by Amy Cross
“It's... a little unlikely,” Kate suggested.
“Oh,” Estella continued excitedly, “do you know what you should do? You should come to dinner at the house tonight! It's usually just Edgar's friends all over the place, I'd so love to invite someone myself! He's planning one of his big meals, so you simply must join us!”
“Actually,” she replied, “I already am.”
“You -” Pausing, Estella was clearly shocked. “You are?”
“Edgar sent me an invitation yesterday. Didn't he tell you?”
Estella stared at her for a moment, before the smile returned to her face. “Absolutely,” she said, not particularly convincingly. “He tells me everything. It just... It must have slipped my mind, that's all.”
“I've got to admit,” Kate continued, “I was surprised. Then again, I think Edgar likes surprising people, doesn't he? It's one of the ways he plays his games.”
“It certainly is,” Estella replied, swallowing hard. “That's quite some insight you've got there. You really...” She paused, eying Kate with a hint of suspicion. “You really do know Edgar rather well, don't you?”
“It's complicated,” Kate told her.
“You know,” Estella continued, “I'm still not entirely sure whether to believe all this fantastical talk of you having come from the future. Not that I'm calling you a liar, not for one second, it's just... Well, it's a remarkable thing, even for Thaxos.” She paused. “But if it is true, I suppose it means that you know a great deal about what happens to everyone.”
“Estella -”
“I know that Edgar and I will be happy together,” she added, “and that we'll have many wonderful children. Two boys and two girls would be perfect. I don't suppose I should pry too much and ask about Nixon and Madeleine and the rest.” She waited for Kate to reply, as if she wanted to hear all the details but didn't want to admit as much. “Well,” she said finally, “I suppose it would be dangerous to know, wouldn't it?”
“I'd really rather not talk about that kind of thing,” Kate told her.
“But you do know Edgar in the future,” Estella continued. “You and he must be close, so I suppose the three of us must still be friends. I can tell that he's confused by you, and that he finds you interesting. So very few people are capable of attraction his attention in such a way.”
“I guess I'm just lucky,” Kate said with a faint smile.
Estella stared at her a moment longer, before remembering to smile again. “The church,” she said finally.
“I'm sorry?”
“I should get to the church, and I suppose you should get back to work at the store. I can't monopolize all your time, can I?”
“But I'll see you tonight,” Kate pointed out.
“Yes,” Estella continued, adjusting her gloves. “Yes, you will. And I'm sure we'll all have a marvelous time.”
***
“Forgive me,” Estella whispered a short while later, making the sign of the cross on her chest as she stood in the church's doorway. “I have sinned, I have sinned so very much...”
She paused, trying to stay calm, before looking up at the ceiling for a moment.
“What am I to do?” she continued. “I'm engaged to be married to the most wonderful man, but I can't shake these terrible feelings of jealousy. It's so unwarranted, and Edgar deserves someone who's so much better. I know I can be good enough for him, I just need to work a little harder. Can't you give me some guidance? I know I don't deserve your help, Lord, but I'm begging you, show me what -”
Hearing a faint bumping noise at the far end of the church, she looked past the pews. She expected to see Father Gregory shuffling into view at any moment, but after a few seconds she realized that an unnatural stillness seemed to have settled, as if the air itself had not been disturbed for quite some time. Somewhere deep in her belly, she could already tell that something was wrong.
“Hello?” she called out. “Father Gregory?”
Hearing no reply, she made her way along the aisle. Glancing around, she felt certain that she was being watched, but she saw no-one nearby and as she reached the altar she turned and looked back toward the door. The sense of being watched, however, was persisting, and she felt as if someone was standing right next to her. Turning, she looked in every direction, and finally she began to feel an urge to get away from the church as quickly as possible. Forcing herself to stay, and telling herself that she was simply being foolish, she turned to look toward the small office at the side of the building.
“Father Gregory? Are you here?”
She waited.
Silence.
“It's Estella Graves!” she continued. “I came to talk to you about my wedding, I -”
Spinning around, she felt as if someone was right behind her, but there was still no sign of an intruder. She took a step back, but a moment later she heard a faint sniffing sound over her shoulder. Turning again, she saw that once again there was no-one nearby.
“I think I shall...” She paused, her heart racing as she tried to shake the strange sensation. “I think I shall come back another time,” she said finally, turning and heading back along the aisle. She glanced over her shoulder several times, still feeling as if she was being watched, as if the church itself was rejecting her, before reaching the door and -
At the last moment, she saw him.
A figure was on the floor, over in the corner by the confessional box. Recognizing him immediately, Estella rushed over and knelt to check on him, but as soon as she saw Father Gregory's eyes, she could tell that she was too late. His dead face was staring up toward the ceiling, and his eyes were wide open, almost as if he'd been horrified by something he'd seen.
Instinctively, Estella reached out and put a hand on his shoulder, but as she did so she was suddenly overwhelmed by a flash of two burning red eyes that seemed to rush into her vision. Pulling back, she blinked a couple of times and the red eyes were gone, but she felt almost as if she'd seen the dead man's final moments.
