Julia grabbed the bundle and began to spew each piece of mail onto the dining-room table. “Pottery Barn, Crate and Barrel, ComEd, Anthropologie, letter for Mom…letter for us?” The twins rarely received mail; all of their correspondence took place online. Valentina took the heavy envelope from Julia’s hand. She stood weighing it, feeling the texture of the paper. Julia took it back from her. They glanced at each other. It’s from a law firm. It’s from London. The twins had never been to London. They’d never left America. London was where their mom was from, but Edie and Jack seldom spoke about that. Edie was an American now-she had gone native, or faux native; the Poole family lived in a suburb of Chicago that had pretended, from its inception, to be an English village. The twins had noticed that Edie’s accent tended to reappear when she was mad, or trying to impress someone.

“Open it,” said Valentina. Julia’s fingers fumbled with the stiff paper. She moved to the living-room window and Valentina followed her. Valentina stood behind Julia and put her chin on Julia’s shoulder and her arms around Julia’s waist. The twins looked like a two-headed girl. Julia raised the letter so Valentina could see it better.

Julia and Valentina Poole

99 Pembridge Road

Lake Forest, IL 60035 USA

Dear Julia and Valentina Poole,

I regret to inform you of the death of your aunt, Elspeth Alice Noblin. Though she never met you, she was interested in your welfare. Last September, knowing that her illness would soon result in her death, she made a new will. I am enclosing a copy of this document. You are her residuary legatees; that is, she has bequeathed to you her entire estate, with the exception of a few minor bequests to friends and charities. You will receive this inheritance when you reach the age of twenty-one.

The bequest is given to you with the following conditions:

1) Ms. Noblin owned an apartment in London, in Vautravers Mews, Highgate, N6. It borders Highgate Cemetery in Highgate Village, a very lovely part of London indeed. She bequeathed this apartment to you on the condition that you both live in it for one year before you may sell it.

2) The entire bequest is given on the condition that no part of it shall be used to benefit Ms. Noblin’s sister, Edwina, or Edwina’s husband, Jack (your parents). Also, Edwina and Jack Poole are forbidden to set foot in the flat or inspect its contents.

Please let me know if you care to accept Ms. Noblin’s estate on these terms. I am always available to answer any questions you may have in regard to this matter.

Ms. Noblin’s executor is Robert Fanshaw. He will be your neighbour if you accept your aunt’s bequest as he lives in the flat just below hers. Mr. Fanshaw can also assist you in matters pertaining to the estate.

Regards,

Xavier Roche

Roche, Elderidge, Potts & Lefley LLP-Solicitors

54D Hampstead High Street

Hampstead, London, NW3 1QA

Julia and Valentina exchanged looks. Julia flipped to the next page. The handwriting was disturbingly similar to Edie’s.

Dear Julia and Valentina,

Hello. I was hoping to meet you both someday, but now that won’t happen. You might wonder why I am leaving all my flotsam and jetsam to you and not to your mother. The best reason I can give is that I feel rather hopeful about you. I wonder what you might make of it all. I thought it might be interesting, even fun.

Your mother and I have been estranged for the last twenty-one years. She can tell you about that if she wants to. You may think that the conditions of my will are a bit harsh; I’m afraid you will just have to decide for yourselves whether to accept on these terms. I am not trying to create discord in your family. I’m trying to protect my own history. A bad thing about dying is that I’ve started to feel as though I’m being erased. Another bad thing is that I won’t get to find out what happens next.

I hope you will accept. It gives me great pleasure to think of the two of you living here. I don’t know if this makes a difference, but the flat is large and full of amusing books, and London is an amazing place to live (though rather expensive, I’m afraid). Your mother tells me you have dropped out of college but that you are autodidacts; if so, you may enjoy living here very much.

I wish you happiness, whatever you may choose to do.

With love,

Elspeth Noblin

There were more sheets of paper, but Julia put the sheaf down and began pacing around the living room. Valentina perched on the back of an armchair and watched Julia orbiting the coffee table, the sofa, then winging off to circle the dining room table a few times. London, thought Valentina. The thought was large and dark, the word was like a giant black dog. Julia stopped, turned and grinned at Valentina.

“It’s like a fairy tale.”

“Or a horror movie,” said Valentina. “We’re, like, the ingénues.”

Julia nodded, resumed pacing. “First, get rid of the parents. Then, lure the unsuspecting heroines to the spooky old mansion-”

“It’s only a flat.”

“Whatever. Then-”

“Serial killers.”

“White slavery.”

“Or it’s like, you know, Henry James.”

“I don’t think people die of consumption any more.”

“They do in the Third World.”

“Yeah, well, the UK has socialised medicine.”

Valentina said, “Mom and Dad won’t like it.”

“No,” said Julia. She ran her fingers across the dining-room table and discovered a bunch of crumbs. She went into the kitchen, moistened a washcloth and wiped the table.

Valentina said, “What happens if we don’t accept?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure it says in the letter somewhere.” Julia paused. “You can’t seriously be thinking about not accepting? This is totally what we’ve been waiting for.”

“What’s that, sweetie?” Edie stood squinting at them from the archway between the living room and the hallway. Her hair was mussed and she had a generally crumpled aspect. Her cheeks were very pink, as though someone had pinched them.

Julia said, “We got a letter.” Valentina scooped it off the side table and brought it to her mother. Edie looked at the return address and said, “I can’t possibly deal with this before I’ve had my coffee.” Valentina went to pour her a cup. Edie said, “Julia, go wake up your dad.”

“Um…”

“Tell him I said so.”

Julia bounded down the hall. Valentina heard her shrieking “Dad-deeeeeeee” as she opened their parents’ bedroom door. Nice, Valentina thought. Why not just use an ice pick? Edie went hunting for her reading glasses. By the time Jack lumbered into the dining room she had read the first few pages of the letter and was making her way through the will.

Jack Poole had once been handsome, in a corn-fed, college-athlete sort of way. His black hair now had a sumptuous grey streak. He wore it longer than the other guys at the bank. He was quite tall and towered over his petite wife and daughters. The years had coarsened his features and thickened his waistline. Jack wore suits so much of his waking life that on the weekends he liked to be slovenly. At the moment he was wearing an ancient maroon bathrobe and a splitting, enormous pair of sheepskin slippers.

“Fee, fi, fo, fum,” Jack said. This was an old joke, the rest of it lost in the mists of the twins’ earliest childhood. It meant, Get me some coffee or I will eat you. Julia poured a cup for her father and set it before him. “Okay,” he said. “I’m up. Where’s the fire?”

“It’s Elspeth,” said Edie. “She’s not just leaving it to them, she’s prying them away from us.”