Chapter Three
Lost time…
London~
Cicely suppressed a giggle and nodded at Hermione, catching her breath. Hermione thought she could see vestiges of Molly in this young woman.
They got up from the floor with some difficulty, owing to the bolts of brocade pooled and tangled around their legs. And then they had to tiptoe through the room to the couch. “My Aunt Bones sleeps early, we mustn’t wake her, or she’ll be really cross,” Cicely whispered.
“This is your aunt’s house?” Hermione whispered back, looking around the room. There was nothing extraordinary, not even a moving portrait. And she expected ‘Aunt Bones’ was a witch.
“Yes, it is””
“Where in London are we?”
“King’s Square.”
Hermione nodded, hiding her impression. From what she remembered of London history, they were not just in the affluent West End, but in one of London’s most fashionable residence squares of the time.
Cicely seemed surprised of her silence. Hermione held in her instinct of covering up. Hermione Rashleigh had been childishly, annoyingly innocent and clueless. Let Cicely not see a difference. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“Yes, I’m fine, Cicely, thank you,” she raised her brows in inquiry.
“It’s just I’m astonished you aren’t bombarding me with questions about our recent ‘activity’.”
“Oh, well, I”I have too many, I suppose I’m still in shock”can”can anyone just arrive here like we did?” Hermione beamed inwardly. That was nicely done.
“No, no, my aunt has recently secured this place with wards so that only close relatives could come by portkey. The fireplace and the whole house are secured likewise for Flooing and Apparition.”
“Will you excuse me for not asking about Flooing and Apparition just yet?”
Hermione feared she had pushed her luck too far. Cicely stared at her for several moments. And then she laughed, only to clap a hand to her mouth.
“You are such a dear, Hermione,” she whispered, smiling fondly.
“I didn’t know that, Leontes always made it clear that I’m every opposite of a ‘dear’ anyone can imagine.”
Cicely giggled softly again, but it sounded distracted, and her eyes dimmed a fraction, something that didn’t escape Hermione Granger’s own.
“Cicely””
“Oh, don’t. Please, dear. Perhaps tomorrow. I’m not prepared tonight. Follow me; I’ll take us to our room. Aunt Bones always keeps it ready, and now that Clementine is married, you will own her bed.”
“Cicely? Clementine?”
Hermione bolted upright in her bed at the loud, shrill voice that seemed to have rocked the room. She even thought she saw the curtains tremble.
“Oh, bless me, could you be Hermione Rashleigh, then?” asked the woman standing at the doorway. Behind her, a house-elf appeared, bewitching two breakfast trays aloft.
“Yes, Aunt, Hermione Rashleigh, whom I and Clementine have told you so much about. The MacMillans’ charming neighbor. Hermione, this is my aunt, Cecilia Bones. I am named after her, and that’s fitting, as I love her to pieces,” Cicely grinned at her aunt, who rolled her eyes and waved the house-elf in.
“You’re a wicked girl, using your sweet tongue on your poor aunt to ensure that I defend you again from your father’s riding whip. I presume you have Cal and Chris to thank for arriving here without your father, his blessing, landau, or Floo powder? Because I would have heard, you know. And you Apparate quite loudly, too.”
“It’s not my fault my twin brothers never know when to stop bragging.”
Aunt Bones just rolled her eyes again, though they twinkled as if she was proud of her niece’s accomplishment. “And have you slept well, Miss Rashleigh?”
“I have, thank you, Mrs Bones.”
“Oh, call me Aunt Bones, like your friend here. We shall make much of you. Just don’t look too surprised about the things you’ll see, eh? We are having company for supper tonight. How would you like that?”
“Oh, Aunt! So soon!”
“I had no idea you’d be appearing here like a sneaky mouse, Cicely, so don’t accuse me with a ‘So soon!’”
“I shouldn’t have, when do you ever not have company? My aunt and uncle are quite sought after, Hermione, don’t be surprised if we wake up tomorrow to the sounds of what seems like legions Apparating or Flooing in the ante-room below.”
“You needn’t worry about that anymore, we have put Silencing Charms around the walls of all these rooms so as not to disturb when there’s company. And I’m glad we are having company, because I don’t intend you to go gallivanting off with your guest to Merlin knows where.”
“Oh, who are you and what have you done with my dear old Aunt?”
Hermione watched the aunt and niece chatter even as she sipped her tea. So her husband was also distantly related to the Bones, she thought wanly. How she missed him! She shook her head.
Mrs Bones had the same shade of Cicely’s hair, and it shone beneath the stiff lace cap which stood tall on her head like a ship’s sails. Her farthingale was gargantuan, and she had entered the door sideways because of it. Powdered breasts almost peaked out of her tight and low corset. But her clothes were all somber black, even the lace cascading down her wrists.
“Well, I have had enough of your noise for now, Cicely. Hermione, if you need anything, tell your friend, or one of the servants”they are house-elves, you know, and nothing to fear about them.” With a slight bow, she withdrew”sideways”from the room. Before the door latched, she poked her head back in. “If you run away and defy you dear old aunt, you will regret it, Cicely.”
Her eyes twinkled again as she said it, not in threat, either. This made Cicely gasp and clasp her hands. “She is expecting some company, I suppose.”
“Why are your aunt and uncle sought after, then?” Hermione asked, thinking that such a question was characteristic of her Rashleigh counterpart.
