The Sins of the Fathers

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Museum of Fine Arts

Boston

Massachusetts

"I adore Monet...we had a school trip to Paris when I was about thirteen and I fell in love with his work?" Mena sighed with pleasure as she stared at 'Meadow with Poplars' and lost herself in the colours and the sunshine. "It reminds me of the south of France...my childhood summers with my grandparents?"

"Can you actually see it...through all this lace? Grace Palmer-Stoddart muttered, turning away from her surrogate mother to study the great ladies of Boston en mass, all gathered for a good cause in all their finery. In her opinion, it was a ridiculous demonstration of extremism at work, even if raising some money for the latest famine in Africa was worthwhile, and she could not quite believe that she was one of them, playing fancy dress-up, and letting Mena and her mother-in-law teach her the fine arts of socialising. Her corset was trying to cut her in two, and her dark green velvet gown was hot and heavy, even without the cloak that they had left in the cloakroom, whilst her bonnet, mantle and veils were driving her insane. But if you wanted to move in the best circles in Boston, you needed to look right, apparently. And modesty was essential at all times, conspicuous piety.

"Perfectly well, thank you...I have super vision...thanks to my useful equipment...if you remember...and super hearing as well, young lady...so do stop acting like an obstreperous teenager, Grace?" Mena chided gently as she took her arm, their full skirts crushing together as she did so. She was wearing her favourite dark red gown and enjoying herself immensely advising Grace. "Mary is right, you know...you can be so immature, at times...you are doing this for Brett, remember? It's important for his future...your future?"

"I know...and I am trying...but this is all just so...much?" Grace hissed, letting herself be moved along towards the next exhibit, still scanning the crowded gallery. "Some of them are here with their keepers...they seem to think that is something to be proud of...I'd like to see them with a real one, and being kept like you were?"

"Not all keepers are cruel, you know? Obviously, mine all had to follow the rules in Britain and I was certainly well-kept, but they can be companions too...but I will agree that there is a bit of showing off going on around here?" Mena whispered, her long poke bonnet touching Grace's as they walked slowly along. "If I am not very much mistaken, that is your friend Mrs Cartwright...and I think that is young Candice, with another girl and a keeper?"

"She is not my friend...oh no, surely not?" Grace gasped in horror as she followed Mena's gaze. It was hard to know who anyone was behind their mantles, but they had met Pamela Cartwright in the foyer when they arrived, and her pink silk gown was quite distinctive, so it was logical to assume that the girl standing beside her, again dressed in white silk, was her eighteen-year-old daughter, presumably accompanied by a friend, in yellow and white. And both girls were wearing collars with leashes attached, held by a stern-looking keeper in the traditional grey of her trade.

"Seriously showing off...it is quite fashionable in Britain, but that is all it is...an affectation at best...because it is not mentioned in the doctrine?" Mena said, stopping and turning Grace so that they could look at another painting, rather than stare at the Cartwrights. "I didn't know it was a thing here?"

"Neither did I...did you...?"

"Oh, yes...I think your aunt was the first...and dear Caitlin was very high profile...as the wife of a bishop, of course...so, we were all soon copying her. It is not that bad...it doesn't hurt or anything...but it does make you feel so owned...so dependent?"

"Poor kid...Mrs Cartwright is not joining in the fun, I notice?" Grace sniped, glancing back over her shoulder at the awful sight. "And I am supposed to suck up to that...woman...Brett says he needs Reece Cartwright's support and he was furious that I argued with her?"