The House of Beardsley

Chapter Forty-two

"I have one more question, if you don't mind."

This time it was from Eugene.

Eugene had styled his hair to one side again, and wore a crisp white shirt under a light charcoal waistcoat. He was the only one there with a smile, and even Rachel couldn't keep on her scowl when she saw him.

"What is it?"

"Why did you never want to reveal the fact that you had the will?"

She seemed stunned at the question, but when the focus returned to her, she become abrasive.

"Of course I'd not want anyone to know the infamous Lord Adam Beardsley who tore apart the heart of my closest friend sent me, of all people, his will! What would people think?" She was visibly flustered. "There was absolutely nothing between us, so what would everyone think if I told them of it? Even today I have no clue why it was me he sent that letter to."

"He did not hand it to you personally?" Tobias asked.

"No, it was mailed to me during the last stages of his tuberculosis. I couldn't find it in me to throw it out or give it to someone else, much less Judith."

"Then can you start by enlightening us on the curse of the Beardsleys as well as the origin of the rules of the house of Beardsley?" Silas asked. "R.M., my late Father wrote in his journals that you knew everything."

"Yes, and it's true." She looked at Beth with an expression I couldn't quite name before continuing.

"It's going to be a very harsh thing for such young ears to hear, are you sure you want to listen, Elizabeth, Elias? This is especially hard for you, Elizabeth."

"I will listen no matter what." For the first time since Rachel spoke to her, she looked right into her eyes. "I am no longer going to be left out of this family's affairs." Rachel nodded.

"Well, then." She cleared her throat before beginning.

"The Beardsleys were been known, and despised, for the generations of inbreeding they used to do when they were a much, much, richer noble family. In order to not let their daughters marry out of the family and any of their children get swindled by people coming for their fortunes, they tended to marry their cousins, and at some points, even half-sisters and half-brothers."

"What?" Beth gasped. "Just for money they'd do that? Noble families are horrible!"

None of us pointed out she was a noble herself.

"That's truly horrid," Eugene said. "I can see why we'd be hated by the townspeople of town so much, as well as why later on women were moved to another house."

"But then why did we continue to be hated?" Tobias asked.

"Because," Rachel said, stressing the word, "the Beardsleys still had a tendency, or a curse, one could say, for them to marry one another. The first case was that of first cousins Mary Beardsley and Edward Beardsley, and later half-siblings Jacob and Esther Beardsley. The most famous pair, though, would be your great-grandmother, Angela Beardsley, who was the only female Beardsley in the last Christmas Ball, the one from nearly a century ago. I remember what chaos she created: her cousins and half-brothers and adopted brothers all vied for her hand in marriage, and in the end she chose her adopted brother, and they eloped."

"No wonder the Christmas Balls stopped," Augustin mused.

"Yes. Since then all the daughters lived with their mother and took after their mother's surname." Rachel turned to Beth. "Do you see now why Judith and I had to raise you that way?"

Beth frowned, but she nodded slowly. "Yes, I do."

"The Beardsleys, from them on, grew up to stop falling in love to avoid more inward fighting. Their sons were also taught to simply marry for the purpose of producing an heir and keeping the title as well as House going. They didn't love their wives, much less see their daughters, and mistresses worked just as fine. What was the saddest thing, though, wasn't that the men of Beardsley had grown unable to fall in love." For a moment, something flashed in her eyes. Then she began speaking again. "It was worse for the ones who still fell in love. Like Daniel Beardsley."

"My Father?" Eugene's eyes were alert, suddenly no wearing that dark look.

"Yes." Rachel smiled a little. "Your father was a pioneer in three generations. He told your grandfather he would not marry the woman he was engaged to, but in fact a girl from a lower-class, and an artist's apprentice, at that. Your grandfather was enraged and disowned him, leaving Adam to be the next rightful heir. His other two adopted sons died before they came of age and debuted in society, too, so Adam grew up bearing the burden and the sadness of the Beardsley house."

"It certainly sounds like you know a lot," Silas said, trying to imply something. Rachel narrowed her eyes.

"It's simply what I heard. You children are too young to know what the Beardsley House was like back in the days. There were even newspaper articles about them in Germany, where I lived."

"And you cared enough about Father to return when his first wife died."

"What?" Beth stared at her, and we all followed. "You knew Adam Beardsley before mother married him?"

Rachel faltered, then gave Silas a glare before responding. "Yes, I knew him. That was all."

"I don't think that's all, R.M." Silas looked smug as he leaned closer, over the table and into thee face. "The journals mentioned a lot more. I thought you were a friend of Father's, but if you are a woman, that changes things."

"There was nothing between us." Rachel tried to stay composed, but her face was showing signs of wearing down, and she suddenly looked less young and more her age.

"Are you sure?"

Beth slammed the table and stood up.

"She said she's sure!"

Beth's temperament was truly a thing to be feared. Her eyes were fiery and her teeth bared like an animal's.

"You really are such a snake, Silas! And I thought you were charming once—now I realize how it all all but a facade!"

Silas frowned. "I don't understand, my sister. Why are you so mad?"

"Don't call me your sister!" she hissed, her features contorting like that day. "I've never hated the Beardsleys more than anyone!" Before we could see her cry, she turned away from us and sat down again.

Rachel looked at her, her expression frozen, but there was something, a pain radiating off her. Not only that, but now an air of gloom hung over the air.

"Then I suppose I may open the will and read it aloud, if there are no more objections," Rachel announced matter-of-factly.

She reached into the tiny black leather purse she carried and took out an envelope. It was still creamy and crisp like it was just sent yesterday. She opened the envelope carefully with a silver penknife, and then delicately slid out the fateful piece of paper. Then she unfolded it and began reading.