December, 1924, London, Blackwell Residence
It was Emily's turn to host the poetry club at her home in London. She had waited for her parents to visit the countryside, providing her with the perfect opportunity to organize the event in peace and without concerns about propriety.
As she oversaw the final preparations in the drawing room, the butler appeared beside her.
"How many visitors would there be, my lady?"
"Six, or possibly seven or eight. I'm not sure."
Emily had assured the servants that the guests would be well-mannered and scholarly individuals coming for tea and poetry. However, the scene that unfolded in the Blackwells' drawing room was something quite different. A group of young people gathered. A jazz record was spinning on the gramophone and one adept guest was mixing cocktails.
Their conversation unfolded like this:
"We're special people, brought together from the wilderness."
"We've thrown off the stupid convictions of our forefathers."
"We're not shackled by convention."
"We can be utterly frank."
"We're in the lead, and together we can make a new world. Viva la révolution!"
One of the guests, a daring young woman, revealed that she was having an affair with a prominent politician from the Conservative Party — an associate of the newly elected Prime Minister, Stanley Baldwin, and a close friend of Emily's father. She showed around photographs of them in compromising positions and began to read a love letter he had written to her.
Everyone laughed and applauded the boldness of the young woman. However, Emily found herself conflicted. Laughing along would mean, in some ways, betraying her father. Struggling with her loyalty to her family and her place in this group of freethinkers, Emily attempted a forced smile, all the while feeling extremely uncomfortable.
It wasn't until the first light of dawn began to peek through the curtains that the guests started to make their weary exits.
The last to leave was the young woman who had shared her scandalous secret. As she gathered her belongings to depart, she looked bewildered and slightly disheveled. Her eyes darted around the room.
"What's wrong?" Emily asked, noticing her distress.
"The letter and photographs—they're missing from my purse!"
"What? Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. I searched everywhere. They've vanished!"
Emily, feeling the gravity of the situation, sank onto the sofa and clasped her head in her hands.
"Oh, heavens. This time I've really done it. My parents are going to kill me."
Whoever had taken the items, she blamed herself, since it all unfolded under her roof.
As the girl departed and the house finally quieted, the household staff began the daunting task of cleaning up the drawing room.
Just as Emily was heading upstairs to escape into her bedroom, the worst happened — her parents returned. They had come back earlier than planned and stood in the doorway, stunned by the chaos that greeted them.
"What on earth happened here?" Robert asked.
Emily had braced herself for a severe scolding, but her parents were so upset that they didn't even say a word to her. It only heightened her anxiety about their reaction when they learned about the letter and photographs. She dared not even imagine it. A few days after the unfortunate event, Marguerite, John, Veronica and Ned came over for dinner. Emily felt a sense of relief knowing that these four would inevitably be on her side.
During the dinner, conversation flowed easily. They talked about everyday topics until they inevitably touched upon the issue at hand.
"Why shouldn't I have some friends over for a party?" Emily asked.
"You call this a party? It was the most disgraceful exhibition I've ever seen," Robert retorted.
"You turned the house into a cheap music hall." Catherine added sharply.
"Mother, I am not going to lose the few really intelligent friends I have simply because you and Father refuse to move with the times."
"I refuse to be spoken to like that. You're our daughter, and you'll kindly show us some respect."
Marguerite stepped in with a calming tone, "I think there's no need for such harsh words."
"Please, Marguerite, don't side with her," Catherine replied. "Emily's behavior is beyond acceptable. She needs to learn that there are consequences for bad behavior."
"She's not a child anymore and she has learned her lesson, I'm sure of it." John defended.
Emily's voice broke a little, "I've learned that you can't trust anyone and that expectations are just premeditated disappointments."
"Of course, we're disappointed." Catherine said. "You nearly destroyed the drawing room and you embarrassed the servants."
"Oh, Mother, don't you see that's the least of our problems?"
Emily sighed deeply before telling them the whole story about the missing letter and the photographs.
"... and then, Gladys Lavinson informed me quite abruptly that Regina Redmond simply walked into her office and handed over the letter and photographs. Just like that. She didn't even ask for anything in return. I am bewildered. I thought Regina and I were friends. How could she possibly betray me like that?"
"I warned you about her." Catherine responded sternly. "I told you she was a troublemaker. A bitter young woman out to destroy society because she envies other people's advantages."
"Did Gladys say what she plans to do with them?" Ned Malone asked.
"She wants to publish them, what else? She's no longer focused on women's issues. Now it's all about gossip and sensationalism. I dare not tell you what was in that letter," Emily replied, her face pale.
"Go ahead, tell us," Malone urged.
"I don't think this is the right moment, Ned." Veronica said.
"It will help to know what we are dealing with," He insisted.
"It was a love letter, of course." Emily said. "Quite explicit. It described their intimate moments in detail, even mentioning love making in a cave."