“Just my aunt now. My uncle died two years ago. But she doesn’t like him referred to in the past tense or excluded at all. They never had children, though they were very much in love. My uncle was a founding member of the Wizangamot”that’s our new high court. He is still remembered and his friends like doting on his wife. She is quite a lot younger than him.”
“Can we talk about your row with Leontes now?”
Cicely choked on her scone. She gulped at her tea, her eyes watering. “Don’t speak in rhymes, Hermione,” she laughed.
“Don’t hedge, Cicely.”
Cicely lost her smile. “Your brother doesn’t trust me, I hate that.”
Hermione frowned. “How do you know he doesn’t trust you?”
“Listen, dear, you should know, I”” Cicely blushed. “I love your brother, and he says he loves me. I told him I have a secret he must know in time, but he wouldn’t wait, he couldn’t wait! I don’t like being caged in suspicion, he reminds me of my father, who guards my every move as if I wouldn’t even know to breathe right for myself.”
“He’s just like his namesake, then,” Hermione muttered after several moments, not knowing what else to say.
“Yes, isn’t he,” Cicely muttered back, tugging at her wrist ruffles again (There didn’t seem to be clothing in this era devoid of ruffles, Hermione thought). Cicely looked up at her. “I thought you might enlighten me why he acts like that, this is why I waited until morning, because then I could brood over your answer the whole day instead of losing sleep last night, which would have made me cranky, and that would be rude to you and to my aunt.”
“Oh”I”I don’t know, I have no idea, perhaps he is just”afraid that this secret might tear you from him? Why are you making him wait, anyway? I could help you tell him about your witchhood.”
Cicely blinked. “It’s not my witchhood, dear. Though it does figure into the matter greatly.”
Cornwall~
Hermione sat in the dining chamber of the Rashleigh Manor, trying not to hyperventilate. Her ‘brother’ was in the same spot they found him in yesterday (Was it only yesterday? Hermione thought again), scowling and glaring at her every other second, but she didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She was reading H. Rashleigh’s journal, or pretending to read it. No further entries had appeared, and the others had just been helpful in Hermione’s charade. All three of the Rashleighs were oblivious that their real relation was missing.
Yes, missing. Hermione couldn’t imagine where her counterpart was. The Stunning spell would have lasted an hour at most, after which Hermione would have cast herself under the Disillusionment Charm once more to give room to H.Rashleigh. But she had not returned home. Not last night. And if she came home today, there would be trouble.
Mr Prewett had visited them during breakfast. First, to look for his daughter, second, to warn Mr Rashleigh to guard his own. Her ‘father’ took this to heart, and had told Leontes not to let Hermione out of his sight. The elder Rashleighs had gone to their various duties on the estate.
Hermione was stuck like a pixie in a snare. No diary entries to cast light on what she would do next, and there was the worry of where the real H.Rashleigh had got to. She could only hope her other self was doing better in London.
No, a better hope was to hope that she would soon wake from this nightmare and be back in Ron’s arms. She groaned.
Leontes looked up, his glare softening. “You honestly don’t know where Ci”Miss Prewett had gone, do you?”
“No, I don’t, so please stop tormenting me about it.”
“You’re the tormentor here, flipping through that book, sighing, groaning, stomping your foot, how could a man work through all that?”
“‘Work’? You call staining your cravat and cuffs and waistcoat with as many shades of color as you could ‘work’?” But Hermione noted his own worry over his lady love, and feeling the sympathy of being in the same boat, she swept her skirts aside and walked over to him.
She had held her breath, hoping against hope that this would be the portrait, but when she looked over his broad shoulder, she let out the breath in disappointment, only to suck it back in the second it took her to perceive the poignant beauty of the picture.
In it was depicted all the hues of autumn, and against the dark maroon bark of a tree leaned a girl in black, the cream white of her nape contrasting with all the yellows and reds and that black gown. Her face was not seen, just her red locks uncovered by any mantle or cap. She sat there surrounded by red and gold leaves, and her hand clutched at some of them beside her. She seemed to be looking far off in the sunset, or at her lap. Hermione couldn’t tell. The girl’s slightly bowed head looked so sad it made her want to cry.
“Why do you paint such lonely pictures, Leon? Is she in pain?”
“Yes, she was, I suppose. She never told me.”
“What? Who is this? Cicely?”
“How could you ask me who this is, foolish girl?” he snarled.
Hermione gaped at him. Leontes gaped back, apparently surprised at his own outburst. He also looked remorseful. “I”I suppose you don’t remember her anymore, Hermione?”
Hermione shook her head, almost too eagerly.
“This is Emilia. I loved her. And I also hate her.”
While Hermione digested this new piece of puzzle, Leontes tore his eyes away from the painting and walked to the window. It looked out to the north, to the moor. Hermione joined him there, opened the casements, and they both filled their lungs with the chilled air, as if they both welcomed the freezing sensation it gave their hearts and their hearts’ hurts.
Leontes then smiled at her. His blue eyes held fierce fires though. He sighed. “Let’s go to London.”
Author’s Note: For non-Britons like me, King’s Square is Soho Square. Wikipedia says it was built in the 1670’s, and was in its early years one of the most fashionable places to live in London. It remains an expensive address to this day. Of course, as this story is set in 1730, I’m not sure if I’m right until then. Please bear with me. Also, I like the thought that the Prewetts moved in Wizarding alta-sociedad. In fact, I think all purebloods did. Perhaps some fortunes just dwindled and ran out through the centuries, that’s all. And I also made a liberty about the Wizengamot. I couldn't find anything leading to when it was established, so...*shrug and grin*