The Brontë Plot by Katherine Reay

dress’s skirt, clasping her hands above it, as James’s father entered the room. She slid the watch onto the love seat, covering it with her handbag as she stood.
    â€œLucy?” James’s father, Charlie, was a man of medium height, medium build, and medium gray. Lucy found his stable sameness very comforting. He was also kind. Though at that moment, he stared at his mother with a single brow raised in annoyance.
    â€œI didn’t know you were coming by today.” Helen’s voice drifted up in question as she turned her cheek for a kiss.
    â€œI wasn’t planning to, but you mentioned ’a trip’ to Leslie last night. And Lucy’s here?” He flickered her a glance, cooler than usual, but considering all James had told him, not as icy as Lucy anticipated. “Are you well?”
    â€œI’m fine. Thank you.” Lucy sat again.
    â€œI’ve hired Lucy for some silver and antiques consulting. We’re headed to London next week.” Helen pointed to Sid’s books, stacked in proof.
    â€œLondon? That’s a long way to shop. What can’t Lucy procure from here?” Charlie flicked his head back and forth between them.
    â€œThe experience.”
    â€œMother.”
    â€œI need this.” Helen dipped her hand to the chair next to her. Charlie sat on its edge as if eager to leave or argue. “And I’m very excited about it. I thought I might get your girls each silver flatware for wedding gifts.”
    â€œThey aren’t engaged.”
    â€œThey will be and we both know I won’t be around,” Helen countered.
    â€œMother.”
    Lucy stifled a laugh. James had sounded just like his father when he said “Grams.” Each time the intonation had changed—one word embodying reprimand, love, fear, exasperation, and adoration.
    â€œThen be comforted that I’m crossing the ocean by plane and not by funeral pyre.” Helen’s voice shot out staccato.
    â€œThat’s not remotely humorous.” Charlie shifted in the deep-purple velvet chair. “Has Dr. Klein said you’re well enough? You still have your cough and your count isn’t high enough. You’re vulnerable to infections and you’ll be back in treatment soon.”
    Charlie leaned forward and continued. “I get the distinct impression you’re keeping something from me.” He studied his mother’s inscrutable expression. “No?” He turned to Lucy, who, with one hand resting atop her handbag, minutely widened her eyes. “You’re in the dark too?” he asked before turning back to Helen. “Mother?”
    â€œI need this, Charlie. Please. Dr. Klein has assured me there is nothing I can do to harm myself.”
    â€œBut why so hasty? Get stronger. Leslie and I can take you this summer.”
    â€œI can’t wait.”
    â€œYou can’t . . .” Charlie let the words linger. Helen sat mute so he addressed Lucy. “This may not be as simple as she’s perhaps implied, Lucy. Has she briefed you on her medications? Do you have medical experience should something happen? Do you understand how vulnerable she is?”
    Lucy felt her eyes widen farther.
    â€œThat’s not fair. Lucy isn’t responsible for any of that.” Helen’s voice arched high. “You’re overreacting.”
    Charlie rested his hands on his knees, palms up. “I don’t think I am. If you’re traveling with her, she’s responsible. What do you want me to do? You’re acting strangely, you make cryptic statements, and you’re tired, worn-out tired. You’re sick and we both know it. Something else is driving this.”
    â€œCharles.” Helen’s tone dropped and darkened.
    Charlie flipped his hands from palms up to palms down and slapped his knees. “This is getting us nowhere. I’ll stop pushing. For now.”
    â€œThank you.” Helen reached out and laid her