Chapter 5 - THE CHILD IN THE YELLOW BLANKET
“Adoption?”
The word seemed to echo through the gallery.
I looked from King Frederick to Queen Helena.
Then back at the photograph.
Vivienne.
My sister.
The woman who had spent years insisting that blood and breeding determined a person's worth.
The woman who was marrying a prince.
She had been adopted.
“No,” I whispered. “Mother would have told me.”
Queen Helena reached for my hand.
“Charlotte, your mother loved both of you fiercely.”
I stepped away.
“That wasn't my question.”
The King lowered his eyes.
“No. It wasn't.”
Inspector Shaw quietly asked the attendants to give us privacy.
The gallery doors closed.
For several seconds, nobody moved.
Then the Queen spoke.
“Your parents had been trying for another child for years. When they learned about a baby whose birth mother couldn't raise her, they offered her a home.”
“Our father knew?”
“Of course.”
My father had died when I was fourteen.
I remembered him carrying Vivienne on his shoulders.
Teaching her to ride a bicycle.
Buying her a ridiculous pink bicycle helmet because she refused to wear anything ordinary.
He'd never treated her differently.
Neither had Mother.
“Why did the Crown pay for the adoption?”
The Queen looked toward her husband.
“Because the child's birth mother worked for our household.”
I stared at her.
“Who was she?”
“A young woman named Eleanor Marsh.”
The name meant nothing to me.
“She was nineteen,” Helena continued. “She'd come to Bellmont looking for work. Her family had very little money, and she believed she couldn't give her daughter the life she deserved.”
I looked at the photograph again.
The yellow blanket was embroidered with tiny white roses.
Mother's work.
Even before Vivienne came home, Mother had made her something beautiful.
“What happened to Eleanor?”
“She moved to another city. She built a life. Your mother maintained a confidential arrangement that allowed Eleanor to receive updates until Vivienne was old enough to decide whether she wanted contact.”
I felt a sharp ache in my chest.
“Did Vivienne know?”
The Queen hesitated.
Then nodded.
“Your mother told her when she turned eighteen.”
I stared.
Vivienne had known for more than a decade.
And she had never told me.
I thought of every time she had mocked the children in Mother's apprenticeship program.
Every time she complained about ordinary people who didn't belong in beautiful places.
Every time she insisted that our family was beneath the royal household.
She had spent years running from the very story that made her ours.
“Why didn't she tell me?”
The Queen answered softly.
“Because she believed knowing would change how you saw her.”
I shook my head.
“She was my sister yesterday. She'd be my sister tomorrow.”
King Frederick looked toward the photograph.
“Margaret said exactly the same thing.”
I swallowed.
For a moment, the trust investigation seemed far away.
Then I remembered the forgery.
“Does any of this connect to the money?”
The King nodded.
“Adrian Ashcroft discovered the adoption records last year.”
My stomach dropped.
“He's blackmailing her.”
“We believe so,” Helena said.
Inspector Shaw stepped forward.
“There's evidence of payments from Lady Vivienne's personal accounts to a company associated with Ashcroft. The payments began shortly after she became engaged.”
I remembered Christmas.
The consulting fees.
Vivienne's anger when I questioned them.
“She was paying him to keep the adoption secret.”
“Initially,” the inspector said. “Then the demands grew.”
I looked toward Lucien.
He hadn't said a word.
“Did you know?”
His face was pale.
“I knew someone was threatening her.”
“But not why?”
He shook his head.
“She told me the demands concerned a family debt.”
“And you believed her?”
“I wanted to.”
His voice was quiet.
“Charlotte, I loved your sister before I knew anything about her family. I still do.”
For the first time, I believed him.
Not because of what he said.
Because of how ashamed he looked.
“Then why did you support excluding me from the wedding?”
He flinched.
“Vivienne said you'd been threatening to reveal private family information unless she gave you money.”
I stared.
“That was a lie.”
“I know that now.”
The confession did little to ease the hurt.
“You could have asked me.”
“Yes.”
He looked down.
“I should have.”
Before anyone could continue, the gallery doors opened.
Vivienne entered, holding the front of her gown above the floor.
She stopped when she saw the photograph in my hand.
Her expression emptied.
“Where did you get that?”
I looked at her.
“Mother's watch.”
Her face crumpled.
For one brief second, she wasn't a princess.
She was the little girl who used to sit beside me on Mother's sewing room floor, begging to wear the pearl buttons before they were attached to a coat.
“Charlotte,” she whispered, “please don't.”
I walked toward her.
“You knew.”
She nodded.
“How long?”
“Since I was eighteen.”
“And you never trusted me enough to tell me?”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I thought you'd look at me differently.”
I felt anger rise.
“You looked at me differently first.”
She covered her mouth.
“I'm sorry.”
I wanted to believe her.
I desperately wanted to.
But the trust was still in danger.
“Vivienne, did you sign the Queen's authorization?”
Her face changed.
“No.”
“Your name is on it.”
“I know.”
“Then explain.”
She looked toward Lucien.
He moved closer.
“Vivienne, tell us.”
She shook her head.
“I can't.”
Inspector Shaw folded her arms.
“Lady Vivienne, withholding information in a financial investigation will only make your position more difficult.”
Vivienne turned toward the Queen.
“Your Majesty, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“Then help us stop it,” Helena said.
My sister's hands began shaking.
She looked at the diamond bracelet.
Then at me.
“Adrian gave me this on Thursday.”
I stared at the diamonds.
“He said it was a wedding gift from an old friend of the family. But after he left, I found something inside the clasp.”
She touched it with trembling fingers.
“A tiny strip of paper.”
“What did it say?”
Her voice broke.
“It said that if the trust money wasn't released by Saturday evening, he would publish Mother's adoption records.”
“That's blackmail,” Lucien said.
Vivienne shook her head.
“Not just the adoption records.”
She looked directly at me.
“He had something else, Charlotte.”
“What?”
She swallowed.
“A copy of Mother's final letter.”
I went still.
Mother had left me her trustee seat.
She'd left Vivienne her jewelry and personal belongings.
But she had never mentioned a final letter.
“What letter?”
Vivienne's eyes filled with fresh tears.
“The one she wrote before she died.”
I stepped closer.
“Where is it?”
“Adrian has it.”
“What does it say?”
Vivienne shook her head.
“I've only seen one page.”
“And?”
She looked toward the King.
Then whispered:
“Mother wrote that the Heritage Trust was established to repay a debt the royal family owed us.”
King Frederick closed his eyes.
May you like
And Vivienne continued.
“She also wrote that if the original agreement was ever revealed, the Crown could lose ownership of half the historic properties in Bellmont.”
