What remained to be seen was how the Whitcombes would respond once they knew who I was.
Chapter Twenty-Two
May we do our crackers now? Julia asked as soon as her father finished the prayer.
“Yes. You first, Julia.”
She reached for a paper party favor like the one each of us had by our china plates. The “cracker” was twisted at both ends, making it look like a large piece of wrapped candy. Julie held out one end to me. I never had seen a Christmas cracker before and had no idea what to do with it.
“You hold onto that end, silly,” Julia said. “Then I pull like this.”
With a loud snap and the scent of a snuffed match, the contents of Julia’s cracker spilled onto the table. She picked up a folded piece of bright green paper, opened it, and placed the jagged paper crown on her head.
“Do you want me to read your riddle for you, Juju?” Mark leaned across the table eagerly.
“I can read it,” she said.
“No you can’t.”
“Mark,” his father said firmly.
We waited as Julia picked up a little piece of paper that had popped out of the cracker. It looked like a slip of paper from a fortune cookie, only wider.
She studied the message with great concentration. From where I sat, I could tell she had the paper upside down.
Jutting out her chin, she announced, “It’s not very funny.”
Everyone laughed.
Julia picked up the final prize from her snapping party favor. It was a small compass about the size of a thumbnail. She turned it this way and that and looked bewildered as to what it was or what she should do with it. Not willing to admit her befuddle-ment, she said brightly, “I was hoping it would be a tiny pony.”
Everyone chuckled.
“Maybe I’ll trade you.” Mark took both ends of his cracker and gave it a good tug. Out of his cracker sprang a tiny top that landed on its point in the curve of his spoon and gave a “ta-da” spin before toppling over.
“Did you see that?”
“I’ll trade, Mark.” Julia quickly held out her compass. “But you should know I think this clock is broken because it keeps going wibbly-wobbly.”
Mark placed his paper crown on his head and diplomatically said, “Let’s see what everyone else gets first, Ju-ju. Do you want me to read your riddle now?”
She handed it over, and Mark read to us. “What’s black and white and read all over?”
“A newspaper.” I hadn’t heard that one for years.
“How did you know that?” Mark asked.
“I guess we have the same jokes in the US that you have here.”
“Do your cracker now,” Julia urged.
All the adults joined in, and a fabulous chorus of snaps around the table was followed by the rising scent of a snuffed match. To my surprise, everyone, including Margaret, placed the paper crowns on their heads. I played along and laughed as Andrew tried to read the small letters of his riddle without his reading glasses. He finally took Julia’s route and announced, “It wasn’t very funny.”
We all compared our plastic toys. Mine was a ring that had a large pink “diamond.” Julia was thrilled when I asked if I could trade her for her “watch.” I told her I wanted a new watch for Christmas anyhow.
Our merry group was looking as silly as we could in our paper crowns when Ellie reminded Edward that the turkey was “going cold.” He stood and began the grand carving of the Christmas turkey.
I looked down the table at Margaret. She appeared to be pleased with her son and his family. Everything felt idyllic. All that was missing was our own Tiny Tim and a rousing “God bless us, everyone!”
Katharine caught my eye and gave me one of her tranquil smiles. I held onto her calming expression all during the cozy meal.
We dined on turkey with dressing (or stuffing as the others called it), peas, and another surprising group favorite—steamed brussels sprouts. I found them to be as unexciting as the last time I had eaten them. But everyone else seemed to like them, including Julia.
The rest of the meal was delicious and the company delightful. I didn’t join the cheerful conversation. It was so magnificent that I just wanted to sit back and be an observer. Aside from tiptoeing down the stairs with Julia just that morning, I had not fully entered into a moment of make-believe in years. Here, at this table, on this day, with these people, I found it easy to let myself slip into believing this was where I belonged.
I was buttering my last bite of dinner roll when Ellie said, “I hope you can forgive our company manners. We’ve been so chatty that we’ve barely included you in the conversation, Miranda. I do apologize. Please tell us about yourself. What part of the States are you from?”
“I live in San Francisco.”
“My grandmother has been to San Francisco, haven’t you, Grandmother?” Mark said.
“Regrettably, Mark, I have not been to San Francisco. I have been to California, but I visited Los Angeles, not San Francisco.”
“Have you always lived in California?” Ellie asked.
“Most of my life.”
“You weren’t born in California, then?” No.
“Where were you born?” Mark seemed to like picking up his mother’s lead and taking an adult part in the conversation.
“I was born in Michigan. But I wasn’t there very long before we went to California.” It felt odd inching into the topic of who I was and where I came from. Part of me wanted to blurt out the facts and be done with it. But this was the gentle route, Katharine’s theory of “letting the moment come” to me. If this was going to be the truth-revealing conversation, then Margaret and her family deserved the gentle route.
Mark gave his plastic top a twirl again on his spoon. “Why did you go to California?”
“My mother had a job there.”
“What did your mother do?”
“She was… she was an actress.”
“My grandfather was an actress,” Julia said.
