by Amy Cross
“What are you talking about?” she asked, taking another sip of wine. “Different? How different? Edgar, whatever do you mean?”
“Just...” He stared at her, as if he was trying to see something beyond her face. “There is something different about you.”
She held her breath, waiting for him to finish, while thinking back to her mother's horrific words earlier.
“Almost a different face within your own,” he continued. “Almost -”
“Stop!” she shouted suddenly. “I mean, Edgar, you're being foolish. I'm not different, not at all.”
“Why are you wearing your gloves at the dinner table?”
“Because I want to, that's all.”
“But it's hardly polite. I don't think I've see you take those things off for several days now.”
“I think I might retire to bed,” he said suddenly, getting to her feet. “You're wearing me out, Edgar, with all these constant comments and insinuations. I'm quite alright and you really mustn't fuss.”
“Finish your meal,” he replied. “Estella, if I -”
He sighed as she hurried past him, and finally he was left alone. Taking a sip of wine, he sat in silence for a moment, trying to comprehend why Estella had suddenly become so frantically upset. He was used to her being somewhat unpredictable, but her behavior during dinner felt like the culmination of a slow process that had been running for several days, during which she had become increasingly manic. He took another sip of wine, before realizing that his appetite for dinner had faded.
“Is it a trick?” a voice asked suddenly.
Turning, he saw Madeleine standing in the doorway.
“I'm sorry?” he replied.
She made her way slowly to the table and reached out, taking a piece of meat from his plate. “Is it,” she said again, more carefully this time, “a trick?”
“Is what a trick?”
“You were ready to tear Benjamin apart,” she continued, chewing at the meat, “and now you've brought him up here, into our home. You say you want me to be happy, so I'm going to ask you again. Is it a trick?”
“What would I gain from such a course of action?”
“Well, you could watch me suffer,” she pointed out, “but I think it would probably have to be something even more enjoyable for you.” Wandering along the side of the table, she took Estella's seat and began to finish her meal. “Benjamin is in the library right now, taking a look at all your fancy books. The whole situation is extremely surreal, as I'm sure you'll agree, and I want to embrace it, I really do, but at the same time, I keep coming back to the same question.” She tore some meat away and chewed it for a moment, while keeping her eyes firmly fixed on her brother. “Is it a trick?”
“There is no trick here,” he replied, taking a sip of wine. “I believe that Benjamin Wood might make you happy.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“I have been talking to Kate Langley,” he continued, “and she -”
“Oh, Kate Langley,” Madeleine replied with a smile, “yes, she does seem to have rather influenced your thinking lately, doesn't she?”
“She has helped me to see that perhaps I might approach things differently.”
“Maybe you should marry her instead of Estella.”
“Don't be foolish.”
“You have no idea how much I want a sip of that wine,” she replied, staring at Estella's glass.
“Then take it.”
“I can't, dear brother. I'm with child, or had you forgotten?”
A faint smile crossed his lips. “I didn't think you were so conscientious.”
“I'm trying to be,” she continued, her eyes lingering on the glass for a moment before she turned back to him. “It's hard, but I think this is my chance to be a better person.” She paused. “Do you think that's possible, Edgar? You and I, we're both... bad. And yet right now, we're both trying to be good. How long do you think that'll last, huh?”
He met her gaze in silence for a moment. “I helped a woman in town today,” he said finally. “She was in danger, and I resolved her situation. Then, purely because I could, I sent her dead husband to pay her a brief visit. I intend to let him go to her again, for no reason other than that it will bring them a little happiness. I thought I'd experiment with being a kind and benevolent man.”
“And how's that going for you?”
“I can see certain advantages.”
“But do you really think we can change?” she asked, leaning forward. “We have dark souls, Edgar. We're bad people, both of us. Can Kate Langley change you and make you a good man? Can Benjamin Wood and a baby in my belly do the same to me? Or is this just a detour, an entertaining diversion, before we snap back to our old ways?”
They sat in silence for a moment.
“Well,” she added, getting to her feet and making her way back along the table, “I should get back to Benjamin before Nixon corners him and starts boring him to death.” She stopped next to her brother. “What about you? Are you going to spend the evening sitting here alone?”
“I need to think.”
“You could always come and sit with us for a while in the drawing room,” she continued, putting a hand on his shoulder. “In the spirit of being amicable, I believe that is what a brother and sister might do from time to time? You could get to know Benjamin a little better.”
“Perhaps.”
“Perhaps,” she replied with a smile, heading to the door. “I know what that means.” She stopped and glanced back at him. “Oh, and by the way. Estella? She's crazy, you know. Like, she was always a bit weird, even for a human, but she's losing her goddamn mind. You realize that, don't you?”
“She's simply stressed about the wedding.”
“If you say so,” she continued, heading out into the corridor.
Taking a deep breath, Edgar got to his feet and made his way to the window. Stopping for a moment, he stared out at the darkness that surrounded the mansion, and he found his thoughts drifting to the subject of Kate Langley. He hadn't realized it at the time, but her words seemed to have slipped deep into his soul and become a part of him, and he genuinely believed that he could become a better person, and that he could slip the traps that had dogged every member of the Le Compte family for generations. Raising his wineglass to his lips, he took another sip as he stared out at the darkness.
