The Housekeeper

by Natalie Barelli

  “Anyone who knows Hannah would vouch for how depressed she’d been,” he says now. “How paranoid, too. I made sure of that. I’d tell her I was going away overnight, then I’d come back through the garage and up the elevator, and I would hide out in one of the spare bedrooms on the third floor. She never goes in there. No one does.”

  “You turned on a lamp once,” I say.

  “She told you that? Yes, I did. Other things, too. Little things. Enough to make her feel like she was going crazy. I got the idea from an old classic movie: Gaslight. Have you seen it?”

  I need a moment to process what he just said. He is asking me if I’ve seen some old movie called Gaslight. This is what we are doing now. Okay.

  “I can’t say that I have, no.” Have you seen Fight Club? Also a classic. Check it out if you haven’t already.

  “Anyway,” he resumes, “the point was that she’d tell Dr. Malone about these episodes of confusion, and Dr. Malone would testify later that Hannah was losing her mind, although not in those terms.”

  “So it was you, the night Mia was so ill—you came downstairs and stood outside my door.”

  “That’s right. I did. You can move on from that now. Do the glass cabinet over here. So, yes, that was me, although I didn’t make Mia ill, that just happened. But where was I? Hannah. Right. You can take an overdose of sleeping pills, you know. People think it doesn’t work anymore, but that’s not true. If you take enough and you’re weak to begin with, you will die. But she’d also have to kill Mia, and that was the risky part. There would be extensive inquiries, as you can imagine. Still, I was prepared to take that risk. But then you came along, and I didn’t need to. Once I found out who you were, I’d just have you kill them both.”

  Maybe it’s the adrenaline, I don’t know, but I feel some of my strength returning. It comes with a sliver of hope and I begin to think of all the ways I could kick him when he gets close to me again.

  Keep him talking.

  “I thought Hannah adored you. Why did she want to leave you?”

  He sighs. “Who knows? She hadn’t met anyone else, so it wasn’t that. She simply announced it one day, not very long before you joined us. You should have seen her, she was like a little bird, shaking and frightened. I told her to give us some time, give our marriage a chance. For Mia.” He chuckles, then sighs again. “But I suspect it’s because... Well. Let’s say I have certain tastes. They’re not as unusual as one might think. I like to inflict pain. Hannah knew that, but then she turned out to be just like Serena. At first they say they’re happy to experiment. They think it’s exciting. But then they turn. Serena threatened to take out a restraining order against me. I don’t know why I even married her. She never looked at me the way Hannah did. She was too ambitious, too selfish. I would have had to pay an awful lot of cash for her to keep her mouth shut. And I’m not sure she would have.”

  “So you sent her to London, and now you’re paying her off. I found the credit card statements in your office.”

  He smirks. “Serena isn’t in London. I just use her credit card online, or whenever I go there, to make it look like she is.”

  “What do you mean? Where is she?”

  He takes his time, sips his drink, his eyes not leaving mine. Something about the way he’s grinning is making my pulse race and my insides turn to water.

  “Not far,” he says.

  I’m glad I did what I did.

  Oh God. She’s dead. I’m sure of it. He was going to make it look like Hannah had something to do with it, but then he changed his mind and involved me. He must have forgotten that detail in the diary. I’m glad I did what I did. That was back when Hannah was guilty. The room spins around, I’m going to faint. I am on my knees, my head in my hands. Because now I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’m not getting out of here alive. And neither is Mia.

  “You’re insane,” I whisper.

  “Right. Nicely argued, Claire. Your early education is showing.” He wants to say more, but he’s interrupted by his cellphone ringing. My breath catches, and our eyes lock.

  He raises a finger. “You say one word…” He lets the threat trail off and answers the call.

  “Eryn, sweetheart!”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Sweetheart?

  He has left the room and closed the door behind him. I turn my gaze to the French doors leading to the balcony. I could go out there, call out … and then what? We’re too high up here anyway, and even if I did manage to catch someone’s attention, what then?