Scrambling to her feet, she rushed to the door and screamed for help.
II
“His Lordship instructed me to wake you,” Jacob said as he pulled the curtains open, letting bright morning light into the room. “He is of the opinion that sleeping after nine o'clock is bad for the soul.”
“Go away,” Madeleine replied, pulling the bedsheets over her face. “I'm not getting up!”
“M'am -”
“If Edgar wants me to get up,” she continued, her muffled voice coming from deep under the sheets, “he can come and drag me out himself instead of -”
Jacob stared at the bed for a moment. “Instead of what, M'am?”
Suddenly Madeleine sprang up and ran past him, running into the bathroom and dropping in front of the toilet just in time: she began to retch, as if she was about to throw up, although nothing came out of her mouth apart from a small amount of bile. Groaning, she took several deep breaths, before leaning down and retching again.
“M'am?” Jacob said, making his way to the door.
“Ginger,” she whispered, sounding weak. “Bring me some ginger.”
“Are you sick, M'am?” he asked. “I can arrange for -”
“It's nothing,” she hissed, “I just... It's been happening every morning for a week now. It's obviously just something that's going around.”
Jacob stared at her for a moment, with an expression of concern.
“Are you going to get me that ginger or not?” she asked.
“Of course, M'am,” he replied, “but... Are you sure you wouldn't like me to fetch the doctor for you? It might be wise to rule out certain possibilities.”
“Such as?”
“I hesitate to imagine.”
“Just get me some ginger,” she continued. “The sickness only comes in the morning, it always goes away quickly. Ginger helps. Oh, and bring ice cream too. For some reason, I've been really craving ice cream lately.”
Jacob opened his mouth to reply, but a
t the last moment he seemed to think better of airing his thoughts.
“Very good, M'am,” he said dubiously, heading away from the door just as Madeleine began to retch again.
***
“This is no good,” Albert muttered, examining a brass plate before turning to his son. “Benjamin, bring me another. We can't let standards slip.”
“What's wrong with it?” Benjamin asked, making his way across the workshop and taking a look at the plate. “It looks fine to me.”
“See there?” Albert replied, using a finger to indicate a faint scratch. “We can't use this one, the whole thing's ruined.”
“Maybe we can fix it.”
“All we can do is melt it down,” the old man said, setting the plate on the counter-top. “We can't have dents or scratches. Generations of the Wood family have been running this factory, and we've gained a reputation for high quality goods. If we start producing plates with scratches, we'll be finished.”
“I guess this isn't one of those times when I should argue with you,” Benjamin replied with a wry smile. “I'll get right to work.”
“I can do it,” Albert said, turning and making his way slowly to one of the machines.
“Let me,” Benjamin replied. “Father, you're pushing yourself too hard. Where's Joshua this morning, anyway? I thought he was going to help you.”
“He was full of himself when I spoke to him. Had a handful of money, too. God knows where he got it from, but he said he had to get to the bank. Funny, though, 'cause when he left the house he didn't head that way. Looked to me more like he was going to gamble at the cantina. I worry about that boy sometimes.”
“Where would he get money from?” Benjamin asked, clearly suspicious.
“Fetch me some new bolts from the shed, will you? And put the scratched plate on the pile for next time we've got the furnace running.”
“But father -”
“Go on,” Albert continued, as he started to set the machine up for the next run. “The best way to learn is to keep your mouth shut and just listen while you're being told. I don't know how you expect to take over the factory from me if you think scratched plates are acceptable.”
“Actually -” Benjamin began to say, before realizing that the time wasn't right. He watched his father for a moment, trying to imagine how the old man would react when he finally had to accept that someone else would have to take over the company, but finally he took the scratched plate and made his way out into the yard. Feeling a tinge of sadness, he tried to tell himself that his brother might eventually show some responsibility, but as he walked over to the shed he knew deep down that there were only two options: either he had to take over himself, or he had to accept that the family's traditions would end when his father died.
Hearing the gate squeak nearby, he glanced across the yard.
“I'm sorry, we're -”
He froze as soon as he saw the visitor's face.
“Are you Benjamin Wood?” Edgar asked, with the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.
“I am,” Benjamin replied, “I mean... Yes. That's me. And I know who you are.”
“Of course you do,” Edgar continued. “It's so rare that I meet someone who hasn't heard about me beforehand, I honestly can't remember the last time I was able to introduce myself properly. Everyone here just knows me, or at least they've heard stories. Do you know what it's like to have one's reputation precede one, wherever one goes?” He paused, as if he was studying Benjamin for a moment. “You make various items out of bronze here, I believe,” he continued finally, looking over at the main workshop. “I have some examples of your craftsmanship in my home. It's always good to see industry thriving on Thaxos.”
“I'm glad we can be of service,” Benjamin replied cautiously. “Is that why you're here?”
“No,” Edgar replied, “I must confess that it's not. I'm here to discuss a rather more personal matter.”
“Perhaps we can do this another time.”