“Actor,” Mark corrected her.
“Actor,” Julia repeated.
“What about your father?” Mark asked.
I swallowed, not expecting the question to come so blatantly. But then Mark expanded his question, explaining the reason for his curiosity. “Was your father an actor, as well?”
The answer, of course, was “yes,” but I looked down at my hands and said, “I only lived with my mother.”
“Why?” Julia asked.
I turned to Katharine, desperate to read in her expression that this was it. That the moment had come to me.
Without pause Katharine said, “Children, would you like to be excused from the table now? I would very much like to see what Father Christmas brought for you.”
“Yes.” Andrew rubbed his hands together.
“Andrew, I was asking the children if they would like to be excused.”
“Right. I knew that. What do you say, Mark and Julia? Shall we go into the drawing room, and you can show us the presents Father Christmas brought you?”
“He brought me a tea set.” Julia’s eyes took on a sugarplum sparkle.
“How lovely.” Katharine’s expression made it clear that she was pleased with Julia’s enthusiasm over the gift.
“Mummy,” Mark said before pushing his chair back under the table, “what about the Christmas pudding?”
“I’ll serve it in the drawing room a little later, all right, darling?”
Everything in me tightened as I anticipated the direction our conversation would go now that Katharine and Andrew were removing the small ears from the room. I felt uncomfortably hesitant to be the first to speak. It seemed there was no way to make this moment easy.
Margaret picked up the conversation thread. “My husband grew up without a father, as well. Professor Whitcombe was a casualty of World War I. My mother-in-law did an admirable job raising the two boys. But James often spoke of how difficult it was, not having a father around.”
It touched m
e to know that my father had experienced his own measure of loss and heartache.
“I would imagine you experienced a few of the same challenges growing up without a father.”
I nodded, trying hard to hold my thoughts and emotions in check. I didn’t want to blow this. If now is the time for me to say something, then please, God, let me say the right thing.
“You said your mother was an actor.” Edward leaned back and folded his hands.
“Actress,” I corrected him, the way Mark had corrected Julia. I realized I had made the correction aloud instead of in my head, so I quickly explained, “She liked to be called an actress. Not an actor.”
Edward appeared amused. “I now understand your comment at the party last evening when I told you my father was an actor. That line of work lends itself to a unique sort of position for the offspring, does it not?”
His sympathetic response to our shared life experience simultaneously consoled me and made the truth more difficult to speak. I hoped Edward would remember this brief moment of camaraderie once the facts were revealed.
“Did your mother perform on stage or in film?” Margaret asked.
“Stage.”
I could feel my heart pounding.
“And is she still performing?”
“No, my mother passed away when I was eleven.”
“Oh, Miranda, that’s so sad. What a terrible shame.” Ellie pressed her hand over her heart. “I’m sorry to hear that. Have you any brothers or sisters?”
I glanced at Edward and pressed my lips together.
“Oh, no siblings, either,” Ellie concluded before I had a chance to speak. “That’s really sad. How tragic to lose your mother when you’re so young.”
Edward leaned forward and asked a final question the way people do when they want to offer the freedom to speak honorably of the departed.
“What was your mother’s name?”
This was it. I would not hop over the truth one more time.
I paused, drawing in a deep breath through my nostrils. The scent of bayberry from the candles made me nauseous. I knew that once I spoke her name, nothing in this room or in my life would be the same.
“My mother’s name was Eve. Eve Carson, the actress.”
The room went deathly still.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Margaret gripped the arms of her chair and stared at me without blinking. Her words came across the table like flat stones thrown into a still pond. Each word caused a ripple. Together they disrupted the entire ecosystem. “Eve Carson was your mother?”
I nodded, holding my trembling hands in my lap. I could hear Ellie exhaling the name “Eve,” but I didn’t dare look at her.
“Hold on there,” Edward said, rising taller in his seat. “Are you trying to imply that your mother is the ‘beguiling eve’ in the poem?”
My throat tightened. I nodded. With dry lips I at last spoke the words. “I have reason to believe that Sir James Whitcombe was my father.”
Edward pushed away from the table and stood up straight. Clasping his hands behind his back he said, “I am certain you are mistaken. And I must say this is not the sort of discussion I would have expected to take place in my home. Certainly not on Christmas and in the presence of my mother or my wife.” Edward’s scowl deepened. “I’m afraid I must ask you to leave, Miranda.”
Stunned, I started to rise. My foot caught on my purse strap. I remembered the picture and playbill and went for a last foray into the truth. “I’d really like to show you something before I go.”
Edward clenched his jaw.
“Edward?” Ellie compassionately tilted her head.
Eye contact with his wife eased Edward’s demeanor from blazing flames to slow-burning embers. Lowering into the chair he said, “What is it?”
I reached for the blue velvet pouch. Edward and Ellie seemed to recognize it as the purse that caused my panic when Julia brought it downstairs. Without an explanation, I handed the photograph to Edward.
The embers in his face were being fanned back into a flame. “Where did you get this?”
