The Edges of Grace

Chapter Four

Mason 

I narrow my eyes at my sister, who I feel like I've never met before. Her hair is, as usual, uncombed down her backs. That should reassure that she wouldn't do something utterly dreadful, that she's returning to herself-- that maybe Edmund's letter for her has reached her. But her eyes on Felicity; like they were trying to claw out a weakness and rip her to shreds. 

I follow her to the adjacent sitting room, the sunlight a shade of palest blue as it filters in through the curtains she'd picked. She calls it The Bluebell Room; or she used to. When she was but a girl of twelve. I cannot be certain if the Mileva of present likes colours or not; even today she's worn a dispired, unnecessarily formal grey thing. I am astonishingly uninformed about ladies' fashion, but I'm certain there are better-- and brighter-- ways to dress for midwinter.

She shuts the door with suprising vehemence, startling me. All my bravado melts as I realise; she's still my elder sister.

"I see you're fraternizing with her," she says, her voice frosty.

"I see you're not."

Her mouth twists petulantly into a frown, and with her eyes on the ground, she tells me, "This shall not do. I did not disclose the following to you earlier out of sensitivity for your sentiments-- but I didn't know you'd betray your blood back then."

Feeling a disbeiliving laughter at the back of my throat, I say, "Betray my blood? You're being childish, sister Mileva! Would you say mother betrayed us?"

Her face goes white with blank shock, and then tightly she says, "It is not for me to speak of mother. We had not the slightest clue Mansfield was to be in someone else's name...and nor did she that she's the heiress to an estate grander than anything she's ever been in."

Her lips twisting cruelly, she adds, "Besides, you are but a child. You don't know the ways blood matters. She is, but an orphan. She could be the dispose-off of a maid. Of a carriage-driver. Of a servant. Of anyone. Do not try to claim one who her very parents thought it prudent to leave."

Cold shock sluices into my heart at her words. How can this be my sister? The prudent, sweet maiden who spends entire days painting? The girl who memorizes Kafka? The girl who names trees in the estate? Greed for power has distorted you, I say to her inside my head.

"You forget," I say sharply, "That she merely lived in an orphanage. Her parents were mother's sister and brother-in-law. Or do you doubt that too?"

She says nothing, smoothly walks to the fireplace, and opens the small box of shells kept atop, along with other decorations. I watch in astonishment as she draws out a small scroll of paper, and walks back, a strange hardness in her eyes. 

"Mother meant it only for me," she says, "If the will was her secret for Felicity, this is for me. But perhaps, like that document too, this one must be made public."

Saying so, she hands it to me. I feel my heart drumming in my ears. I cannot believe it; everyone keeps secrets from me. Everyone has a hidden intent. How many more are there to uncover?

Unrolling it, I read:

Mileva,

Find the Ace of Hearts, core of a Ruby. In it lies your truth; and your inheritance.

Forgive me if you can,

Mother

I stare at the paper, numbly rubbing it against my fingers. "This is a lie," I tell her, "You've written this yourself so that I get lost in this instead of helping cousin Felicity settle well." But even as I accuse her, I feel my blood lose its warmth because I recognise the shade of ink-- the one kept in the inkwell in mother's old room. Her hand; the way she arches the 'a's and the thinness of her 'h's. 

"I shall let slide your hotheaded accusation, hurtful as it is," she says coolly, wearing her invisible armour, which won't even let me through to her heart, "Dearest brother, now you tell me. Without knowing the whole truth, are you going to palm our entire lives to a girl who knows her truth no more than we do? Or would you, embracing duty and honour, help your sister find this last gift from mother, and set our affairs in order with accordance to truth?"

I feel a strange sweat building up slowly on my upper-lips. I feel dizzy with anger- towards both mother and sister. Mother could leave her a note. Could leave Felicity our entire estate. And me? Did she never think of me? You're being selfish, I attempt to cool myself, There is a mystery here. An excitement. 

So why do I feel guilt gnawing at me? Is it because I know I would rather not strip off Felicity off her rightful share? Though why do I call it rightful? How do I know if it is?

You won't unless you help Mileva, returns the voice inside my head.

"Felicity shall not be mistreated," I tell Mileva, standing straighter, "Until this document mother has denoted is found, she shall remain, by all legal standards, the mistress of Mansfield. However, dear sister, I shall not neglect my duty. I shall crack the riddle, find what mother left for you, and have the truth."

"You're becoming wiser," she says, but beneath her voice, I can sense annoyance that I made clauses of my own, "But there's always a little more wisdom to be had."

"But there's always a little more heart to have than that," I retort in a rush, and walk out.

I'm glad to find that I don't collide face-to-face with Felicity; for all her philosophy, she's prudent enough to not stand by a door. She springs up from the couch, curiosity written all over her face. I check my sudden desire to run my fingers across it, wiping away questions and worry lines. A gentleman controls himself at all times, I tell myself, and forcing a nod, sit down.

No sooner have I assured Felicity that there's nothing wrong, Mileva enters the room again, pleased at our discomfort with her. "Some tea would be lovely," she says, "Let me call that blessed housekeeper. A cup of Earl Grey is what this winter sunshine needs."

I get up from the couch, and as per my usual, get into the kitchen, calling back, "Don't bother her, she's dusting the Guest Wing. I think Edmund wrote to you?" I turn back to risk a glance at her, and she instantly turns away, her face suddenly pink, "Yes, I know he insists upon The Winter Ball. He says he may come sooner to give us company."

I snort as I set the water on the boil. "Now that's his kind of jest, aren't you just grateful for him, Mileva? What an initiative, to ensure that we don't drive ourselves insanse in these gloomy halls."

"These grand halls you mean," she says, and rolling my eyes, I say, "Yes, whatever you say."

Bringing the tray of tea to the low table near the couch, I catch Felicity's expression and feel my chest lighten; she's beaming at the tea. Of me, many things might be doubtful, of them is not my skill to make tea. The sun has done her good; I see freckles fading back in, which may be completely back by summer. I could look forward to that. Her colour too, is a lot more pleasing.

"I didn't know gentlemen of noble families made tea," she says with innocence, drawing her a wrathful glance from my sister. "It's his silly way of extra-welcoming guests," she says coldly, and I feel myself cringe at her spite. "That's a lie," I tell Felicity, keeping my voice down, "Gardening and tea, I have a lot going for me." She grins at that, which makes up for my sister's temper.

"Are you suggesting I'm a liar--" she begins, interrupted by Miss Rosseta, who huffs and puffs as she rushes in.

"Oh-- Master, Milady," she curtsies hurriedly, "A thousand apologies; I would've prepared in advance if I had known-- Master Edmund is at the gates!"