  I position myself behind the door and listen.

  “I know, it’s shocking.… No, I didn’t know she had a heart condition, I’m not sure she did either.… No, don’t do that, Eryn, there’s no need, really.… I’d rather you didn’t.… Of course, sweetheart. No, please don’t…. You know I do…. All right…. Me too.… Give me half an hour…. All right, I’ll see you then.”

  I’m back staring out the French doors when he returns, but not before I hear him swear under his breath. Fuck.

  “Is Eryn in on this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Of course not,” I repeat. “Does she know you beat up women? That you kill them?” I ask, then regret it immediately. But he just gives me a small smile, like we’re in a conspiracy together.

  “She’ll be here in thirty minutes. Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says.

  * * *

  I am sitting at Hannah’s dresser, looking at my face in the mirror. I have a large purple patch near my left cheekbone, like a stain. There’s a cut on my bottom lip; it’s swollen. My eyelids are puffy and there are dark circles under my eyes.

  Harvey is sitting next to me and has me facing him. As he picks up a jar of foundation, he flicks his chin toward the baby monitor on top of the dresser. “You’re really fond of Mia, aren’t you? You always carry that thing with you, wherever you go. Keep still.”

  But I can’t. I’m so close to him, it’s making my body quiver uncontrollably. I couldn’t stop if I tried. I can smell a whiff of bourbon on his breath. With a small sponge, he starts to apply the foundation on my face in small circles. I wince, but I keep still as much as I can and let him paint my face, because surely my best shot out of this is Eryn.

  “How long has it been going on?” I ask.

  “A while.”

  “Did Hannah tell you that I’d warned her about Eryn after the gala?”

  “No, but she told Eryn, and Eryn told me.”

  He puts down the sponge on a small glass plate and chooses a makeup brush. He opens drawers, checks various items until he finds the face powder and brushes it on my cheeks. Then he selects a lipstick, pale pink, and puts it on my lips. He rubs some of it off with his thumb, and I close my eyes and try not to vomit.

  “There was a photo on this dresser before, did you move it?” I don’t know why I bother asking, since I already know the answer.

  “I might have.”

  I don’t tell him I found it. What would be the point? He’d only ask me to return it, then he’ll hide it somewhere else.

  “There,” he says, taking my chin and admiring his handiwork. “That should do it.” And just as he says that, the doorbell rings.

  I expect Harvey to go downstairs and open the door, but he stands up and says, “Bring her upstairs to the main living room. I’ll be watching you, Claire. If you say anything, anything at all, Mia dies. Do you understand me?” His gaze flicks to the monitor.

  There’s a narrow pane of thick glass squares on one side of the front door. Eryn has cupped her hands around her face and is looking through it. It makes her look distorted, like she’s underwater. Then she rings the bell again.

  When I open the door she barely looks at me. She hurries up the stairs and I follow. She wraps her arms around his neck. “Harvey, you all right?” I want to whisper a warning in her ear, Don’t. You’ll be next.

  He holds her by the shoulders and smiles sadly. “I’m fine, thank you for coming. It’s
a terrible time.”

  She looks at me, then gives him a quick smile, as if to show she understands this is for my benefit, because let’s face it, it’s not a terrible time at all. It’s a fantastic time. If only Hannah could die, then she’d really pull out the party hats.

  But maybe Harvey’s handiwork wasn’t as good as he thought, because she does a double take and says, “What on earth happened to you?”

  “Cl—Louise was terribly upset by the news.” He almost said Claire. The fact that he corrected himself suggests she doesn’t know who I am. “It’s been quite a shock for her,” he says. “She hasn’t stopped crying since she heard. Louise is very fond of Hannah, very protective, as you know. Aren’t you, Louise?”

  Eryn narrows her eyes at me.

  “Would you like a drink?” he says. She nods, and for a moment I think he’s going to ask me to do it, but instead he goes to the bar and pours something without asking what she wants.

