CHAPTER TEN

I don't sleep the rest of the night. I wait until six to head downstairs, not because I fear waking anyone else—if they were going to wake, they would have done so when I slammed the door to my room behind me—but because I fear that if I leave before, I'll encounter the ghost of my sister, and if I do that, then my sanity will be forever lost.

Paolo is not up yet, but that's all right. I don't think I want to talk to anyone right now. The children don't wake for another hour, and a moment to myself drinking coffee and watching the sunrise filter through the window should center me enough that I can make it through the day without collapsing further into madness.

Am I mad? I would have insisted that wasn't the case, but after yesterday, I'm not so sure.

Except it isn't just yesterday. From the moment I arrived here, I felt the evil of this place. The trees that look like skeletons, the house that screams its silent hatred of me as I approach, the family that regards all visitors as threats and lives in fear of its own matriarch.

I recall a line from a novel I read as a girl. In it, the author describes a house "not sane" that held darkness within."

This house holds darkness within. That room…

But there's no way that could be us! That could not be my family. How could they have known?

How could I have known? How could I have dreamed of the same forest, the same fog, the same ghost with its hand on my shoulder, the same damned holes where it's eyes should be?

What in God's name is happening to me?

"Mary?"

I flinch, nearly spilling coffee on my burnt hand.

"Sorry to startle you," Cecilia says. "I figured you'd be here. You're always up so early. I wanted to see how your hand felt."

"It's all right," I say.

I manage a smile, a miracle considering my current mental state, and say, "How were the children yesterday while I was gone? I realized I never asked."

"Concerned about you. Poor Samuel was beside himself. He kept asking if I knew when you'd be home. He was so relieved when you walked in. Well, you remember that part."

I offer a more genuine smile as I recall the embrace the youngest Ashford gives me. Some of the terror that grips my heart recedes at the memory.

"Yes. I'm so grateful for his affection."

She sits in front of me, and I remember my manners. "I'll bring you some coffee."

Doing something as mundane as serving coffee causes the fear to recede even further, and I feel almost normal when I sit down again.

"I hear we have you to thank for our dinner last night as well," Cecilia says, "Paolo was practically floating on air."

"Yes, well, the children can't live on boxed macaroni and cheese forever, can they?"

She laughs. "No, I suppose not."

I decide this is a chance for me to connect with her. I no longer feel the same coldness from her as I did when I first arrived. Perhaps I can cultivate something more than politeness this morning.

I bring her the coffee and sit across from her. "I hear Johnathan was a big supporter of charity."

She looks at me quizzically. "What brought that thought to your mind."

I recall Theresa's warning about burdening her with the clothing and jewelry stored in the linen closet and choose my words carefully. "I suppose to be perfectly accurate, I heard that Johnathan's mother was involved with charity. I simply assumed Johnathan took after her in that regard."

She laughs. "Well, Johnathan supported a few charities, but who told you his mother supported charity? Emily was… well, she was good to her family, but she cared very little for the rest of the world. She actually used to fight Johnathan over his support of charity. She couldn't understand why he was ‘wasting his wealth on rabble.'"

I fight to keep the shock from my face. That shock quickly turns to fury.

Theresa lied to me. Those weren't earmarked for charity. They probably weren't even Emily Ashford's clothes. It occurs to me that a number of the dresses would fit Theresa's figure quite well.

That thief!

"Cecilia?"

I turn to see Theresa approaching. She gives me a haughty glare, then says to Cecilia, "Doctor Harrow is on the phone for you."

Cecilia holds her hand out for her phone, and Theresa hesitates. "I… I left it in your room, ma'am. I didn't feel comfortable touching your property."

Cecilia sighs and offers me an apologetic smile. "Thank you for the coffee, Mary."

Perhaps it's just my weakened emotional state after the revelation of my (alleged) hospitalization and the terrifying dream I've had, but hearing Theresa demurely suggest that she's too respectful to touch Cecilia's property meanwhile a half million dollars of it sits in a supply closet underneath fifty thousand dollars' worth of fine dresses she purchased with stolen money is too much for me. When Cecilia leaves the room, I stand and stride toward Theresa.

