“If you’re not happy—”
“Please, just listen. I asked myself that. I’ve still got choices. There are always choices. So I asked myself, is this what I want, is this where I want to be, what I want to do? And it is. I love you. I didn’t know I had all this in me.”
She kept her eyes on Harper’s, only on Harper’s and crossed her hands over her heart. “I didn’t know I could love a child the way I do Lily. I didn’t know I could love a man the way I love you. If I had every choice in the world, this is the one I’d pick. Being with you, with our children, in this place. Because you see that’s one more thing, Harper. I love this house, I love this place. As much as you do. What it is, what it stands for, what it’ll be to our children, and theirs.”
“I know. My mind traveled that same road. That’s why you’re the one for me.
“I can’t walk away from here. Please don’t ask me to do that. I can’t walk away from this house, this family, the work I’ve come to love. The only way I can stay is to try to do this thing, to settle this. Right a wrong, or at least understand it. Maybe I was meant to. Maybe we found each other because we were meant to. I don’t know if I can do it if you’re not with me.” She scanned the room. “All of you.”
Then she looked at Harper. “Be with me, Harper. Trust me to do what’s right. Trust us to do it.”
He stepped to her, rested his brow on hers. “I am with you.”
Chapter Twenty
“THERE’S NO GUARANTEE anything will happen.” Mitch slipped a spare tape in his pocket.
“I think I can make it happen. What I mean . . .” Hayley moistened her lips. “I think I can draw her. She wants this—a part of her does, and has for a century.”
“And the other part?” Harper asked.
“Wants revenge. When it comes down to it, she’ll probably be more inclined to hurt you than me.”
“And she can hurt us,” Roz pointed out. “We’ve seen that.”
“So we go up there armed with cameras and tape recorders.” Logan shook his head.
“We happy few,” Mitch stated.
“Well, she’s raised the stakes.” Logan took Stella’s hand. “Since none of us are willing to fold, let’s ante up.”
“We stay together,” Roz said as they started up the stairs. “No matter what. We’ve never really confronted her as a group before. I think there’s strength in that.”
“She always had the upper hand, she always moved first.” Harper nodded. “Yeah, we stay together.”
When they reached the third floor, Roz turned toward the ballroom. Going with instinct, she stepped forward, pushed the double pocket doors open.
“There were lovely parties here. I remember creeping up at night to watch the dancing.”
She reached in to switch on the light. It showered down on the shrouded furniture, and the lovely pattern of the maple floor. “I nearly sold those chandeliers once.” She looked up at the dazzling trio of them dripping down from ornate plaster medallions. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it, even though it would’ve made day-to-day living easier. I gave my own parties here, once upon a time. I believe it’s time I did so again.”
“She came in this way, that night. I’m sure of it.” Though her hand was already in Harper’s, Hayley tightened her grip. “Don’t let go.”
“Not a chance.”
“She came in the terrace doors. They weren’t locked. She could’ve broken the glass if they had been. She came in, and oh . . . Gilt and crystal, the smell of beeswax and lemon oil. The rain dripping, dripping from the gutters. Turn on the lights.”
“I have,” Roz said quietly.
“No, she turns on the light. Harper.”
“Right here.”
“I can see it. I can see it.”
The fog rolled in the doors behind her, smoking damp over the glossy floors. Her feet were caked with mud, with blood where she’d trod on stones, and left streaks of that mud, of that blood, where she walked.
Alive still. Heart beating blood.
This, this is how they lived at Harper House. Grand rooms lit by sparkling chandeliers, gilt mirrors on the walls, long, polished tables and potted palms so lush they smelled of the tropics.
She had never been to the tropics. She and James would go one day, one day they’d go and stroll on sugar sand by warm blue water.
But no, but no, their lives were here, in Harper House. They had cast her out, but she would be here. Always here. To dance in this ballroom, lit by crystal drops.
She swayed, a partnerless waltz, her head tilted up flirtatiously. The blade in her hand shooting light from its keen edge.
She would dance here, night after night if she chose. Drink champagne, wear fine jewels. She would teach James to waltz with her. How handsome he would be, wrapped in his soft blue blanket. How sweet a picture they would make. Mother and son.
She must go to him now, go to James, so they could always be together.
She wandered out. Where would the nursery be? In the other wing, of course. Of course. Children and those who tended them didn’t belong near grand ballrooms, elegant withdrawing rooms. Smell the house! How rich its perfume. Her son’s home. And hers now.
The carpet was soft as fur on her feet. And even so late, even when the house was in bed, the gaslights glowed on low.
Spare no expense! she thought. Money to burn.
Oh, she should burn them all.
At the stairs she paused. They would be sleeping down there, the bastard and his whore. The sleep of the rich and the privileged. She could go down, kill them. Hack them to pieces, bathe in their blood.
Idly, she rubbed her thumb over the curved blade of the sickle, had blood welling red. Would their blood run blue? Harper blood. It would be so lovely to see it, spilling out of their white throats, pooling regally blue on their linen sheets.
But someone might hear. One of the servants could hear, and stop her before her duty was done.
So quiet. She tapped a finger to her cheek, stifled a laugh. Quiet as a mouse.
Quiet as a ghost.
She walked to the other wing, easing doors open if they were closed. Peeking inside.
She knew—it was her mother’s heart speaking, she thought—as her trembling hand reached for the latch on the next door. She knew her James slept inside.
