Her eyes snapped, her eyes hard as they regarded me. “Yes. It’s wine. A stupid and clumsy maid spilled it on me. Ruined it completely.”
Eager to change the subject, I said, “I found some sketches of Harry’s, too. Your brother was quite talented.”
She gave a quick shake of her head, as if she’d just tasted something bitter. “He was a hobbyist, nothing more. But he somehow got it into his head that he wanted to be an artist. Father set him straight, of course. Pratts did not become artists. It just wasn’t done.”
I shifted on my feet, uncomfortable to be standing next to her bed and having this conversation. She made no offer to find a chair for me, and I was not going to sit on the side of the bed. It seemed as if we were waiting the other out.
I cleared my throat. “I understand that Harry disappeared around the same time as your marriage. Did you ever find out what happened to him?”
She turned toward the window, the dim light reflected in her eyes. “No. He simply . . . left. Never even said good-bye.” She paused. “I would have liked to see him again, I think.” It might have been a trick of the light, but her eyes appeared to mist, becoming twin pools of shallow blue water. “I did something awful, and I would have liked to tell him how sorry I was. As if that could have changed anything.” She paused for a moment before turning her pale eyes on me again, blinking as if suddenly realizing that she had spoken aloud, that she had finally acknowledged her wrongdoing. “You will find, Kate, as I have, that sooner or later everyone leaves you until you are left quite alone with only disappointment and regrets for company.”
Mona entered the room, bustling about quickly, as if to deflect her mistress’s icy stare. She placed a tray across Prunella’s lap and began pouring tea from a silver pot into two mismatched Spode china cups.
“I thought ye might be parched, Miss Prunella,” Mona said as she dropped two large teaspoons of sugar and a healthy dribble of cream into a cup and handed it to Prunella. The older woman took it grudgingly and began sipping.
The windows of the room were shut, no doubt to block nuisance noises such as children and traffic as well as the inevitable dirt and dust. But it also made the air stale and stifling, and I found I was indeed in need of refreshment. Mona poured a cup for me and I took it, holding up my hand when she offered cream and sugar. Prunella seemed almost relieved, as if she budgeted her cream and sugar. But not, apparently, her stationery.
I blew on my tea, wondering why I’d come. I’d already known she was related to Harry Pratt, but what else had I hoped to learn? Knowing what had happened to Harry wouldn’t have solved the mystery of the miniature or the ruby necklace. They were simply unrelated elements, connected only by my own curiosity. And Cooper’s. So why was I there? Maybe I’d come with the hope that once Prunella knew I was alive, we would make a connection based on our mutual loneliness. The war had taught me to treasure life and all the things that connected us as human beings. Prunella and I had no family except for each other.
My gaze panned over the cluttered room as I sipped, taking in the cosmetics on the dressing table and a crumbling bouquet of dried roses that listed languidly in a dome-shaped glass cover on a tall plant stand. Disappointment and regrets. I shivered despite the mugginess, and continued my perusal of the room. A low bookcase sat beneath one of the windows, where a large leather-bound volume was squeezed in between much smaller books. I paused with my cup held to my lips, remembering the book from my childhood visits. “Aunt Prunella, is that your scrapbook?”
She saw where I indicated and elicited a bored sigh. “Yes, it is. My mother clipped every article about me from my debutante ball through my wedding. I thought it was quite tiresome, but she insisted.” A spark lit her eyes, belying her ennui.
“May I see it?” I asked, already walking toward the bookcase.
“If you must. But do not take too long. I need my rest.”
I looked back and saw Mona rolling her eyes. After placing my cup and saucer on top of the bookcase, I slid the thick volume from its place and brought it back to the bed. Mona cleared the tea set before excusing herself for a moment. She returned with a kitchen stool that she placed next to Prunella as I settled the scrapbook against the older woman’s scrawny knees.