He had no idea, but outside, just a few feet from the window, something was staring back at him.
***
“You must come to bed with me now,” Tom Graves told his wife as he finished his cup of tea in the kitchen. Turning to look over at the door, he waited for a reply. “Nora? Did you hear me?”
Sighing, he set the cup down and headed through to the front room, where he found Nora sitting in her reading chair, with a book on her knees.
“Nora,” he began, “there's nothing to be gained by -”
“I saw her true face,” Nora replied, turning a page in the book. “When Estella came to see me this morning, I saw her true face. It was the face of a witch, it was the face of one whose soul has become entwined with evil.” She paused, before closing the book. “I thought she had been possessed by a demon, but I was wrong. It's another type of evil.”
“Don't talk about our daughter like that.”
“I saw her true face,” the old woman whispered, her voice trembling with fear. “Just for a split second. She doesn't see it herself, not yet, but it's there. I never thought I would witness such a thing, and I can't...” She paused, as tears ran down her cheeks. “I can't ever see it again.”
“My dear -”
“I'm sorry,” she added, reaching under the book and lifting up the revolver that Tom usually kept in his nightstand, before slipping the barrel into her mouth.
“No!” he shouted, lunging at her, but it was too late.
She pulled the trigger, blasting the top and back of her head and sending pieces of bone and brain matter flying across the room.
Par
t Thirty-Three
I
Dust floated through the air, borne by invisible currents. Some of those tiny particles fell away, but some drifted onward until they reached her eye, and finally they settled against her cornea.
Still, she didn't blink.
There were voices all around, babbling to one another about formalities and technicalities and all sorts of other unimportant matters. All Estella could hear, however, was a faint, distant drone as she stared at the coffin that stood by the window. Her mind was blank, as if a dam had blocked any thoughts from entering her mind. She was to all intents and purposes frozen, cut off from the rest of the world and lost in a miasma of grief and regret.
And guilt.
Guilt was blossoming in her chest, like a dark flower opening to meet a dark sun.
Slowly, a buzzing sound began to build. The voices around her were conspiring, twisting together and locking into one noise that seemed to be pounding in time with her heart, bustling for her attention. She could feel the pressure rising, as if the air all around her was beginning to push into her soul, determined to make her think, to make her feel, to make her aware of her surroundings. The buzzing was getting stronger and stronger now, until it could no longer be ignored, until suddenly it stopped, replaced by silence and then:
“Estella, did you hear me?”
Snapping out of her dark reverie, she turned to find Doctor Lassiter standing next to her. A fraction of a second later, she looked down and saw that he'd placed a hand on her arm.
“I was explaining,” Lassiter continued, “that in this case I don't believe there's any need for an autopsy. The circumstances of the death...” He paused, clearly concerned, and finally his hand squeezed her arm a little; his touch was light, involuntary, and spoke of some deeper care that he was trying to constrain. “I'm so sorry, Estella,” he added finally. “I can't begin to imagine the pain you're going through.”
She opened her mouth to reply, trying to find words that would let him know that she felt close to collapse. When those words failed to arrive, she simply said: “Thank you.”
“If there's anything I can do...” he continued. “Well, you know the door to my office is always open.” He squeezed her arm again. “The door to my home, too. If you -”
“Are you aware you're doing that?” she asked pointedly, with tears gathering in her eyes. She looked down at his hand, which was still resting on her arm just below the elbow. His bare hand on her bare elbow, flesh against flesh.
“Well, I -”
“It's a little inappropriate, don't you think?” she continued. “For a woman who's engaged to be married.”
Taking his hand away, he seemed distinctly uncomfortable.
“Just an observation,” she told him, glancing over her shoulder and seeing that a few family friends had gathered in the doorway. “We wouldn't want people to talk, would we? Especially given our long-standing friendship. People do so love to gossip.”
“Of course,” he replied.
“Is there anything else you need to do while you're here?”
“Well, I suppose not, but -”
“Then I'm sure you must have other matters to which you must attend,” she continued, struggling to hold back the tears that were welling in her eyes. She desperately wanted him to leave, so that he wouldn't see her distress, but at the same time she was determined not to panic. Above all, she absolutely refused to let anyone see that she was becoming emotional. “The people of Thaxos won't cease with their ailments,” she added, “both real and imagined, just because one foolish old woman saw fit to end her life in a rather melodramatic manner. You should be in your office, Doctor Lassiter. In the unlikely event that we need you again, we shall most certainly send for you.”
He frowned.
“Your concern is with the living,” she added. “Not the dead.”
“But you are -”
“I'm not your patient.”
“I see,” he replied, grabbing his coat and bag from the chair. “Just remember, my door -”
“Yes, I heard you the first time. And the second. The sentiment is quite apparent and doesn't need to be repeated. I do get so tired of people who insist on saying the same thing over and over, as if they expect some huge reaction. I...” She paused again. “I'm sure I've made myself clear.”