“Please, just listen. I asked myself that. I’ve still got choices. There are always choices. So I asked myself, is this what I want, is this where I want to be, what I want to do? And it is. I love you. I didn’t know I had all this in me.”
She kept her eyes on Harper’s, only on Harper’s and crossed her hands over her heart. “I didn’t know I could love a child the way I do Lily. I didn’t know I could love a man the way I love you. If I had every choice in the world, this is the one I’d pick. Being with you, with our children, in this place. Because you see that’s one more thing, Harper. I love this house, I love this place. As much as you do. What it is, what it stands for, what it’ll be to our children, and theirs.”
“I know. My mind traveled that same road. That’s why you’re the one for me.
“I can’t walk away from here. Please don’t ask me to do that. I can’t walk away from this house, this family, the work I’ve come to love. The only way I can stay is to try to do this thing, to settle this. Right a wrong, or at least understand it. Maybe I was meant to. Maybe we found each other because we were meant to. I don’t know if I can do it if you’re not with me.” She scanned the room. “All of you.”
Then she looked at Harper. “Be with me, Harper. Trust me to do what’s right. Trust us to do it.”
He stepped to her, rested his brow on hers. “I am with you.”
Chapter Twenty
“THERE’S NO GUARANTEE anything will happen.” Mitch slipped a spare tape in his pocket.
“I think I can make it happen. What I mean . . .” Hayley moistened her lips. “I think I can draw her. She wants this—a part of her does, and has for a century.”
“And the other part?” Harper asked.
“Wants revenge. When it comes down to it, she’ll probably be more inclined to hurt you than me.”
“And she can hurt us,” Roz pointed out. “We’ve seen that.”
“So we go up there armed with cameras and tape recorders.” Logan shook his head.
“We happy few,” Mitch stated.
“Well, she’s raised the stakes.” Logan took Stella’s hand. “Since none of us are willing to fold, let’s ante up.”
“We stay together,” Roz said as they started up the stairs. “No matter what. We’ve never really confronted her as a group before. I think there’s strength in that.”
“She always had the upper hand, she always moved first.” Harper nodded. “Yeah, we stay together.”
When they reached the third floor, Roz turned toward the ballroom. Going with instinct, she stepped forward, pushed the double pocket doors open.
“There were lovely parties here. I remember creeping up at night to watch the dancing.”
She reached in to switch on the light. It showered down on the shrouded furniture, and the lovely pattern of the maple floor. “I nearly sold those chandeliers once.” She looked up at the dazzling trio of them dripping down from ornate plaster medallions. “Couldn’t bring myself to do it, even though it would’ve made day-to-day living easier. I gave my own parties here, once upon a time. I believe it’s time I did so again.”
“She came in this way, that night. I’m sure of it.” Though her hand was already in Harper’s, Hayley tightened her grip. “Don’t let go.”
“Not a chance.”
“She came in the terrace doors. They weren’t locked. She could’ve broken the glass if they had been. She came in, and oh . . . Gilt and crystal, the smell of beeswax and lemon oil. The rain dripping, dripping from the gutters. Turn on the lights.”
“I have,” Roz said quietly.
“No, she turns on the light. Harper.”
“Right here.”
“I can see it. I can see it.”
The fog rolled in the doors behind her, smoking damp over the glossy floors. Her feet were caked with mud, with blood where she’d trod on stones, and left streaks of that mud, of that blood, where she walked.
Alive still. Heart beating blood.
This, this is how they lived at Harper House. Grand rooms lit by sparkling chandeliers, gilt mirrors on the walls, long, polished tables and potted palms so lush they smelled of the tropics.
She had never been to the tropics. She and James would go one day, one day they’d go and stroll on sugar sand by warm blue water.
But no, but no, their lives were here, in Harper House. They had cast her out, but she would be here. Always here. To dance in this ballroom, lit by crystal drops.
She swayed, a partnerless waltz, her head tilted up flirtatiously. The blade in her hand shooting light from its keen edge.
She would dance here, night after night if she chose. Drink champagne, wear fine jewels. She would teach James to waltz with her. How handsome he would be, wrapped in his soft blue blanket. How sweet a picture they would make. Mother and son.
She must go to him now, go to James, so they could always be together.
She wandered out. Where would the nursery be? In the other wing, of course. Of course. Children and those who tended them didn’t belong near grand ballrooms, elegant withdrawing rooms. Smell the house! How rich its perfume. Her son’s home. And hers now.
The carpet was soft as fur on her feet. And even so late, even when the house was in bed, the gaslights glowed on low.
Spare no expense! she thought. Money to burn.
Oh, she should burn them all.
At the stairs she paused. They would be sleeping down there, the bastard and his whore. The sleep of the rich and the privileged. She could go down, kill them. Hack them to pieces, bathe in their blood.
Idly, she rubbed her thumb over the curved blade of the sickle, had blood welling red. Would their blood run blue? Harper blood. It would be so lovely to see it, spilling out of their white throats, pooling regally blue on their linen sheets.
But someone might hear. One of the servants could hear, and stop her before her duty was done.
So quiet. She tapped a finger to her cheek, stifled a laugh. Quiet as a mouse.
Quiet as a ghost.
She walked to the other wing, easing doors open if they were closed. Peeking inside.
She knew—it was her mother’s heart speaking, she thought—as her trembling hand reached for the latch on the next door. She knew her James slept inside.
