CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cecilia recoils as though struck, and instantly, I realize my mistake. She turns pale and stiffens, and I step backward myself, certain that she's going to slap me. "What?" she whispers, barely a breath.

I don't know what to say. I want to backpedal, to say I was wrong, that it was idle speculation, that I'm a fool, and she shouldn't listen to me, but I don't. I can't unsay a claim that her husband was murdered, especially the way I put it, that I have reason to believe it.

"You're lying," she says, still barely whispering. "You can't know that."

I can't tell if her fear is due to guilt or to shock. Possibly both.

I'm such a fool. I've done exactly what I warned Elijah not to do, and for just as immature of a reason. I was offended at her for saying she hated Johnathan, and I wanted to let her know that I suspected her.

But what do I do now? Do I rush upstairs and confront her with proof? And what is that proof of anyway? Not hours ago, I acknowledge that it's at best proof of a much lesser crime and perhaps even motivated by a desire to protect her children.

But a viciousness slithers up my brain. I feel a triumph not unlike that Cecilia expresses. I've caught her. I've told the bitch that I know what she did. She can no longer hide in the dark. She slipped up and revealed her true colors, and I see them. I see them clear as day.

That viciousness overcomes prudence, and I say, "I can. I've found more than enough evidence to prove it."

She does slap me, moving so swiftly I can't track her. My ears ring from the blow, and the force of it causes me to stumble backwards. For a moment, my triumph vanishes in naked fear as I stare in shock at her. She's standing now, trembling and staring at me like a cornered animal. Flecks of red appear in her face, and her fists clench and unclench.

"You fucking bitch," she hisses. "How dare you? What gave you the right to interfere with my family? You don't know what you're talking about. You don't know shit!"

I should back away now. I should apologize and leave the room. But that vicious triumph returns, and I say, "Yes, I do. I've found his notes, and I've found evidence that the cause of death was covered up." That last causes her to flinch again, and I press my advantage. "Someone poisoned him. I don't know who yet, but it would have to have been someone close to him. Did Elena visit the house the day he died? Maybe she killed him. Or maybe one of the servants—"

She rushes forward to slap me again, but I quickly round the table. She releases a sound like a muffled teakettle and says, "Stop it. Stop it now."

That's exactly what I should do, but an odd energy seems to have come over me. I feel as though something else is speaking through me, and even though I'm alarmed at my behavior, I can't stop myself.

"Your children miss him, Cecilia. Elijah is just learning to become a man, and his guidance was taken from him."

"Be quiet."

"Isabella has no role model to look up to now, no one to show her how a man should treat a woman."

"Shut up!"

"Samuel will barely remember his father. He'll cling to his memories, but they'll fade over time. His father will gradually lessen from the memory of a man to the memory of an image and finally to the memory of an idea. What was once real and valuable will be nothing more than a ghost with pale skin and empty eyes."

Cecilia shrieks and rushes at me, hands outstretched like a harpy's. In my frenzy, I lift my own hands and prepare to meet her assault.

Then we hear footsteps running down the stairs. A moment later, Samuel's voice calls, "I'm going to beat you!"

Isabella's replies, "Not with your tiny little legs, you won't."

And just like that, the spell is broken. Cecilia and I look at each other in shock. Her face hardens, and an unspoken agreement passes between us, and when Samuel bursts victoriously through the door into the dining room, Cecilia and I are smiling.

Isabella looks between us, and her brow furrows. "Why are you two standing like that?"

"Sometimes older people need to stand, dear. It's hard on old joints to sit all day."

She shrugs. "Whatever."

"I beat you!" Samuel crows, pointing at Isabella and grinning.

"I let you win, you little monster!" she retorts, running after him, hands outstretched. She's only planning to tickle him, but the way she grins and holds her fingers out like claws reminds me disturbingly of her mother.

"All right, kids," Cecilia says. "Settle down. You have school today, so let's get through breakfast and getting dressed quickly." She looks at me and smiles brittlely. "Miss Mary will take you to school today."

So you can hide the evidence , I think to myself. I wish that I had taken that report with its damning sticky note with me the other day.

Then again, what's to stop her from going into my room?

With that realization, I say, "Of course. Let me go get my shoes and coat."

"I'll go with you. I need to wake Elijah up anyway."

I feel a touch of fear when she says that. The thought that she might push me down the stairs and claim that I tripped crosses my mind, but I can't think of a good reason to ask her to stay in the room.

When the dining room door closes behind us, she grabs my arm. She grips hard, but not hard enough to hurt. I meet her eyes and see anger there but also self-control.

"I have business to attend to today, so for the children's sake, I'll allow you to work for the remainder of the day. You will be gone by tomorrow morning, though. I'll make sure Javier knows."

That viciousness slithers back to my brain and brings cunning with it. "I don't think that's wise, Miss Cecilia. After all, the father of your children was murdered, and some of what I've found suggests that the children themselves may also be in danger."

