has is the original, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Cosima made copies for her other children as well (for the healthy ones at least). I’m attaching our e-file of the text, which my sister and I transcribed.
Once you’ve read that I’ll be happy to talk to you about Royboy and the others in our family and how the genetic condition Cosima called a “curse” survived through these 150 years. From the ancestry report collected by West World, I’m guessing only Mary and Kipp were affected and that your branch of the family was spared. Praise God for that!
Rebecca read that portion again, wondering what it could possibly mean. She noted the attachment and for a moment entirely forgot she was due downstairs any moment. Much as she would like to read it now, she only had time to finish the e-mail.
In any case, I’ll let you and your commercial manager (hello, Rebecca!) know once I arrive in Ireland and have a firm date for my visit to England. It’s very nice, isn’t it, to find someone who shares the same blood but has lived an ocean apart? How small and connected the world seems right now.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Dana Martin Walker
Rebecca smiled, though she wasn’t a relation at all. What was it about family, even one so distant, that could create an instant link?
No more stalling; it was time to join Quentin and his mother.
Helen had chosen to serve dinner in the garden room. A hundred years ago it had been an aviary, but the family’s interest in birds must have waned during one war or another, and birds were no longer purchased. A single blue and gold macaw remained, believed to be over fifty years old. Robert Hollinworth had always been its primary caregiver, and when he died the bird had stopped eating for days. Quentin claimed himself a poor substitute for his father, though their voices and stature were similar. It wasn’t long before the bird seemed bonded to Quentin.
Rebecca met Quentin and his mother in the hall just outside the room.
“Mum,” Quentin said, smiling Rebecca’s way and extending a hand to her elbow, “do you recall Rebecca Seabrooke? She’s cleared her schedule and will be joining us this evening.”
Lady Elise was perhaps a hair’s breadth taller than Rebecca. Whereas Rebecca was dark, Lady Elise was light. Her skin, unlike Rebecca’s more olive complexion, was like powdered ivory. Her hair was a mix of blonde and white, impossible to tell if the white was partner to gray or added by design. Features, probably lovely when young, had sharpened with age. Her nose and chin pointed rather downward; her eyes seemed pulled the other direction. With attention to detail Lady Elise was still a distinctive woman, exquisitely dressed in an ice blue suit and expertly made up to take years from her face.
She was politely smiling with a bit of what looked like suspicious caution, mixed with a tinge of curiosity. Even so, it was a smile, and because of that, Rebecca felt sure the older woman had no idea who she was.
“I expected us to dine alone, Quentin, but tell me more about this woman in front of me.”
Rebecca extended her hand, which Elise shook with just the right amount of firmness. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Hollinworth, although I must admit the advantage of knowing a bit about you and your family—at least, the Hollinworth side.”
One brow lifted and Rebecca was reminded of a photograph she’d seen of Lady Elise during a rare visit to a public restaurant. The place had closed within six months, and Elise’s face had encapsulated the reason. Rebecca was left wondering if almost no one liked the food or if Lady Elise had placed the germ of distaste in prospective diners before they’d taken their first bite.
“And how is it you know about the Hollinworths, Miss . . . it is Miss?”
“Yes, but please call me Rebecca. Your husband hired me as the Hall’s commercial manager three years ago, so I’ve become quite familiar with the family’s
Once you’ve read that I’ll be happy to talk to you about Royboy and the others in our family and how the genetic condition Cosima called a “curse” survived through these 150 years. From the ancestry report collected by West World, I’m guessing only Mary and Kipp were affected and that your branch of the family was spared. Praise God for that!
Rebecca read that portion again, wondering what it could possibly mean. She noted the attachment and for a moment entirely forgot she was due downstairs any moment. Much as she would like to read it now, she only had time to finish the e-mail.
In any case, I’ll let you and your commercial manager (hello, Rebecca!) know once I arrive in Ireland and have a firm date for my visit to England. It’s very nice, isn’t it, to find someone who shares the same blood but has lived an ocean apart? How small and connected the world seems right now.
Looking forward to meeting you,
Dana Martin Walker
Rebecca smiled, though she wasn’t a relation at all. What was it about family, even one so distant, that could create an instant link?
No more stalling; it was time to join Quentin and his mother.
Helen had chosen to serve dinner in the garden room. A hundred years ago it had been an aviary, but the family’s interest in birds must have waned during one war or another, and birds were no longer purchased. A single blue and gold macaw remained, believed to be over fifty years old. Robert Hollinworth had always been its primary caregiver, and when he died the bird had stopped eating for days. Quentin claimed himself a poor substitute for his father, though their voices and stature were similar. It wasn’t long before the bird seemed bonded to Quentin.
Rebecca met Quentin and his mother in the hall just outside the room.
“Mum,” Quentin said, smiling Rebecca’s way and extending a hand to her elbow, “do you recall Rebecca Seabrooke? She’s cleared her schedule and will be joining us this evening.”
Lady Elise was perhaps a hair’s breadth taller than Rebecca. Whereas Rebecca was dark, Lady Elise was light. Her skin, unlike Rebecca’s more olive complexion, was like powdered ivory. Her hair was a mix of blonde and white, impossible to tell if the white was partner to gray or added by design. Features, probably lovely when young, had sharpened with age. Her nose and chin pointed rather downward; her eyes seemed pulled the other direction. With attention to detail Lady Elise was still a distinctive woman, exquisitely dressed in an ice blue suit and expertly made up to take years from her face.
She was politely smiling with a bit of what looked like suspicious caution, mixed with a tinge of curiosity. Even so, it was a smile, and because of that, Rebecca felt sure the older woman had no idea who she was.
“I expected us to dine alone, Quentin, but tell me more about this woman in front of me.”
Rebecca extended her hand, which Elise shook with just the right amount of firmness. “It’s a pleasure to see you, Mrs. Hollinworth, although I must admit the advantage of knowing a bit about you and your family—at least, the Hollinworth side.”
One brow lifted and Rebecca was reminded of a photograph she’d seen of Lady Elise during a rare visit to a public restaurant. The place had closed within six months, and Elise’s face had encapsulated the reason. Rebecca was left wondering if almost no one liked the food or if Lady Elise had placed the germ of distaste in prospective diners before they’d taken their first bite.
“And how is it you know about the Hollinworths, Miss . . . it is Miss?”
“Yes, but please call me Rebecca. Your husband hired me as the Hall’s commercial manager three years ago, so I’ve become quite familiar with the family’s
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