  He’s got his back to us, and I’m thinking of whispering in her ear. Call the police, as soon as you can, tell them he’s poisoned his wife, he’s going to kill his daughter, tell them to come here right away. But I don’t think she’d do it. She’d think I was crazy. She’d tell Harvey, and whatever plans he has for me, he’d move them forward.

  She takes the glass from Harvey and grabs his wrist. “What’s this?” She’s looking over the bite mark on his hand. My teeth, nice and deep, the sight of which gives me a little jolt of satisfaction, so that’s nice.

  “What happened?” she asks.

  “Nothing.” He pulls it away from her and rubs his thumb over it. She doesn’t look satisfied, though. She reaches for it again so he says, “Mia. She was just playing.”

  Eryn clearly thinks that makes no sense—and it doesn’t, obviously. Mia has no teeth. Her mouth is the size of his thumbnail. Eryn jerks her head back and frowns. “Mia?” And then, right on cue, Mia begins to whimper. We all stop speaking and listen, but I know that sound, and it’s just the beginning.

  “She’s hungry,” I say.

  “She’ll be fine,” Harvey snaps.

  “She won’t be if she doesn’t get fed. There’s a bottle ready in the nursery.”

  Eryn looks from him to me and back again. “So? Go and feed her!” she says. Harvey hesitates, but it would be too strange for him to say, No, don’t feed her. Let her starve. Eryn would be confused. She’d ask questions, because that’s what she’s like. But Eryn’s goal right now is to be alone with Harvey, and Mia needing to be fed is just the opportunity to do that.

  Harvey glances at the monitor that isn’t making any sound, then gives a small shake of the head. I am banking on him knowing nothing about what we do with Mia around here. He’s never paid attention before, let’s face it. He wouldn’t know a baby monitor if I smacked him on the head real hard with one. I move to pick it up.

  “Leave it. You don’t need it,” he says. I mumble something about the bottle and leave the room.

  * * *

  I scoop her up. She’s a bit warm, but that’s because she’s got the blanket all wrapped up around her. I loosen it a little, then grab the bottle I prepared earlier and give it to her.

  What are we going to do? I whisper. I can hear Eryn laughing one floor up. God, really? With her friend dying in the hospital? She may as well enjoy it, I suppose. She won’t be laughing long if she ends up with this creep.

  I walk over to the landing with Mia in my arms. I hear them talking, alternating between whispering, silence, then speaking at a normal level, which I suspect is for my benefit. I glance down the stairs and close my eyes. Do it. Now. I walk down quickly, silently. I glance at every spot along the way where there should be a phone, but each one has been removed. Mia is looking up at me, her eyes wide, but there’s no fear in them.

  I am on the second floor, where the kitchen is. The video monitor, the screen, is still on the table, next to the fake journal.

  But I’ve already screwed up. I should have found a way to take the other monitor with me. It’s my proof, my lifeline, but it’s too late now. There won’t be another reason for me to be down here. I take the bottle out of Mia’s grasp and her little mouth makes an O of surprise. I hold my breath for what comes next as I whisper Sorry sorry sorry over and over. She smacks her lips, and I almost laugh. I shove the bottle in the refrigerator and the monitor screen in the cutlery drawer. I snatch the journal from the table. I’m taking too long, but I feel like I’ve got bionic hearing and even from down here I can pick up the tone of their chatter. And hopefully hear any footsteps where they shouldn’t be.

  Then I silently hurry down that one last floor and open the front door, slip out, and pull it behind me, bracing against it so it’s as quiet as possible, until I feel its gentle, satisfying click against my hip.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  It’s raining softly. I turn the corner onto Fifth Avenue, doing that walking-but-really-running thing, like a geisha on speed. My face is damp, and I pull the blanket over Mia’s head.

  This is bad, really bad. I didn’t think it through, I just did it. But I don’t have a phone, or my wallet, or money. Should I go to the police station? They won’t believe me. They’ll take me back to Harvey; he’ll find a way to explain the bruises on my face. And he would have figured out by now that the audio monitor is in fact a video monitor. He’ll know that it’s been recording everything he has said and done for the past three hours onto an SD card. He might be an absentee father, but he’s not stupid.

