14th January, 1889 — The Devine House, Wellingtonshire

She was taunting him now. She might have been taunting him before, but she had not said a word since his last - first - sighting of her, and he had not found her since, had almost convinced himself that he had only imagined her, unsettled himself with his own paranoia.

But, no. The letter had come from her, and come in a tone he did not like. The dead did not get the luxury of making interjections - Nicky might have the unusual luxury of walking and talking and living, but Max would be no more generous than that. Whatever it was she thought she was doing, she did not get to exist in his life.

He didn't want to let her think she had gotten to him, though. He hadn't responded to the note. He had waited as long as he could. But, all the same, he could not simply let this lie. Where had she gone, then? Max could only imagine that she had run out of alternative options, and run home. Or as close to a home as she had, these days, with the rest of the Dippets all dead and buried.

He had come to the Wellingtonshire address with the casual pretence of a calling card, glancing at the windows from the street and picturing Nicky behind one of the window panes, a mere heartbeat away, so at a loss in the tatters of her own life that she had encroached upon her younger sister's, beseeching the new Mrs. and Mr. Devine to help her.

Well, if Nicky was here, he would find out soon enough. He had left his card with a servant, only to hear that the mistress of the house was, as it happened, at home. Excellent. If anyone knew where his truant wife was, it would be her sister.

"Mrs. - Devine now, I hear," Max declared, pleasantly, when he was shown in. "It's been quite some time."

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This could not be a coincidence. Well, it could; there was nothing overtly suspicious about the man who had once been her brother-in-law paying her a visit, if he was back in the country, at least not on the surface of things. Of course, Ophelia knew better. She knew the way things had ended between Nicky and her husband (or, at least, she'd thought she had — recent events had caused her to wonder if even that was the full story) and knew Maximilian de Vries was not likely to seek her out just for the pleasure of her company. The announcement that he had come calling at her house would have been enough to raise an eyebrow even before the letters she'd recently received. Given Nicky's reappearance the news that the Dutchman was waiting in the parlor filled her with a dread she hadn't felt since Herschel Dawlish had still been among the living and able to pay surprise calls on her.

This visit was either about Nicky or about her daughter, Ophelia knew, and since the existence of either posed a potentially catastrophic threat to her reputation — and since her darling Mr. Devine was oblivious to that entire sordid chapter of the Dippet family history — she was quite anxious to see what the Dutchman had to say. She went down at once, careful not to keep him waiting — she wanted him in as good a mood as possible. The better to face down whatever would come next, whether it involved bargaining or pleading or threatening.

On entering the parlor she was at once surprised by how much he had changed since she had originally met him, and how much he hadn't. Her own interactions with him had been minimal, but at the time her world had more or less revolved around Nicky's social interactions, since she was the only one out, so she felt as though they were well acquainted. That being said, she didn't know what to call him. In the course of the brief acquaintance and courtship with Nicky, he had gone from bearing the enigmatic title of the handsome Dutchman to Mr. de Vries and finally to my dear Max. What level of familiarity was appropriate for the former husband of one's deceased sister? And what level was appropriate when that supposedly deceased sister had actually just run off rather than continue on as his wife?

"Indeed," she answered with a smile, forgoing the problem of names entirely at the risk of seeming abrupt or rude. "I had no idea you were back in England."

  

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If it looked as though he had paused to drink in the room, it was the faintest pretence of it: he was too struck by the woman before him to divide his attentions elsewhere. She had been a girl, before, barely more than Nicky's shadow. Now she was closer to Nicky's twin. The same dark hair, the same face.

All that was missing was the smirk. This Miss Dippet - Ophelia Devine, as she was now - was only smiling, a polite facade, her words nondescript, perhaps a play at innocence. That was fine. Max had every intention of letting this encounter be a civil one.

"On and off since the summer, in fact," Max explained lightly, with a vague gesture of his hand. "Business." Business of a few sorts - although business had taken something of a backseat since he'd seen her lurking around at that ball.

"You must forgive me. I've been far too careless about keeping in touch, I realize," he added, apologetic, shooting her a smile back as though he felt the slightest sense of attachment towards what was left of his former family-in-law. On the other hand, he hadn't felt any ill will towards them until the idea had become apparent that they were not so divorced of Nicky as they had seemed for the last few years. As it was, with Nicky probably under this very roof - "But all the same, I cannot imagine you are surprised to see me?" Would she try to feign it, more obliviousness? That Nicky hadn't told her everything - that she could not fathom exactly why he was here?

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Summer. The same time the rumors about Ophelia's supposed sneaking about had started circulating, which, she had realized eventually, must have correlated with Nicky's return to England. Could it be a coincidence that he was back in the country at the same time that her wayward sister was? Surely not. Ophelia hadn't had any contact with him since he'd sent the letter informing them of Nicky's "death" (or rather, her family hadn't; she hadn't ever really been in contact with him at all except through either her sister or father) and she had never imagined he might have more to say on the subject, but the timing now was suspicious. He must know that Nicky was in the British Isles, or else why come here? Not just to the country but here, specifically, to her parlor? Had he been following Nicky's life all these years, stalking her and hunting her down like a hunter pursuing prey? Did he know about the child?

