And look at her now, as genteel as you please in Helen’s expensive moss-green carriage dress, from her manner to her accent to her walk. It still felt like pretending, though, so why not use a pretend name too? Their switch would not fool any of their acquaintances, despite their matching chestnut-colored hair and blue eyes, but they had only to fool Ventnor’s men. Ma and Pa believed Helen to be Arabella’s guest, Arabella’s other guests knew neither of them from a jug of ale, and as for Thea… Well, no one gave a flying farthing about her whereabouts now.
No self-pity, she scolded herself. Not when she was about to put everything right, not only for Helen, but for herself too.
“We are doing very well,” Thea declared. “Ventnor’s men will never suspect we have swapped clothing, so they will not even notice you leave, let alone stop you from meeting and marrying Beau.”
Smiling, Helen leaned toward Thea, eyes wide. “They will not stop us,” she chanted.
“They cannot stop us,” Thea replied automatically, and together they chorused: “For nobody stops a Knight!”
Thea clapped once and laughed. Nobody stops a Knight, indeed! How often had she muttered the family chant to herself during the years of her exile? Whenever the loneliness became too much and grim thoughts crept in, she would draw on that family spirit. On the memories of Ma hugging her, or Pa fondly pinching her chin, as they reminded her that, together, the Knight family would succeed, and never again have to worry about the roof over their head.
“Do you remember when the Little Ones learned the Knight family chant?” Thea asked Helen now. “Jemima would bang her spoon, and Andy would howl.” Oh, how she missed those impish sweethearts. Her smile faltered. “I suppose they aren’t so little anymore.”
Helen touched her hand. “We still call them that,” she said gently. “They remember you, you know. They ask after you.”
“And what do Ma and Pa say to that? Good riddance to bad rubbish, I suppose.”
“No! They miss you, Thea. Every night, we dine with your empty place.”
And every night of Thea’s exile, she had dined alone. “Nurse and companion,” Mrs. Burton’s advertisement had stated, but it had turned out the old woman had no interest in Thea’s company. The other servants had deemed Thea too grand for them, what with her refined accent and manners, and in the three years she’d worked in that isolated house, she had made no friends. As for everyone she had known before, only Arabella and Helen ever wrote.
Thea turned away and traced the long, curved brim of Helen’s poke bonnet. Thea’s bonnet, now. She must not quarrel with Helen, not now, not when she had only a few minutes to enjoy her sister’s company, not when she loathed arguments, and yet—
“They should have believed me,” Thea said.
“But you are always making up stories, and remember you even said—”
“Exactly!” Thea whirled around. “They know I make silly jests, so they should have believed me when I said I spoke the truth. Instead, they chose to believe Percy Russell’s nasty lies. Now his life goes on as merrily as it always did, while I was cast out of home.”
“Pa offered you money.”
“I don’t want their money! I want them to believe me.”
Thea hated to disappoint her parents; all her life, she had tried her best to please them and contribute to the family’s success, but when Percy Russell came strutting along and sought Pa’s permission to court her, the arguments had begun.
“If you marry into the upper class, Thea, the whole family will be secure,” Ma had said. “Not just you, but Helen and the Little Ones too. Your Pa has made his fortune again, but he’s lost it before, and in this world, only those in the upper class can be sure of their position.”
But when Thea protested that she did not like Percy Russell, Ma only said, “Give him time. With time, he’ll grow on you.”
“Like fungus?” Thea had retorted.
Indeed. A toxic fungus that poisoned her whole life.
“Never mind,” Thea said now. “Soon, everyone will know the truth. I am going to put the world right,” she announced, with more confidence than she felt. After all, to put the world right, she must first convince the world that it was wrong. And if there was one thing the world hated, it was being told that it was wrong.
Helen narrowed her eyes. “Thea, what mischief are you up to now?”
Before Thea could reply, someone rapped at the door. Helen yanked the clerical hat down over her braided hair, and Thea hastily pulled on the poke bonnet. Its long, curved brim was designed to completely shield the wearer’s face from the sun—and, conveniently for their purposes, from any prying eyes. The effect was like blinders on a horse, and she had to rotate her entire body to see who entered.