Joan Smith: Gather Ye Rosebuds

"I still have a few questions,” I said, leading them to a seat, but I was happy to hear Borsini was indeed my cousin, and not an impostor.

"It is the money you are concerned about,” Borsini said. In the past, he would not have been confident enough to put himself forward in this manner. He would have waited for Weylin to explain, or at least looked to him for permission. “The fact of the matter is, that ten thousand pounds did not come from Macintosh. It was Margaret's dowry. We do not see-Weylin and I-why it should go to Angus Macintosh. He has more than enough.” He continued in this vein.

Although I listened closely (and agreed heartily), my eyes often strayed to Weylin. His composure told me he had accepted Borsini as his cousin. He read my unspoken question, and explained the reason.

"Andrew has proven to my satisfaction that he is Margaret's son. Macintosh wanted him out of Scotland, and sent him to Ireland. He felt Andrew would feel at home there, since it was where his father was from. Andrew showed me the adoption papers and birth certificate the Joneses left him when they died. He knew he was adopted, but Mrs. Jones told him he was the son of her cousin, who died in childbirth."

"They were fine people,” Borsini said. “Not well off, you know, but honest and hardworking. Mrs. Jones was unable to have children. They are both dead now. In fact, they were getting on when they adopted me."

"Andrew's life is chronicled from the beginning to the present,” Weylin said. “He has his school diplomas from St. Patrick's Academy in Dublin, and a letter of reference from the school where he taught. From the time he left there, we know where he was. First in Brighton, and later at Aldershot."

"It was Barry's idea that I settle close to Hernefield,” Borsini added. “I always called my real parents by their Christian names. To me, Mama and Papa are the folks who raised me. Margaret was afraid her secret would come out if we were seen together here, and approved Barry's idea of the little cottage near Ashdown Forest. Even there she insisted on hiding that we were all one family. In public, I was her nephew, and Barry was our butler, but of course, within the cottage we could be ourselves. We enjoyed some happy hours, telling each other all that had happened to us over the years. I thought you might tumble to it, Zoie, that my absence for a week every quarter coincided with your uncle's trips-ostensibly to London."

"It never occurred to me. But why did you not tell us, Borsi-Andrew? You could have depended on Mama and myself to keep your secret."

"Many's the time I was within a breath of it. It was Margaret who demanded secrecy, because of her bigamy. That is a serious crime."

"Why did Margaret not go to India with Barry?” I asked. “Did she know she was enceinte when he left?"

Andrew shook his head in frustration. “I have heard them argue about it for hours on end. It was a challenge for power, cousin. She knew he had made arrangements to go to India when she married him. She thought she could convince him to stay in Ireland. He had no home to take her to, and was too proud to live off her money. He felt he could make his fortune in India. He was sure she would cave in and go with him at the last minute. He gave her an ultimatum: I am going. Meet me at the dock. She didn't show up, and he left without her. Neither of them knew that I was already more than a gleam in his eye."

"That would have changed things, I daresay."

"I like to think so,” he agreed. “Shortly after Barry left, Margaret returned to England. When she discovered her condition, she panicked. Old Weylin was dead set against her marrying Barry. He wouldn't let him inside the door. They met at an assembly, and arranged trysts away from the house where she was visiting. Poor Margaret didn't know what to do. It seems Macintosh had offered for her a year before. He showed up at Parham just when she was at her wits’ end. She confided to him that she was enceinte, and he offered to marry her. What she did not tell him was that she was already married. She never did tell him. She wrote to Barry informing him what she had done, and said that if he told anyone of their marriage, she would kill herself. Since she had no idea where Macintosh had sent me, Barry let the matter rest."

"How did he find you then?” I asked.

"He read any English journals that came his way and eventually learned of Macintosh's death. He thought Margaret would be in touch with him then, but years passed and she did not write. When there was that little trouble over the missing money-Barry was completely innocent, and he proved it-but he was unhappy in his work then, and decided to come back to England and try to straighten matters out. He paid a visit home to Ireland first, and while there, he heard of the Joneses having adopted a boy at about the time I was born. He traced me to the school where I was teaching art. You never saw any resemblance between us, cousin, but I do look a little like him. Margaret says I have her eyes. Barry thought so, too. Well, the upshot of it was that he got in touch with Margaret, and her companion was able to provide the name of the fellow who took me away the night I was born. It took a deal of work, but eventually it was established that I was taken to an orphanage in Dublin, and adopted by William Jones.

"I felt some kinship with Barry even before he told me. He struck up a friendship with me, you know. We used to go out a bit together in Dublin. He professed an interest in my art, said I should go to England and set up a studio. Then when he told me the whole, we both got serious about it."

"Why did you decide to become Count Borsini?” I asked.

"That was Margaret's idea. She said I had noble blood, and would have better luck in my career if I claimed a title. That meant being a foreigner. I could not claim to be a Frenchie, since I cannot parlay the bongjaw well enough. Very few Englishmen speak Italian, so I became Count Borsini. I remember the night we chose the name. Barry and I were having a bottle of wine in the rooms I hired in Brighton. It was from the Borsini vineyards, so we decided I would be a younger son of Count Borsini."

"And you made the mistake of putting those vineyards in Venice,” I reminded him.

"Ah, you remember that faux pas. I was hoping you had not noticed it."

"Did you never plan to tell us who you are, Andrew?” I asked. “When both Barry and Margaret were dead, surely there was no reason to keep quiet."

"I have wanted to tell you forever, but I could not find the marriage certificate. Without that, I felt very little claim on your friendship-a mere by-blow. You would be ashamed of me. I hoped that setting up your studio might provide an excuse to search Barry's room. I knew he had the certificate, for he showed it to us once at Lindfield. Margaret was touched that he had kept it all those years. Then yesterday Steptoe got in touch with me. He had seen me in Lindfield. The scoundrel had been spying through Barry's belongings when Barry was still alive, and saw the marriage license. Barry interrupted him before he had time to read the bride's name. Steptoe has been searching for it ever since, but he could not find it.

"He knew Barry met me in Tunbridge when he was supposed to be in London. He never spotted Margaret. She kept pretty close to the house. I don't believe Steptoe ever figured out what was going on. Being a thief himself, he suspected only financial chicanery, but there was nothing illegal in Barry selling the jewelry he brought home from India. A fine emerald necklace, a sapphire ring, a few other pieces. Margaret sold the diamond necklace herself, and claimed it was stolen, to avoid questions. Barry dealt with a different jeweler."

I missed a golden opportunity to hold my tongue and said, “Mr. Bradford, at the Kashmir Jewelry Shop.” Weylin gave me a questioning look, but Andrew spoke on.