"You're delusional."

"Maybe. But I was tasked with caring for your children. It would be irresponsible of me to abandon them to be targeted by a murderer. I think you and I should work together to discover the identity of this killer. I would prefer not to involve the police just yet, but if I'm forced to leave caring for them, I feel I'll have no choice."

She looks calculatingly at me, as though trying to determine how serious I am. I keep my eyes on her, and she releases me. "We'll talk while the children are at school."

"Of course," I say brightly. "I'm sure you want the vicious murderer who robbed them of a father to be brought to justice."

She pushes past me without replying and stalks up the stairs. I enter my room and quickly gather the crossword and the note Isabella gives me earlier. I remember the tapes in Elijah's room, and my face pales. I don't know if she'd think to search her children's rooms, but if she does and uncovers the fact that both Elijah and Doctor Harrow suspect…

But she wouldn't kill her children. She loves them, doesn't she?

I hear raised voices coming from the bedroom and rush outside. Elijah rushes out of the room, Cecilia close behind. Angry tears are streaming from her face, and she calls after him, "Fuck you! You know how much I've sacrificed for you?"

"I know how much you sacrificed for yourself," he calls back. "I don't think you give two shits about me."

He meets my eyes and smiles tightly. "Morning, Miss Mary. Lovely day, isn't it?"

She gives me a look of sheer hatred, and Elijah catches it. "Oh, don't blame Mary for this. It's not her fault you're a selfish bitch."

"Elijah!" I snap. "That is no way to talk to your mother."

"No, it's fine," Cecilia says, still staring at me. "After all, I should be wearing black and sprinkling ashes on my face, right? I'm only worth the fucking wedding ring that neither of you seem to notice I'm still wearing."

She yanks the ring off and flings it past us. "There. That's better. Now I'm exactly the bitch you think I am. Don't care about my dead husband, don't care that half my life got flushed down the toilet, definitely don't care about my kids. That's me. Just a selfish bitch who dares to try to move on with her life instead of staying married to your father's corpse."

Elijah steps menacingly toward her. I quickly step in between them and put my hand on his chest. "Elijah! Stop it!"

"Mom?"

We look down the stairs to see Isabella and Samuel standing at the foot. Isabella has her hand on Samuel's shoulders, and both stare up at us with trembling lips.

Elijah's shoulders slump. He looks down, and his lower lip pushes out in a pout that makes him look very much still a child. He shakes free of my grasp and stomps down the stairs past his siblings and to the dining room. The house reverberates when he slams the door behind him.

Isabella and Samuel look up at us. His eyes plead with mine to offer some explanation for what just happened. I have none.

Isabella looks between both of us. The accusation in her glance is meant as much for me as for her mother. Samuel starts up the stairs, but she pulls him away. When he protests, she says, "Come on. The adults have some stuff they need to work out without making it our problem."

When the door closes behind them, I turn to Cecilia to see her weeping. The anger I see before is gone. There's only pure, unsullied grief. It hits me hard that I've jumped to the conclusion that she is the murderer without sufficient evidence. Rather than helping the family, I may have just aided in destroying them.

But then, why did she cover up the cause of death? Why didn't she go to the police and seek justice?

I decided to risk telling her what I found. If I don't like her explanation, I can simply leave and not return. I'm confident she won't hurt her own children, no matter what Johnathan may have written. And if she is innocent, then my presence here may be doing more harm than good.

"I found the report that listed his cause of death. Why did you tell everyone it was a heart attack?"

She doesn't seem surprised by my admission. She just nods and says, her voice trembling, "It was a heart attack. And a stroke. The cyanide was what caused it, but I didn't lie. I just left that part out. I figured, crazy me, that the kids didn't need to know that their father had been murdered."

"But shouldn't he receive justice? Shouldn't his killer—"

"He's dead , Mary. Okay? For God's sake, he's fucking dead! I don't give a shit about him! Hate me for that if you want, but I'm trying to take care of my children, and the last thing they need right now is for Johnathan's ghost to haunt us for the rest of our lives. You know who killed him? I have no idea. Could be Elena. Could be Simon Trent. Could be whoever Simon Trent works for with his little hillbilly heroin operation. Could be anyone on the board of Ashford Capital. Could be some sick freak who mailed powder in a letter because he wanted to kill a billionaire anonymously.

"But I'm trying to keep my children safe!"

"By allowing a murderer…"

" No one is going to kill them! They're kids! They haven't done anything! They don't have enemies. For God's sake , Mary! You're a governess, not a detective! Stop meddling! And you know what? Fuck tomorrow. I want you out of here right now. I'll take the damned kids to school. Go to the police if you want. Drag our name through the mud again. Let the kids hate me. After all, it's what's best for them, right?"

The door opens before I can respond. Cecilia blanches and pushes past me. When she sees the person who entered, she gasps and flinches backward. "Richard! What are you doing here?"