I am not a large woman, but I stand taller than Theresa, and when I am angry, I take on a fierce demeanor. Theresa initially regards me with her usual contempt, but that quickly fades into a look of real terror. She backs up and looks toward the door, but I reach her before she has a chance to make her escape.

"You lying thief," I hiss.

I don't expect to be so direct and forceful, and for a moment, I'm sure my face wears the same shock that Theresa's does. I'm not the kind of person who simply erupts like that. In fact, my first instinct is to apologize and try a more diplomatic approach, but something seems to have taken me over. I don't feel entirely in control of myself anymore.

Theresa draws herself up to every inch of her unimpressive height and meeting my eyes indignantly. "How dare you?"

Once more, I respond with vitriol. Surely, the emotion behind it is genuine, but I am once again shocked by my forcefulness when I say, "You lied to me. Those dresses weren't meant for charity. Emily Ashford despised charity. Cecilia told me." Theresa flinches and says, "You told her?"

"Not yet. I'm about to."

I spin on my heel and start for the kitchen door.

"No!"

She grips my arm and spins me around. I try to pull free, but she holds me with surprising strength, and the viciousness in her eyes cracks through my own indignance. For the first time since meeting her, I feel afraid.

"Who do you think you are, huh?" she spits. "I've worked for this family for forty years! You haven't been here a week! You want to judge me from your prim and proper ivory tower? Fuck you! Forty years I've slaved for this family, and if every now and then I want to wear something that doesn't make me look like a fucking janitor, what's wrong with that?"

Her vulgarity stuns me, and I can't figure a response. She shakes me, just a little, but enough to remind me that she's capable of hurting me if she wants to.

"Do you know how much jewelry Miss Cecilia has?"

She speaks her name like a swear word. I muster up enough courage to yank my arm away and turn to face her again. "No. Because I don't snoop on my employers."

She laughs. "So you haven't been prowling the house at all hours of the night seeing what you can find? Don't lie to me, Mary. You wouldn't have found my jewelry had you not been snooping."

"I wouldn't have stolen Miss Cecilia's jewelry for any reason."

"Oh, get off your high horse. That bitch dropped more money out of her purse walking to the car yesterday than I'll ever steal in my life. Shouldn't it tell you something that I've made off with a half million in pearls and diamonds and they've never even noticed?"

"Johnathan noticed."

She pales again and backs up a half step. I meet her eyes and fight back the fear that crawls up my spine as she regards me.

After a moment, she nods. "Well, Johnathan's dead. And Miss Cecilia has enough on her plate without worrying about me. She doesn't even realize she's missed one or two pieces of jewelry a year for the past eighteen years. What she doesn't know won't even raise her eyebrow. But if you want to make things harder for her after she's just lost the father of her children, go ahead and tell her. See if she doesn't send you packing along with me for disturbing the fragile peace she's been given."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take."

She reddens, and I allow myself a moment of triumph knowing I've called her bluff.

Premature triumph, it turns out.

She smiles and says, "You know about me, do you? Well, I know about you. I know all about the little holiday you had when your sister went missing."

The blood drains from my face. "How?"

"Doesn't matter. But I wonder how Miss Cecilia would feel about you caring for her children if she knew what you did to yourself and your poor mother after Annie went—"

I slap her. Hard. I don't realize what I've done at first. From my perspective, Theresa's head snaps to the side out of nowhere. She gasps and stumbles backwards, staring at me in shock. Tears well in her eyes but once the initial shock of the blow fades, she grins and stands tall, lowering her hand so I can see the clear handprint on her cheek.

"My my," she says. "Let's hope the children don't make the mistake of bringing up that subject." Her smile disappears. "Stay out of my business."

She leaves the room, and I stand there, knees trembling, shoulders shaking. The image of that ghost's empty soulless eyes burns into my vision, but I lack the will or the strength to turn away.

It's not until I hear the children coming downstairs that I manage to push the thoughts to the background and smile. Samuel—still shaken by my injury—rushes to me and throws his arms around my waist. "Good morning, Miss Mary!"

"Good morning, Samuel!" I say brightly. "Isabella, Elijah. How did you sleep?"

Elijah meets my eyes, and rather than answer my question, he frowns. "Is everything all right, Miss Mary?"

"Wonderful!" I insist. "Have a seat. I'll go see about breakfast."