"Wow. That must be intense… Love making in a cave, I mean." Malone commented, trying to lighten the mood.
"Where did you get that idea?" Veronica asked.
"You know… The humidity, the echo..." Malone speculated.
Marguerite and John exchanged a glance across the table. A hint of a blush colored their cheeks as they both recalled a similar, long-ago adventure of their own.
Robert, unable to contain his frustration, commanded, "Emily, you must retrieve those items at any cost. Either you'll pay Miss Lavinson off, or you'll get them back some other way, I want them in front of me. Understood?"
"You surely don't expect Emily to break in and steal the letters?" Catherine asked.
"You can't steal something that's already stolen. And yes, I do expect that. Our family is responsible for this entire ghastly debacle. And our family will correct this."
Catherine turned to Marguerite with an apologetic expression. "My dear, I hope we haven't caused you any distress tonight. It wasn't our intention to invite you here only to burden you with family issues, especially not Emily's shenanigans. We aimed to spend quality time together. Yet, it seems every time you visit, something unfortunate happens."
Before Marguerite could reply, Emily said, "Honestly, Mother. You're forgetting what kind of woman she is. She's not some fragile flower..."
"How dare you talk about my daughter in that way?" Catherine demanded.
"Your daughter? And what am I — your afterthought?!"
Hurt and overwhelmed, Emily bolted from the dining room.
Marguerite fixed Catherine with a disapproving look. "That was completely out of line."
"I know. I lost my temper. I'll apologize to her in the morning."
Just then, the butler entered the room and said, "Lady Emily has fled the house."
John stood up and said, "Don't worry, Catherine. We'll handle this. We'll find her and bring her back."
Once outside, Marguerite halted and turned to John. "I care about Emily and I'm sorry for everything that happened tonight, but you're mad if you think I'm going to chase her around London."
"We won't have to chase her around London. I know exactly where she is."
As they walked towards their house, John recounted a story from the past.
"Ten years ago, when Claire and I announced our engagement, we had a celebration at their house. Emily was just a little girl, no older than twelve. She and Catherine had an argument—about whatever mothers and daughters argue over—and Emily ran off, much like tonight. They searched all over the city and couldn't find her. When I returned home, I found her in my father's study. She was pouring herself whiskey and had lit up one of my father's cigars. Of course, I took away the drink and the cigar, but we spent the next hour talking everything through. In the end, she seemed to feel much better."
When they arrived home, Ned and Veronica headed upstairs while John and Marguerite indeed found Emily in the Roxton study, glass of whiskey in one hand and a lit cigar in the other.
"History repeats itself." John said with a hint of amusement.
"Only I'm not a little girl anymore."
"And I won't take away the drink and the cigar this time. Though I must say, this isn't very ladylike."
"Yes, that's clearly our biggest concern at the moment." Emily responded with sarcasm.
Marguerite leaned against the writing desk. "Catherine didn't really mean what she said. She spoke in anger. I told her about how inappropriate her words were."
"But she did mean it, don't you see? If she had a choice, she'd rather it was me who was switched at birth so she could keep you and Claire."
"Emily, that's not true and you know it." John said.
Looking at Marguerite, Emily continued, "Claire was perfect. Did you know? She never stepped out of line, not even once. She was someone they could be really proud of."
Marguerite replied sympathetically. "I've met Claire. She is indeed a rare kind of person. But so are you — in your own way. What I want to say is, I grew up without a family, without a sister, and now that I've found you, I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world. I adore your wit and sass, your humor, your intelligence, your rebellious spirit."
Tears in Emily's eyes quickly turned into tears of joy. "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."
Marguerite smiled warmly and squeezed her hand reassuringly.
Emily extinguished the cigar and finished her drink in one swift motion.
She then clasped her head in her hands and said, "Goodness, I truly don't know what to do. This entire affair is completely beyond me. One moment we're enjoying a delightful soirée, the next everything's falling apart. Once Gladys publishes everything, I'll be forever at odds with our parents."
"Let's take a breath here." Marguerite said. "Being hysterical won't solve anything. You go home, make amends with your parents, and forgive Catherine. I'll take care of Gladys and Regina."
"But I can't. They will be furious if they find out I've shifted this responsibility onto you."
"Let me worry about that."
"Are you certain?"
"Absolutely. Isn't this what elder sisters are for?"
Emily rose from the table, walked over to Marguerite, and kissed her on the cheek. The kiss was damp with tears from her crying.
"You're incredible, Marguerite. Thank you. Thank you, endlessly."
As she prepared to leave, she paused at the door, turning back to say, "Don't be too hard on Regina. Despite everything, I've forgiven her. She's lonely and sad, above anything else. I thought I could help her with my friendship, but the more I tried, the gloomier she became. I don't think she does bad things because she's inherently bad. I think she's trying to fill a void within herself."