“Why?” Hearing movement from inside the workshop, Edgar looked over at the door for a moment, before turning back to Benjamin. “I see. Are there certain things that you would rather your family did not know?”
“It's a little complicated,” Benjamin told him.
“But you know why I'm here, I think.”
“I could hazard a guess.”
“Let me explain something,” Edgar continued, making his way across the yard. “I have a reputation for being somewhat... harsh. Some of the stories about me are lies and half-truths, but they are undoubtedly rooted in some kind of reality. I have a certain way of seeing the world, and whether that way is right or wrong, I brook no disagreement. If someone wants to live in a way that contravenes my rules, they are absolutely free to do so, but not in my home.” He paused again. “And not on my island.”
“I was under the impression that the Le Comptes do not actually own Thaxos,” Benjamin told him.
“My sister means a great deal to me,” Edgar replied. “Our childhood was somewhat -”
“She's told me about your childhood.”
“All of it?”
“Enough. I know that your parents -”
“So you understand,” Edgar continued, interrupting him. “Madeleine suffered certain... damage as a result of our parents' methods. As a boy, I was naturally more resilient, but I'm afraid that Madeleine's defenses were weaker. She doesn't see things clearly.”
“She's not a child,” Benjamin pointed out.
“I'm fully aware of that.”
“So she can make her own decisions.”
“She makes bad decisions,” Edgar replied. “Believe me, if you had any idea of her foolishness... She gets ideas in her head and she acts upon them, and then who do you think has to clean up the mess? Her mind is fragile, held together by nothing more than a little self-belief and a dogged refusal to accept the truth about our past, plus an added dash of stubborn desire to disobey me at every turn. The slightest knock could send her spiraling back down into insanity, and I refuse to let that happen. I will defend my sister's happiness, and I will stop at nothing to ensure that she is not harmed.”
“If you think I would harm her -”
“I think you would try your best to make her happy,” Edgar continued, “and that is admirable, but I am absolutely certain that ultimately you would fail miserably. She needs a certain type of man, someone who can keep her under control.”
“She's not a dog!”
“I know I must seem old-fashioned,” Edgar replied, “but I'm simply doing what is right for Madeleine. I do not believe that all women are weak and require such treatment, but when it comes to my sister, I know better than anyone what is required. It gives me no pleasure to handle her in this way, yet I have no choice. I have seen her when she is at her worst, and I swore on that day that I would never let her endure such pain again.”
“Does she even know you're here?”
“I'm asking you to do the right thing,” Edgar continued. “Step out of her life. I can give you money, you'll be able to travel far from Thaxos and build any kind of life you want.”
“You're trying to buy me?”
“I'm trying to protect my sister.”
“I'm not making a deal with you about this,” Benjamin said firmly. “I care about Madeleine just as much as you do, and I will never, ever hurt her. I'll never leave her, either. You're not the only one who can make her happy.”
“Brave words,” Edgar replied, glancing down at the copper plate in his hands. “You can't use that one, by the way. It has a scratch.” Turning, he headed toward the gate.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Benjamin called after him. “I'm not leaving her.”
He watched as Edgar left the yard, and then he dropped the copper plate as his hands began to tremble. He'd heard enough stories about Edgar Le Compte to know that standing up to him was often a fatal mistake. Trying to stay calm, he looked up toward the mansion, which loomed high above the town, and he tried to wor
k out how he could get Madeleine free from her brother's influence. Finally he realized that there was only one option:
They had to leave Thaxos together. They had to get away from Edgar's influence and never return.
III
“I'll need to carry out a full autopsy to be sure,” Doctor Paul Lassiter said as he pulled a sheet over the dead priest's face, “but I'd say it was most likely a heart attack.”
“What about the look on his face?” Inspector Tarud asked. “He looks like he was absolutely terrified.”
“There are no signs of assault,” Lassiter continued, getting to his feet. “If you're wondering whether something could have scared him and triggered the heart attack, it's possible, but this man's heart gave out. That much, I can promise you. External factors are your area.”
“Ms. Graves said she thought there was someone else here,” Tarud replied, looking along the aisle. “There's no sign of anyone, though, so I guess she's just impressionable.”
“I'll get the body taken to my surgery,” Lassiter told him. “The final report should be ready by mid-afternoon.”
With that, Lassiter turned and limped back out of the church, stopping as he found Estella sitting on a bench. She was quietly weeping, but while several local women had gathered nearby to observe proceedings, none of them had gone to console Estella or even to offer her a handkerchief. Feeling a pang of sympathy, Lassiter made his way over and took a seat on the bench, before taking his own handkerchief from his pocket and passing it to her.
“He's dead,” she whispered, as she started drying her eyes. “You don't have to tell me. I could tell.”
“It's a sad day,” Lassiter muttered.
“Did something...” She paused, glancing over at the other women for a moment before turning to him. “Did you search the building?”
“Inspector Tarud took a look around,” he replied, “but he didn't find anything. No sign of a break-in, no sign of anything untoward. Father Gregory didn't seem like a sick man, but these things can creep up on us all. I'll know a lot more by the end of the day.”