“From my mother’s things.”
He looked across the table at his mother and then back at me. “Why would your mother have this picture?”
“I think… ” I glanced at Margaret and then down at the velvet pouch. This was so difficult. In a small voice I said, “I think perhaps my mother took the photo from your father. From his wallet. Many years ago. In Michigan.”
“That proves nothing.”
I slid the playbill across to him. “I was born nine months after this performance.”
He glanced at the playbill and looked again at his mother. She stared across the table without blinking, her expression tightening into a pinch.
“Nothing here proves my father had any association with your mother. His name doesn’t even appear on the playbill. You wouldn’t have known about the ‘eve’ in the poem unless we had shown it to you—in confidence, I might add. I don’t know what kind of a scam you’re trying to pull on us, but I assure you, we will not fall for it. I believe you’ve had your opportunity to speak, and now I will once again ask you to leave.”
Before I had a chance to point out the mention of the Society of Grey Hall Community Theatre on the playbill, Margaret let out a weighted sigh. Her lips moved as if she were talking in her sleep. “The play was The Tempest. Your mother performed the role of Miranda.”
My heart did a flop. Margaret knew. She knew!
Edward checked the playbill and then stared at his mother. Ellie stared at me. Margaret wept silently. No one spoke.
I pushed back my chair and stood, ready to leave. Swallowing the tears that had puddled in my throat, I said, “Please understand. I did not come to England expecting anything like this to happen. My mother left only a few clues for me. The name of the studio on the back of the photo was what led me here. Yesterday, when I stumbled into the Tea Cosy… Well, it doesn’t matter. All I want to say is I didn’t plan any of this. You have all been very kind to me, and I want you to know that I never intended to hurt anyone. I’m sorry. I just… I just wanted to find my father.”
That’s when I broke down and cried.
“Miranda.” Edward’s voice carried the same gentle firmness that he used with his children. “Please sit down.”
As I sat down, I tried to breathe, but all I could smell was the bayberry-scented candles.
“I can see how… ” Edward took off his glasses and placed them beside his paper crown. The defeated prince sat with his hand covering his mouth, leaving his sentence unfinished.
Margaret produced a handkerchief from the cuff of her sleeve and used the rosebud end to blot her tear-moistened cheeks. With a wavering voice she said, “Miranda, it is clear—”
“Mother, if you don’t mind, I would like to say something first.” Edward cleared his throat. “I believe we can all appreciate your situation, Miranda. Losing your mother at an early age and not knowing the identity of your father are significant life obstacles. However, you must know that we are not novices when it comes to accusations and assumptions about my father. As he used to say, ‘Such is the consequence of a touch of notoriety.’ I may have reacted a bit too strongly in requesting that you leave. My apologies. We have all enjoyed your company. However, I must say I did not expect such an allegation to come from you.”
“Edward.”
“Just a moment, Mother. I have one more thing I would like to say.”
He put on his glasses and looked more closely at me through the lower half. “The point is, you see, you have come to the wrong conclusion with, as you referred to them, the few clues your mother left you. I can guess at what you might have expected to gain from this, and yet I’m sure you can see how preposterous it is for you to expect any of us to—”
“No.” I blinked away my unstoppable tears. “You don’t understand. I don’t expect anything from you. I don’t even expect you to believe me.”
“Then why have
you brought all of this to the table?”
“I… I needed to find out the truth. And—”
“Well, the truth is that your mother may have had some slight association with my father and acquired the photo somehow. However, I’m afraid your search for your biological father cannot be resolved here.”
“Edward,” his mother said, her voice unnervingly calm, “I have something I must tell you.”
I watched her words snuff out the fire from my half brother’s face.
Margaret squared her shoulders and spoke in a resolute voice. “Edward, do you remember the summer you were twelve, when I took you and Marion to my parents’ summer home?”
“Of course.”
“That was the first time either of you had been with me to Sweden. Both of you kept asking when your father would arrive, and I told you he was working. What I didn’t tell you, and never told either of you, was that your father and I were legally separated at the time. He had received an invitation from his colleague, Charles Roth—”
“Prospero,” I said under my breath.
“Yes, Prospero.” Margaret glanced at me and then returned her steady gaze to Edward. “Charles was cast for the role of Prospero. He had some sort of serious back injury a week or so before the play opened. That’s when he phoned your father.”
Edward looked down at the playbill. I knew he would see Charles Roth’s name next to the role of Prospero.
“The playbills were already printed, you see, before your father decided to go to Michigan and take the part. All his life he spoke of that production as his favorite and his performance as his best ever. His only regret, he said, was that you children and I weren’t there with him to see it.”
Edward rubbed the back of his neck, slowly dissolving under his mother’s confession.
“When your father returned to England that fall, we worked out our differences. Your father had been told that I was seeing someone while he was away. It was a lie. There was never anyone for me but James.”
Margaret sighed and continued. “Many years later, perhaps you remember, your father had a bit of trouble with his heart.”