“How do you know about that?”
“Your father told me.”
Miss Helen grew quiet. “It was the first time I felt a part of something. That I was a useful member of society.”
“What kind of work did you do?”
She managed a sad smile. “The Frick unit was in charge of refugees in more than seventy French towns. For each family, we’d take their histories, give them coal cards, explain how to find their lost relatives, help get them established. The face of one young woman was marred by dog bites. She said that when she and four others were rounded up to be sent to Germany for committing subversive acts, the French villagers came out to offer up a silent tribute. Angered, the Germans set their dogs on the five of them and laughed as they were mauled. She had been a beautiful woman—she showed me a photograph—and they’d butchered her. It still haunts me.”
Lillian’s regard for Miss Helen rose tenfold. She’d displayed a colossal courage in joining the war effort in Europe during that terrible time. Even the voyage across the Atlantic would have been dangerous, never knowing if a German submarine was headed your way.
“I did everything in my power to help everyone I could, but it took a toll,” said Miss Helen. “I became prone to fainting spells after days and nights of unending bombing. And the sirens, I’ll never forget that sound, like a pickaxe into one’s brain. After six months, I had to come home. But I assure you, the savagery committed by the Germans will not be forgotten, not by me in any case. I can’t walk these halls filled with portraits of countesses and duchesses who have not a blemish among them without remembering what was left of that poor girl.”
“That must be very difficult. But your father is quite proud of what you accomplished overseas.”
The invocation of Mr. Frick only increased Miss Helen’s agitation this time around. “If I let him down, I’ll feel terrible. Every time something like this happens, where I’m the focus of attention, I can’t help but feel how much better my older sister would have been in the same situation, if she’d lived.”
“Older sister?” echoed Lillian.
“Martha. By now, she’d be married and have children and I wouldn’t have to do this silly dance. It doesn’t come naturally to me, you know.” She placed a hand protectively on her jewelry box. “If I show you something, will you keep it a secret?”
“Of course.”
Miss Helen lifted the burl wood lid and pressed on something inside, which caused a hidden compartment near the base to slide open. A cameo lay on the red velvet interior. “This is Martha’s likeness. I was three when Martha died, just before her sixth birthday.”
Lillian leaned over her shoulder. The image of Martha on the cameo was the same as the girl on the checks and in the many portraits around the house. Miss Helen looked quite similar, but her forehead was squarer. So that was Martha dominating Mrs. Frick’s rooms and Mr. Frick’s checkbook, not Miss Helen. How horrible, to have the ghost of your dead sibling staring back at you wherever you turned. “She was lovely.”
“Martha was Father’s favorite,” said Miss Helen with an air of melancholy. “I will never measure up.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“It is, and I can prove it.” Miss Helen turned Martha’s cameo over and clicked it open. Inside sat a pink diamond the size of a large pebble, glittering in the lamplight with the most remarkable of colors, from the softest pastel to a shimmering rouge. “My father bought it for Martha to celebrate her birth. It’s known as the Magnolia diamond, and quite rare. When I was born, they didn’t bother with such extravagance.” She tucked the jewel back into the cameo, then laid it gently in the drawer of the jewelry box and closed it all up. “I’m not feeling well, can you tell my father I won’t be able to join?”
Sympathy and frustration warred within Lillian in equal measure. She knew what it was like to feel like you couldn’t please a parent, but Lillian needed Helen to not only attend but dazzle if Lillian was to meet her end of the bargain with Mr. Frick. Yet if she let her irritation show, Miss Helen would only feed off it. She took a deep breath.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
Miss Helen looked up at her, surprised at the sudden turn in conversation. “A secret?”
“Yes. I’m not one for crowds of people, either. Whenever I have a difficult time of it, I imagine that all the people around me are wearing absolutely nothing at all.”