they won't need no lie detector, all they'll have to do is make me look into my mother's eyes

[spirit_of_vitriol]

The first weeks of class had been a whirlwind--new classes, old friends, the struggle of putting aside the summer's idleness--but Flavia had been grateful. It provided a welcome distraction, after all, from the dilemma she'd been feeling since she'd arrived at Feely's door to see the piano from Buckshaw in her living room.

Feely believed, and continued to believe, it was the only object from home in the entire city. Flavia knew that wasn't true. It hadn't even been true the very day Feely arrived.

It was why she'd returned to the art museum, to the bench still situated just in front of Vanetta Harewood's mysterious portrait, looking at each of the painted figures in turn. The tow-headed girl toting a book of fairy tales, so obviously Daphne; the swaddled infant, Flavia herself in a christening gown now surely boxed up in a closet somewhere in Buckshaw; standing to the right, a younger Ophelia, just as primly self-possessed as now, though still enough of a child to have been captured in oils, toying with a cat's cradle. Harriet, at the very center, looking over them all with bemusement and something Flavia dared to believe was love.

She should tell Feely. She should never tell Feely.

Flavia tapped out a message on her phone, jabbing her thumb down on the SEND button before she lost her nerve.

feely please come to the art museum
i'll be outside on the steps
it's important

Comments

[spirit_of_vitriol]

Hearing Feely laugh so unexpectedly shifts something loose in Flavia's chest, like she'd let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Shuffling a bit closer, she rests her head lightly against her sister's arm, looking up at the painting. "I probably was," she murmurs. "Some great discovery no one remembers me making, because nobody could understand baby talk."

[likeblueblazes]

Ophelia will certainly deny later that her hand doesn't move to rest on Flavia's shoulder when she leans against her; they're hidden away from the outside world for the time being, so who would notice? But for the moment, she feels her own tension ease from her, staring up at the portrait of her family with her youngest sister by her side. "Perhaps you'll crack the code on baby speak when you're a brilliant chemist." The words slip out of her; she doesn't mean to voice them aloud, but nor does she have the energy to recall them. For now, she's content to settle for the peace burgeoning between herself and Flavia.

[spirit_of_vitriol]

“Right after I’ve finished A Treatise Upon All Poisons,” Flavia promises. Realistically, she knows she ought to discount, to second-guess, the warm words coming from her sister; it’s been a long and trying afternoon for them both—Feely especially, and even de Luces are prone to sentimentality on rare occasions. More than likely, Feely will be back to hating her in the morning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this before,” she whispers, chancing the comment in the truce that seems to have formed for now between them.

[likeblueblazes]

"God help all of the governesses when that happens," Ophelia muses, though considering the age in which they live currently, she doubts that sort of profession remains. "Or nannies or whatever they're called these days."

She ought to be bitter that Flavia kept this from her; kept this secret the way she's held onto Harriet's appearance her whole life. But Ophelia finds herself too drained by the day, especially happening upon this painting. She might save her ire for another occasion, but for the moment, she settles for honesty, instead.

"I don't really have any ground to stand on, do I? With all of the stuff I've kept from you over the years," she says, her tone neutral. Part of her wishes she could be angry in this moment; the rest of her is basking in the brief peace they've found between them.

[spirit_of_vitriol]

“You really don’t,” Flavia says, surprised at the lack of rancor in both her voice and Ophelia’s. Another product, clearly, of the day’s happenings; one that would pass as soon as it had begun. “You and Daffy both.”

As she says the name of their missing middle sister, Flavia wishes she was here with them—even as she’s glad whatever forces operate Darrow have caused her to stay away. Daphne would’ve completed their trio, even as she formed the wedge that would push Flavia and Ophelia apart and back to the roles they’d played back home. Any other day, Flavia might’ve hated Daffy for it, but today, she almost pities her.

“I don’t even know how tall she was, or—or what she sounded like when she laughed."

[likeblueblazes]

Ophelia ought to bristle at her sister's response, even though she had been the one to admit it first and her sister was only confirming the truth to her admission. Yet here in the museum, before the portrait of their once whole family, she finds she doesn't have it in her to argue, or even turn up her nose in an exaggerated gesture of irritation. It's the sort of peace that never lasts; she knows that, just as suddenly as it's settled over her, it will vanish once again.

"Daffy," she says, letting out a low breath as she shakes her head, glancing up at the middle child of their family, she with the truly golden hair. She does feel an ache, not having Daphne among their numbers in Darrow. But then, with her absence, her relationship with Flavia has vastly improved. She wonders how long their fragile truce could last, if the last of the sisters were to show up. "You know, if she were here, neither of us would ever see her. She has so many books to catch up on."

"I remember her being tall," Ophelia admits. "But maybe I was just small. And I can't remember her laughter, either."

[spirit_of_vitriol]

"The library'd have to rename one of those alcoves with the big chairs by the window the Daphne de Luce Reading Nook, just because she'd stay there so long she got squatter's rights or something," Flavia agrees, laughing softly as she imagines Daffy imperiously requesting another stack of books or pot of tea from the librarians, before sinking yet again into her novel. If anyone could pull off a stunt like that, it'd be her sister.

As Feely speaks, Flavia looks at Harriet's painted figure, wishing somehow she could come alive again, even for a moment, to settle all the questions they'd never know the answers to.