"I confess I am," Ophelia answered, and honestly, too. She had been too distracted with Nicky to even spare a thought for Mr. de Vries, so his presence here came as quite a surprise. She was lying, however, when she continued warmly, "Albeit pleasantly so."

Could he tell she was lying? She was afraid so; her tone had been too hollow on those last three words and would surely ring false. Or was she only being paranoid?

  

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"Oh, come now," Max said, which might be taken only for waving off her courteous sentiments, but was rather a scoff of impatience in verbal form, a don't waste my time like this. If she truly was surprised, then Nicky must not have mentioned as much as he had suspected. But he knew for a fact Nicky knew he was here; he had had the letter from her to prove it.

But she would feel obliged to protect her sister, he supposed, and maintain a veil of secrecy. That she seemed slightly unsettled, Max decided, was proof enough that she was hiding something, and he knew just what. He deliberated just coming out and saying it, the very blatant reason he was here, the foremost reason he had so suddenly renewed his interest in the Dippet family. But better not. For all he knew, Nicky was listening on the stairs somewhere, and he didn't like to give her the satisfaction. "I'm sure I'm not the only recent visitor you've had."

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His next remark confused her, and Ophelia found herself doing mental gymnastics trying to make sense of it. The words themselves seemed innocent enough, but his way of saying them seemed to imply they had a darker meaning. If there was one, though, it was lost on her. Could it have been her paranoia causing her to see demons where there were only normal shadows? She wasn't sure. Maybe he really was just making conversation, but if that was the case, why? He wasn't here to exchange pleasantries; he wanted something. Most likely something involving Nicky. Why dance around it?

"Mm," she mumbled in agreement, a pleasant but vague sort of response. "The Christmas season does tend to bring family out of the woodwork, doesn't it?"

She had only meant it as a remark to buy time to figure out what he was getting at — they had been playing host to all sorts of relatives she had only met on a handful of occasions since her wedding, which was a little dizzying for a girl who had found herself orphaned for generations back only a year ago — but as the words left her mouth she suddenly realized what he must have meant. He thought Nicky had been here, and that was what he was getting at — and perhaps, unwittingly, Ophelia had just conveyed to him that she had.

  

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Out of the woodwork. Max nearly scoffed at it: that was one way to put it, wasn't it? Like some insect, crawled out of the gutters, rotting the furniture from the inside. Nicky had some nerve, being here. Insinuating herself back into the vestiges of a life she had long since relinquished all rights to.

He could only hope that Mrs. Devine's new husband and status in society meant more to her than blood. Nicky's return had the potential to equally embarrass them both.  

"One could say that," he agreed knowingly, the corner of his mouth twisting momentarily towards a frown. "And how has your new husband taken the news of that returning family?" Really, the last thing he wanted to hear was that Mr. Devine had heard the whole story, that the two of them had taken her in in good faith - that both of their heads were no doubt being fed by Nicky's lies. (He was certain that she would have to look back and lie, to the world and to herself: how else would Nicolina be able to make any excuses for her disgraceful decisions?)

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   Ophelia Devine

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Her suspicions regarding what Mr. de Vries was actually getting at were confirmed as he continued; his tone made it clear that he felt he'd backed her into a corner and gotten an admission from her. The worst part was that she couldn't very well avoid the subject now. There was no way to take what he'd said and pretend he was only talking about some other family member, because Ophelia didn't have any other family members, and obviously her husband wouldn't have had any sort of reaction if they were talking (as she originally had been) about his family.

How to respond, then? She hadn't told her husband about Nicky, nor did she have any plans to. It couldn't possibly affect him — or her, she thought. Ophelia still didn't know why her sister had come to England, but surely she would want nothing from Ophelia. She would understand what a danger she posed to the new life Ophelia had made for herself, and she wouldn't want to do anything to endanger it. Ophelia was positively convinced that Nicky would have her younger sister's best interests at heart — they had been the closest of friends, after all, and even if they hadn't spoken in years that was one thing that could never change.

But what to say to Mr. de Vries? She didn't know where Nicky was, and thought she ought not to tell him even if she did — but she wanted to appease him enough that he didn't think he ought to bring the subject up with Mr. Devine. Would he even do that? He stood to take a significant hit to his reputation if he admitted that he knew Nicolina had run away and pretended she was dead; Ophelia could plead innocence to the entire scheme and no one would have any proof that she'd known anything at all. Maybe he didn't have her as cornered as he thought.

"My husband is a gracious and welcoming man; I've never seen him be otherwise," she said coolly. This was a situation Mr. de Vries had created with his own hands, Ophelia reminded herself, and she owed him no help in solving it. If he had been a better husband, perhaps Nicky wouldn't have run away in the first place, and Ophelia would have been able to welcome her sister back into her life openly. "I'm quite lucky to have found a man so honorable. So many women find themselves disappointed after the wedding," she said with a stony glance to him.