Smiling politely, Doctor Lassiter headed over to Estella's father and said a few words, before heading out of the room. He glanced back briefly at Estella, as if there was still so much that he wanted to say, but finally he disappeared from view and a moment later the front door could be heard swinging shut.
Taking a deep breath, Estella made her way over to the coffin. She wanted to run, and to rip the lid off so she could scream at her mother's corpse, but she forced herself to stay calm. Once she was next to the coffin, she checked over her shoulder to make sure that no-one was watching, and then she lifted the coffin lid slightly so she could peer inside. As soon as she saw the bloodied mess that had once been her mother's face, she felt a shiver pass through her body. She considered removing her gloves and reaching inside to touch the old woman's hand one more time, but she felt certain that no good could come of such sentiment.
She held the lid open for a few more seconds before carefully, slowly lowering it back down.
“This is my fault,” she whispered, glancing at a mirror on the wall and seeing her own reflection. “She saw something in me, and it drove her to this act. She saw the truth.”
***
“It's just so horrible,” Evangeline Mediaci said as she carried a bag of mail across the post office. “I heard the shot, but at the time I thought nothing of it. I assumed it was old Joe out hunting, or perhaps something to do with the cantina. I never thought that...”
She stopped suddenly, with tears in her eyes.
“What could drive someone to do such a thing?”
“Millions of things,” Joshua replied, watching her from behind. His gaze quickly fell to her waist, and then a little lower, and a faint smile crossed his lips as he imagined what it would be like to get her undressed. “I mean, we all know what's going on with Estella, right? That'd be enough to drive anyone nuts.”
“But her daughter's to be married,” Evangeline replied, bending over to pick up an envelope that had fallen to the floor.
Joshua's eyes widened.
“How could a woman not want to see her daughter's happy day?” she continued, turning to him. “Despite everything that happened between them, a wedding should have been more than enough to bring them together again. Poor Estella, she must be so heartbroken. I was thinking I should like to go and see her, to pay my respects, but...” She paused for a moment. “I shouldn't like to intrude during the first stages of grief, but at the same time, if I leave it too long she'll be back up at the mansion and then...” Her voice trailed off.
“Don't fancy going up and knocking on the door?”
“One couldn't.”
“One could,” he said with a grin, “but one probably wouldn't last long, would one?” He stepped toward her. “One wonders, however, if one might meet up for a drink later. How about it? We could drown our sorrows at the cantina after you're finished at this place.”
“I don't think my father would like that.”
“So?”
“I can't sneak out again,” she replied. “I mean, it's not right.”
“You don't think it's right to take a moment to remember someone who died?” he asked. “We could raise a glass to old Mrs. Graves, the most terrifying teacher who ever lived on this island!”
“It's tempting, but -”
“Fine. Sorry, I didn't mean to put you in a difficult situation, it's just...” He paused. “I suppose the old woman's death got to me, that's all. She was a tyrant when we were at school, but in a funny way I actually didn't mind her, and I used to see her around a lot. Well, I suppose I shouldn't be sentimental, should I?” He turned and headed to the door, before stopping and waiting to see if he'd
managed to persuade her yet. “Don't tell anyone,” he continued, “but it's actually got me in the gut. It's a very sad thing.”
“I've never heard you talk about your feelings before,” she told him.
“I don't, normally,” he replied. “I guess I don't have anyone I can talk to properly. My parents are no use, and as for Benjamin... Well, he's as cold as steel under the surface.”
“Oh, he's not!”
“He is,” he said quickly, turning to her. “Everyone thinks he's the kind, sensitive one, but they don't see the real Benjamin Wood. I know what they all whisper behind our backs. They think he's so great, and they think I'm just some kind of thug -”
“I'm sure no-one things that.”
“Course they do,” he replied, looking down at his hands for a moment. “I suppose maybe they're right. I shouldn't go letting my emotions get the better of me, should I? I should just suck them up and get on with work.” Another pause, as he waited to deliver the killer line that he hoped would get him what he wanted. “Maybe emotions aren't for the likes of me,” he said finally, turning and opening the door. “I should've learned that by now.”
“I'll meet you,” she said suddenly.
He turned to her again.
“At the cantina,” she continued, forcing a faint smile. “You're obviously more upset by Mrs. Graves' death than I'd realized, and it wouldn't do for you to be alone, so... Of course I'll meet you. I can tell my father I'm visiting Emma. He's a very good man and rather progressive, so he doesn't mind if I head out alone from time to time, so long as he thinks it's to visit female friends. I so hate to deceive him, but... Does five sound okay?”
“Are you sure it's not too much trouble?”
“I'm sure,” she replied, heading over to him and planting a delicate kiss on the side of his face. “No-one should be alone when they're upset. It's not right for the soul, is it? Sometimes, even just the act of talking can be such a blessed relief.”
“You're a good girl,” he told her, wondering whether or not he dared try to kiss her back, before deciding to wait until the evening. “Heart of gold. Everyone knows that about you.”