was only recently made aware that you were still alive. As I explained in my letter, I’m a doctor at Stornaway Hospital, in the building I believe was the Pratt mansion where you once lived.”
Her lips pressed together so tightly that the blood leached from them, leaving them so pale that her mouth seemed to disappear altogether. “Yes. I lived there for a short time before my marriage.” Her words were cold and clipped, as if to say, And this is where I live now.
I forced myself to smile. “I believe I found a gown that once belonged to you. It was in the attic in an armoire. It’s exquisite, with tiny pink roses on it, and the tiniest waist. It has your name embroidered inside of it.”
Her face softened, allowing me to glimpse the beautiful young girl she must have once been, before the disappointments of her life had overshadowed the good parts. “I wore that gown to my engagement party. My photograph was in all the society pages for weeks afterward.” Her lips curved upward in a smile, her thoughts turned inward, making me wonder what it was like to live one’s life looking backward.
“I could return it to you, if you’d like to have it back. Although it has a terrible stain on the front. I think it might be wine.”