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12. ~ Lies and Bitterness ~

CHAPTER 12

The day dawned in a misty veil. The air hung heavy with moisture, lending an otherworldly quality to the foggy roads. With only a few yards of visibility, I wondered what awaited me at the property. As I exited the car, I found Zaira and Mr. Snider in the courtyard, discussing the fate of some terracotta pots.

"I'm glad you are here. I'm afraid Mr. Sterling's health has taken a turn for the worse. He hasn't been this sick since we left England—I mean, as to need assistance during the night. Mrs. White hasn't left his side except to get him a cup of tea last night, and then again, this morning," Zaira said with urgency.

"Of course she hasn't," Mr. Snider echoed my thoughts. "She wouldn't waste an opportunity to be needed. Now, Miss Contini, I'm not one to meddle in others' affairs, but there are things amiss at Oak's Place. Strange things in motion. If you have any idea what they might be, I encourage you not to waste time. For Mr. Sterling's sake, you must act before it's too late."

"What do you mean?" How could I fix whatever haunted Oak's Place?

"That's the thing." Mr. Snider groaned. "I know something lurks in the dark, but I don't know what." Before I could question him further, he picked up the shovel from the ground and took the path skirting the house.

"He gives me the chills," Zaira said. "But he is wise and observant."

Funny, I thought, that he had spoken about things being amiss when I almost certainly knew he had plenty of secrets of his own. However, I couldn't help but agree with him. If I only knew what I could do. "Has the doctor been called?"

"Yes, Dr. Petersen stopped by on his way out of town yesterday. If you ask me, I don't think he was here long enough to be of any help—as usual. I doubt he takes Mr. Sterling's sickness seriously. He prescribed rest and medicine to reduce the discomfort."

"Thanks, Zaira." I hurried up the front steps and entered the foyer.

Mrs. White stood there, enshrouded in the gloom of the corridor, a solid barrier between me and Alex's bedroom. "May I have a word with you?"

"Perhaps after I see Mr. Sterling." I tried to get past her, to no avail.

"He's finally fallen asleep. Let him rest." Her gaze brooked no argument.

I wanted to push her out of the way, but she might be right. Besides, it was best to avoid an ugly confrontation. "Very well."

"Let's speak in your office." Mrs. White signaled for me to go first.

What did she want to say? Why now? I came into the room and glanced outside the window. I was about to round the desk when I saw the ghost amid the trees, enveloped in the fog, watching me. My heartbeat quickened, and suddenly, I felt vulnerable. It was apparent he was determined to stick around. And thus far, I hadn't considered what this specter might be capable of, especially when he could evade me at will as he'd done the other day. However, I had a ghastlier matter at hand.

Mrs. White cleared her throat, and I resumed the march to my seat. The ghost's quandary would have to wait.

"I know you have unanswered questions, things that puzzle you about Mr. Sterling." With those words, she'd ensnared me in the conversation.

"That's true, but this might not be the time to discuss it." I didn't want to sound desperate.

"On the contrary, this is the perfect time. You see, first, you can't marry a man you don't know. Second, I worry about my eternal salvation."

"Your eternal salvation? What does that have to do with anything?"

"I have made many mistakes in the name of love—mistakes that destroyed my life. I can't change the past, but I can appease my conscience by telling you the truth. Whatever you decide to do with it is up to you. As for me, I'll be free of the torment in my soul." She pulled an envelope from her pocket. "At first, I hoped you would stay away, and then I hoped your relationship would fail, but things got out of control, and I can't watch this madness any longer."

Could her fervent prayers have been on behalf of her own soul?

"Let me tell you a story that will answer your questions." She dropped onto the flowery armchair, her fingers tapping the envelope on her lap. "All I ask is that you listen and spare me some sympathy if you can."

"Go on."

"Once, there was a young, ambitious lieutenant who was accustomed to having anything he wanted," she started as if she were telling a child's fairy tale. "After years in the British Army, he wasn't advancing as expected. He was cunning and handsome. To his luck or condemnation—I don't know which—he pursued the ward of his superior officer, a general—for the sake of clarity, let's call him General Marcus. Like others before her, she fell helplessly in love with the lieutenant. They married, and he was almost instantly promoted. His advancement brought him contentment, but his unwanted marriage only misery. His wife had served her purpose in helping him to the top, and now she was useless to him."

Could this possibly be true? The newspaper article in his office had cast suspicions on the sincerity of the groom's love. I suddenly felt ill. Like when I read Shakespeare's play about Juliet waking to find Romeo's corpse beside her, I knew something life-altering was afoot.

"Remember, we are speaking of days during the Great War. England fought many traitors and internal battles. It was a time of confusion but also opportunity. So, the solution to his problem came unexpectedly." Mrs. White fingered the rosary around her neck, and her voice shook as if horrified by the images that entered her thoughts. "News reached General Marcus of unmarked ships sailing from the North Sea toward the English Channel. The army did not know how to proceed. The vessels were not authorized to be on British waters, and communications were down.

"General Marcus sent the lieutenant to contain the situation while he stayed in the New Forest to guard his only child, a baby girl—his wife died giving birth to her. His ward—the lieutenant's wife—who was now expecting, also stayed with the general.