  I reach the bus shelter and look behind me. The M1 bus is almost here. I could plead with the driver. I lost my wallet. My baby needs to get home. She’s tired. Please, sir? But I catch the glances of passersby. They start with a small smile (oh look, a baby) that immediately becomes suspicious. It’s almost ten o’clock at night. My uniform is soiled from cleaning for the last two hours, and it’s missing a button. My hands are red and swollen. I have a purple bruise on my knee and another on my forearm, and those are just the visible ones. Take the makeup off my face and I’ll look like Mike Tyson on a bad day. I am carrying a baby in my arms, wrapped in a blanket. Underneath that, she’s wearing a diaper and a white cotton singlet. That’s it.

  They’re studying me. They’re learning my face in case they’re asked later for a witness statement. Baby abducted! Can you help with a composite sketch? Ugly, crap skin, short messy hair the color of compost, uniform too big for her that looks like it could use a wash. I couldn’t see the baby, she was wrapped up in a beige blanket.

  But they’re not game enough to stop me yet. Mia is blinking and scrunching her eyes as the rain hits her face. I pull the blanket over her head again, but it’s too much, too hard, and she starts to cry.

  A voice behind me. “Are you all right?”

  My heart bounces around in my chest like a pinball. I walk faster without turning around. Someone comes out of a taxi a few feet ahead. I hold Mia tighter and run up to it. I could go to April’s. She can pay the driver when I get there. She’ll help me figure out what to do next, but someone else goes for the taxi at the same time, a woman in an office suit with a bag over her shoulder and a cell in her hand and we’re both at the door, our hands almost touching.

  Please.

  Her gaze shifts, and she stares at a spot behind me, just as I feel a hand on my elbow.

  “Sweetheart. There you are.”

  I lock eyes with her, try to plead silently for her help. She doesn’t know it, but I’ve wet myself. She looks back at me, then at Harvey. She’s not sure, but she doesn’t want to get involved. I try to think of all the things I could say to her in this moment, but all I can think of is, Take the baby. Then I lean close to her ear and whisper. “Call the hospital, Stony Brook Southampton. Hannah Carter. Tell them it’s foxglove.”

  I wanted to say more. Ask them to send the police to Hannah Carter’s house. But Harvey has already yanked me away. “Come home, sweetheart. We can discuss it there. You’ll catch cold out here.” He turns to the woman
and with a small, resigned sigh he says, “I need to get her home…”

  The woman is frowning at me, then she shakes her head and moves on. Like she couldn’t care less. Like this is too hard, and all I can think is, we are all going to die and something inside me wonders if this is a song and how come I can’t remember.

  * * *

  Harvey grabbed Mia from me and he’s holding her roughly with one arm. With the other he pushes me inside and I trip on the tiles.

  “What did you say to her?” he bellows over Mia’s cries. The notebook falls to the floor and he scoops it up, holds it up, like he’s trying to understand what it’s doing there.

  “I told you already,” I wail. “I asked her to take Mia away!”

  He yanks me up and drags me up the stairs to the next landing, where Eryn stands, arms crossed, her face a mixture of triumph and disgust. And I know, before she says it, that she’s finally remembered.

  “Her name is Claire Petersen!” she says. “She knows Hannah—” But I don’t hear the rest because he hands Mia over to her and she disappears upstairs. I yell at her to keep her safe and Harvey drags me back into the living room.

  “Shut up!” he hisses, his face inches from mine.

  I nod and wipe the snot off my face with my sleeve. He throws the notebook on the coffee table. It slides off and lands on the floor. My eyes dart around for the baby monitor, but it’s gone and I am overwhelmed with a wave of despair. It’s all I had, and he found it. He figured it out, and now it’s gone, and nobody will ever believe me. I have nothing. We’re all going to die.