As he stoodstaring out a window at the sprawling landscape, Gwen approachedthe tour guide and asked him a question. “Excuse me, sir,” shesaid, snapping the old man out of his thoughts. She had noticed himstaring at Crispin throughout the entire tour and she had startedto wonder if it was for the same reason the people had done so backat the pub. After his obligatory introduction to the current room,he gave the small group free reign to mill about. Standing where hethought no one would notice, he continued to gaze at Crispin with athoughtful frown on his face.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, turning his attention toGwen.
Holding outthe brochure and pointing to the picture on the back, she asked,“It says here that Piers Harlow still resides at Harlow Manor. Isit possible to speak with him?”
“Highly unlikely.” He cleared his throat. “But not impossible.While he spends most of his time away, he is currently inresidence. Why do you ask?”
“My… boyfriend.” She smiled awkwardly at the word on hertongue. It sounded strange but nice all at once as she pointedacross the room at Crispin. “He has reason to believe he is relatedto the Harlow family. He has a letter to prove it. Sent by PiersHarlow himself. We’ve come here to find him, yet we weren’texpecting all this.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help but notice achange come over the old man’s face. His expression went fromskepticism to elation. She half-expected him to laugh, yetapparently, laughter was the furthest thing from hismind.
“I knew it!” he said, snapping his fingers. Without warning, hecrossed the room to where Crispin stood. Gwen scrambled after himand when she reached them both, it was almost comical to watch thesmile of recognition on the tour guide’s face compared to the scowlon Crispin’s.
“May I help you?” Crispin asked, giving Gwen a sidewaysglance.
“It is I who should ask you that, sir,” said the gobsmackedman. “Well, I’ll be damned… you’re the spitting image of CassandraHarlow.”
“Cassandra Harlow?” Gwen repeated, feeling Crispin squeezingher hand almost painfully.
“Please, follow me.” Immediately, the man got on his cell phoneand started walking to the end of the room they were in. Through anornate dark wooden door, they entered and then a few more afterthat. “Call me Jones,” said the man as Gwen followed on his heelswhile Crispin lagged behind with much reluctance. Holding his hand,she could feel his tension with every step. She was sure if she letgo, he might stop altogether and walk the other way. The fear andhesitation, she recognized right away on his features as sheglanced over her shoulder, and his body language was tense andguarded. She wanted to reassure him, but Jones was walking withsuch haste, she didn’t feel they should stop. “I’ve been with theHarlow family since I was a young man. Piers will be ecstatic tosee you. It’s been a long time coming.”
“Really? So, you believe us? You don’t need to see the letter?”Gwen asked, confused.
“No need. The resemblance is indisputable,” said Jones as heopened one more door, a hidden door, through a private library noless.”
“Where are we going?” asked Gwen in awe of it all.
“To Mr. Harlow’s private apartments,” said Jones as he stoodaside and gestured for them to enter.
“Ridiculous,” muttered Crispin as he ducked through ahead ofGwen. He had no clue what to expect from this trip anymore. He hadjust convinced himself that any connection he had to the Harlowfamily and this ridiculously huge mansion was impossible. Why woulda family of such obvious wealth place a child up for adoption? Itmade no sense.
Finally, theyreached what Gwen assumed to be their final destination, a grandroom no less impressive than the ones they had seen so far. Onlythis one felt cozier for some reason, perhaps because it was livedin. There was a huge roaring fireplace on one end with set of lushchairs and a settee in front of it. More paintings adorned thesehigh walls but unlike the other landscapes, and obscure portraits,these were more modern portraits and both Crispin and Gwen couldonly stare in awe.
“Piers has been notified of your arrival. He is on his way,”Jones said, stepping back through the secret library door. “Makeyourself at home, young Master Crispin.”
“Wow, did he just call you Master Crispin?” Gwen said, grippinghis hand tenaciously. When she looked at him, she found him staringat a particularly large portrait above the mantle of a beautifulyoung woman with raven hair and very familiar dove grey eyes.Beside her stood a younger boy with similar features but for hisstriking blonde hair. The girl couldn’t be more than fifteen orsixteen. “Oh, wow, she could be your twin,” Gwen said, looking backand forth to the painting.
“Not quite a twin,” sounded a deep voice from behind them. “ButI see you’ve found your mother.”
Both Crispin and Gwen turned to the source of that voice. Theywere both stunned speechless. At the end of the room, stood a manwith silver blonde hair, worn long over his square shoulders. Hewas tall and painfully handsome, thought Gwen. If not for thecolour of his hair, he was the spitting image of Crispin. Not onlythat, he dressed in similar fashion yet less obvious in its GothicVictorian flare. He wore a fitted dark jacket, matching trousers,and a crisp white shirt. He had an air of wealth and distinctionabout him, quite eccentric in his own way. Gwen couldn’t help butliken him to David Bowie in the movie Labyrinth minus the spiky hair. Withconfident steps, he approached, his sparkling grey eyes glued toCrispin’s face. Gwen surmised him to be in his early tomid-thirties, devilishly handsome, too.
“Well, are you just going stand there?” he said with a smile inhis pronounced English accent, coming to stand directly in front ofthem. “It’s not polite to stare, you know.” He winked at Gwen andheld out his hand for Crispin, who hadn’t yet uttered aword.
After anawkward standoff, he finally found his voice. “Holy shit, thiscan’t be happening,”
