“This boy, this Talis. Do you not think he is handsome?”
“He is my brother. I cannot judge a brother as handsome or not. It is my duty to—”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Alida said, as always annoyed with her daughter’s lack of passion. She sat on a chair opposite her and took her hands in hers. “The night he was born I was in pain. You cannot yet know what the pain of childbirth is, but during it a woman sometimes does not know all that is going on.”
Edith had no idea what was going on now.
“The night the boy was born I was confined with another woman, a dark woman, with dark skin and hair and eyes.” She looked deep into her daughter’s eyes. “Eyes like the boy’s.”
It took Edith a long time to figure out what her mother was saying. “You think the children were switched?”
At that, Alida put her hand over Edith’s mouth and looked about the empty room as though for people hiding. “You cannot say such aloud. It is something that has worried me all these years. I was too much in pain to see what baby I was delivered of. That dark girl’s child was born at the same moment. It was all so confusing.”
“But that would mean…,” Edith whispered.
Alida leaned toward her daughter and also whispered. “Yes, that would mean that Talis is not your brother. It would mean that Callasandra is your sister. She does look a bit like she could be one of my daughters, does she not?”
“Dorothy said she did, but I—” Edith decided it was better not to tell her mother how she had ridiculed her sister for saying such a stupid thing.
“Oh, Edith, what am I going to do? You can see how your father worships that boy. How could I go to him and tell him that I think there is a possibility Talis might not be his son, that he has only one more daughter, this one even less satisfactory than the others?” For a moment she buried her face in her hands. “And I have no one on earth I can truly trust with this knowledge.”
“You may trust me, Mother,” Edith said softly, feeling more privileged than she ever had before in her life.
“Can I, Edith? Can I truly trust you?” Before her daughter could answer, Alida said, “I hope I can because I have been told of a widower who is looking for a wife. He is thirty years old and has two young sons, such sweet boys who desperately need a mother. And I have been told that his wife was a pig of a housewife, so the man would be grateful for a wife who could keep his estates in order and tend to his children.”
Edith squeezed her mother’s hands so hard she hurt her. “I will do anything for you, Mother. Anything at all.”
“What a ver
y good daughter you are. Now, shall we discuss some arrangements? I think this boy, this Talis, should be given a few lessons. In dancing, and manners, playing a lute, courtly etiquette for a woman, that sort of thing. Do you think Joanna and Dorothy would like to help him with these lessons?”
Edith had to control herself to keep from laughing aloud. Each of her sisters would sell her soul to so much as touch the beautiful Talis. She wondered if Joanna’s heart could stand it if he lifted her onto a horse. “Yes, I think I can persuade them to help. Although they are very busy.” She didn’t want to sound too eager, lest her mother think her daughters did nothing useful.
“Yes, I am sure they are,” Alida said, knowing that there was not a square inch of fabric within the county that had not been embroidered by her “busy” daughters.
“And, Edith,” Alida said innocently, “do you think Callasandra should be allowed to spend so much time near the boy? Do you not think you could find enough tasks to keep her occupied? Perhaps she could manage a garden somewhere, since that is her background.” Her head came up as though she’d just had an idea. “Father Keris needs help caring for the medicine herbs.”
At this Edith caught her breath. The medicine garden was full of poisonous herbs: wolfsbane, belladonna, hemlock, foxglove, all the herbs used to produce sleep and alleviate pain, or, if improperly used, to kill. They were grown in a separate garden so they wouldn’t be confused with the kitchen herbs. The Poison Garden—as it was called—was on the top of a hill about a mile from the house in a place where no one else went.
Of a sudden, there were a thousand questions that ran through Edith’s orderly mind. “If Callie is our sister, should she be sent to the Poison Garden? It is very lonely there; something dreadful could happen to her; it is not a job for a lady. And if the world thinks Talis is our brother, how will it look to have my sisters tittering at his touch, as I know they will? And if—?”
“Edith,” her mother said sternly, “I am treating you, not as a child, but as the adult you are, and I am trusting you with this great secret. I leave it to you to keep my secret, to honor my trust. And I leave it to you to follow your own judgment as to what you do or do not do. I would never ask you to do something that you feel is against your morals.” She leaned forward. “But whatever you do, you must never hint to your father or your sisters that you think there is some doubt as to the paternity of that boy. Do you understand?”
When Edith hesitated, Alida smiled and said, “The widower’s name is Alan. He is taller than your father and very handsome. He will not go long without a wife. I must soon travel to the home of Gilbert Rasher. Perhaps I can stop there and tell him of what a good, faithful, dutiful, obedient daughter you are. Of how useful you are and how you help me when I most need you, that you are trustworthy to the ultimate degree.”
She stroked Edith’s cheek. “And I will tell him how very pretty you are. By the time I stop talking I will have his name on a marriage contract. I am sure of it.” She gave a little laugh. “Think of it, Edith, by this time next year, you could be heavy with your own child. Would you like that?”
Her mother’s words took Edith’s breath away, and for a moment her hands trembled at the thought. Her own house to manage! Her own husband, her own child. “I will keep the secret. I will see that this boy receives lessons and…” She could not call the girl by her name or she’d remember that the girl was probably her sister. “I will see that she manages the Poison Garden.”
“Ah, good,” Alida said and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I am glad we agree. You may go now,” she said abruptly. She was finished with Edith for now; she’d got what she wanted from her: blind obedience.
Later, when Alida was alone with Penella, who had been eating steadily for four days now, she said, “Remind me to look for a husband for Edith. Although it will be difficult to find one for her. She is as dried up as a two-year-old apple.”
“Mmmmm,” was all Penella said, her mouth too full to speak.
29
You are indeed handsome,” Alida said to Talis, looking up at him. She had taken extra care with her dress this morning, knowing that she was going to see this boy privately for the first time since he’d come to Hadley Hall. For just a moment, she had a feeling of envy that that tiny dark girl could have produced a beautiful boy like this when her own sons were so delicate and frail. And how did Gilbert Rasher father such as him?