"The lieutenant sailed to intercept the enemy. To everyone's relief, the vessels turned around without any conflict. Then he got news of another ship slipping through their defenses the previous night, reaching land farther south. He discovered they planned to attack the general's home. Instead of messaging London for help, he formed a terrible plan.

"General Marcus was one of the country's wealthiest, most powerful men. The lieutenant was next in line to take his place in the army and his estate—if only the general's baby daughter and his ward weren't in the way. However, the obstacles might be removed if the enemy reached the New Forest." Mrs. White clutched her rosary so hard I feared the beads would come off the string. "It wasn't difficult to delay the message long enough to accomplish his purpose without anyone ever suspecting him. Greed and power took control, and everything went according to plan. No one survived the attack at the manor."

This is ridiculous. Alex would have never killed his superior and his daughter, let alone his own wife and unborn child. Never. She's fabricating a story to keep us apart. Still, I would listen, intrigued at how far she would go.

Mrs. White strode to the window, her countenance heavy with sorrow. "The lieutenant was pleased until he discovered the nanny and the baby were missing. He searched far and wide, but it was as if the earth had swallowed them. It intrigued him. How could the nanny have fled so quickly? The answer came when the soldiers discovered a tunnel beneath the house leading into the forest. Worried that the nanny might know something, he hunted them, determined to end their lives.

"The only person who knew the truth was the lieutenant's lover—the one who would never betray him, the one who would do anything to be with him one more time . . . to feel his hands . . . his lips . . . his passion.

"But let's name the actors in the story. Alexander Sterling became the general in command after the passing of his superior, General Marcus Contini." She emphasized the last name. "The faithful one who knew and protected his secret was I."

A wave of revulsion swept over me at the thought of Alex and her being lovers. No. It had never happened. Mr. Vine's words echoed from the past, "Grief comes in many forms. To me, the worst kind is when the one you love doesn't love you back. Isn't that right, Deborah?" The double meaning was only too evident. Not only did Mr. Vine love Mrs. White, he knew of her love for Alex. But I was convinced Alex had never reciprocated her love. And that might be the reason why she tried to poison me against him.

"And let us not forget about the baby," she fired again. "Her name is Florence Contini. Yes, you are that baby."

I rose from the chair, my temper flaring. Out of all the absurdities she had said, this topped them all. "You are lying! I don't believe any of it!"

"You're blinded by love, so here." She handed me the envelope. "See for yourself."

I retrieved the contents. The first paper documented Alexander Sterling's acquiring Marcus Contini's inheritance. The second detailed military dates and ranks. "This doesn't prove anything. Marcus Contini could be anybody."

For the first time in our discussion, Mrs. White vacillated, momentarily contemplating me. "Perhaps this will help you see clearly." She extracted two photographs from her pocket.

The first photo showed a young Alex standing next to an older man with a thick mustache, both dressed in military uniform. I read "General Marcus Contini and Lieutenant Alexander Sterling" on the back of the image. The second picture showed a lady from the waist up. Except for the long hair arranged on her head like a crown, the resemblance was undeniable. Her hands were proudly placed on top of her rounded middle. She was an expectant mother—my mother.

"Notice her wrist," Mrs. White urged.

There, I saw a bracelet. I held the picture close. It matched the one on my wrist.

"Yes, that's your mother, the brave woman who died giving birth to you."

An overwhelming tide of emotions paralyzed me while I struggled to grasp logic. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I couldn't deny the truth any longer. Heavy tears welled up in my eyes and then flowed down my cheeks. All the years of searching, wondering who I was, and resenting the fact that my parents abandoned me came to an end—and so did my belief in Alex's goodness.

Now, I understood his astonishment when he heard my name for the first time, why my being an orphan disturbed him, and why he'd wanted to know more about my roots. I now understood his shock and curiosity upon seeing my bracelet and why he snooped in my purse. Even the mysterious conversations between him and Mrs. White now made sense.

"Old sins cast long shadows," Mrs. White said. "Not in a million years could he have anticipated that the nanny would bring you to America. She must have left you at the monastery. And so you know, he went to England to dig up immigration records. I'm not sure he found anything. Anyhow, his biggest punishment is to have fallen in love with the person he wanted to kill. Believe me, he hates himself for it. At first, he wanted to know if you knew the truth. He hired you to keep you close. ‘A contained enemy is no enemy at all,' he said. But perhaps he hadn't overcome his old addiction to the attentions of the fairer sex and you became a game that backfired. And you know his sickness? I suspect a product of his troubled conscience."

My heart constricted. I wiped my eyes with my sleeve, forcing myself into composure. "Please stop. I've heard enough."

She ignored me. "I also wanted to give you the cemetery book, thinking you might want to visit your parents someday, but he took it from me. I should have let you see it that day, but sadly, I was still too loyal to betray him."

I had forgotten about the little book in the armoire. Mrs. White had snatched it before I read the names in it. The more I remembered, the clearer things became, deepening my despair.

"I've thought nonstop about that wicked day since you got here. Your father must have learned the truth right before the attack and sent you away in the nick of time. And that ring on your finger belonged to his wife. She wore it the day she was murdered."

The door opened, and Alex's frail figure appeared in the doorway. I looked into his beautiful eyes and wished I were dead.

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