  

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Both her tone and her countenance had hardened, which told him she was no longer playing the fool to their discussion, but also suggested something more about her character, something Max supposed he would do well to note.

He was careful to take his time in replying, careful not to lose his cool at the pointed barb about him. A change of tack, then, an imperturbable smile. She didn't know what she was talking about; it was only instinct that she would take her sister's side, instinct and the new potential that Nicky was here, all but whispering in her sister's ear, distorting the facts for her own gain. "Oh, you mistake me, Mrs. Devine," Maximilian replied, reverting to his earlier pleasant tone. "I am sure he is a perfect gentleman. It is not your husband's character I am concerned about." No, it was very clear whose character he meant to disparage. "But you would have been too young, at the time, to have heard the half of it..." He trailed off with something of a sigh, hoping that might be a start to untying some of the knotty preconceptions she must have in her head. He, the disappointing husband, as though he were the villain and not the victim here. Ridiculous.

"So stirring up the past will do none of us any favours, as I'm sure you see." Max continued smoothly. Nicolina's presence here could so easily be the downfall of Mrs. Devine's bubble of newlywedded happiness - and both families' reputations, never mind Max's own. (Of course, it was mostly his own about which he was concerned.) "We want the same things - I only thought to warn you of that, and the difficulties you might find yourself in if you invite the past in too readily."

(And did her husband already know? He could not say for certain.)

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His remark left her feeling less certain about the tone she'd chosen to take in their conversation, because it was true. She didn't know the half of it, and she was well aware of that. Mr. de Vries likely was trying to imply that Nicky hadn't told her the truth, when she had written originally or when she had reached out now, but that implication was entirely unnecessary. Nicky hadn't told her anything. Just the facts: that she had left him, that she was going to such-and-such a place, and intending to live in such-and-such a way. The why had been absent from her letter, and at the time it had seemed entirely incomprehensible to Ophelia. Maybe if she had replied to Nicky's original letter, more details would have come out, but her father had told her not to return the letter. He had decided it would be best to play along and pretend that Nicky was dead — and in her mind Ophelia had equated her older sister, once her best friend and dearest companion, with one of those dreadful cautionary tales that women sometimes read in tabloid magazines. She had done something bad, and she had ruined herself.

That had been before Ophelia had experienced the world, however; before she had met Herschel Dawlish. If she had found herself married to that man, wouldn't she have run away herself? Running away would have been the preferable alternative to what had ultimately been his ending at her hands. The thought of his death still made her skin prickle over with goosebumps. A million things could have happened between Mr. de Vries and Nicky, before she had run away — a million things that would have redeemed her, exonerated her, in Ophelia's opinion if not in that of the world — but Ophelia hadn't asked then, and she wasn't sure she had any right to do so now.

Whatever it was, Mr. de Vries was right about one thing — it was in both of their best interests that it stay buried.

"My past has been riddled with tragedies," she said coolly. "You are familiar with at least a few of them. I can assure you, Mr. de Vries, I have no intention of inviting any of them back in to my life. I am very happy here."

  

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The younger Miss Dippet was evidently a girl no longer. Max offered her the slightest of nods in silent agreement of her stance on the matter. Of course, perhaps she did not mean that; perhaps she was still more like her sister than she seemed. It had taken him much too long to notice how Nicky could so easily say one thing and mean quite another, that she had made a mask of herself he hadn’t seen through until it was far too late.

“Well, I am glad to see you -” he took a moment to seek out a suitable English word for it - “flourishing. In spite of those tragedies.” It was about as sincere as he ever came, though, again, was not lacking in self-interest - in this matter, and others. She might even be situated now, in her British society, as someone worth knowing, former family ties aside.

“Indeed, I hope to have the opportunity of meeting your husband someday soon,” Max added, though was sure he could find a way to bridge a friendship with the man whether or not Mrs. Devine saw fit to help fashion these ties. Regardless, that could wait for another day. He thought he had made his point, in the meantime. Now Mrs. Devine knew he was not so far removed from their lives here.

“And if you do see Nicky,” he advised, “tell her she should stay gone.”

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The conversation seemed to be drawing to a close, and then... he came right out and said her name. Not my wife, not your sister, not even Nicolina — Nicky. That was chilling, in a way that she couldn't possibly have described. It wasn't as though it had been any kind of secret, between the two of them, who and what they had been talking about. Still, saying it out loud seemed so... brazen. It gave the impression that he had nothing to lose, even though she knew he did. Maybe he was trying to tell her that he was willing to risk it, to ensure that Nicky didn't get a leg up. What had she done to him? What could have happened between them to turn their marriage into such a death trap?

"I'm sure you would admire my husband," she said, making the deliberate choice to ignore his final comment and hoping that her face didn't betray her emotions too clearly. "Goodbye, Mr. de Vries."

  

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