When he was five or six, his desire to cause destruction and grief became fixated on the family pets. He killed the first canary in front of my wife, and it was the first time she punished him severely. In response, he soiled her bed, and ever after, each bird died of an ‘accident’ we could never prove. Once the last had expired, we resigned ourselves to a house without song, and decided not to subject any more feathered creatures to his torture.
With his easy prey now out of reach, he turned his attention to our daughter Emma’s pets. All manner of creatures – kittens, pups, rabbits, even a foundling squirrel she had rescued and nursed back to health – began to vanish. Emma confided her suspicions to me, but dared not confront her brother. There were already troubling indicators that he was capable of so much worse. The sole being in this house who had no fear of him was his other sister, Henrietta, and the implications of that were troubling, to say the least. The two of them grew ever closer, often laughing and whispering, as if they shared some private joke the rest of us weren’t a party to. When Niles disappeared for hours, Henrietta could not be found either, and they would invariably traipse in together, hours late for dinner and not caring the slightest bit how they had inconvenienced us.
You may think we were fools to not foretell what was to come, but I beg you, dear stranger, to understand that, however hateful and monstrous he might have been, Niles was our son. Henrietta, though her character is as yet a mystery, is our daughter. Denial is a powerful thing, and that is the one defense I can offer for our blindness. We were two parents trying our best to love an unlovable child.
To this day, I am not certain why Emma was their favorite target. Perhaps it was her good nature that they despised, or her great love for animals that made her the perfect prey. In time, she began to come to me with all manner of complaints: they had removed a sizeable chunk of her hair while she was sleeping, they had stolen her grandmother’s ring, they had broken every string on her violin and snapped the tip from her epee. No lock could stop them. She often awoke in the night, crying in pain from a nasty pinch, and eventually the bruises ran up and down her arms. No matter what punishments we devised, they had no effect. Niles (and Henrietta with him, I wonder?) continued to torture his sister.
Emma’s plight, though bad enough, began to worsen, as all situations did with Niles. She told me of waking up and finding him in her room, watching her. She was concerned, as was I, that he may do something immoral. She was a handsome woman, and he would not have been the first male to feel lustful toward her. She also expressed concern for her horses; they had been uncommonly spooked and difficult to control. While she could not prove it, she suspected her brother was behind it, and I saw no cause to doubt her. While I could not imagine what he would be doing with her horses, I was ill-equipped when it came to deciphering or predicting the actions of my son. He was willing to sink to depths I had not known existed.
The day we lost Emma, arguably the very best of all of us, Niles and Henrietta had disappeared once again. Emma was not present either, but her absence was not a mystery; she always went riding at the same time each morning. When Niles returned with Henrietta, they were in pleasant spirits, smiling and laughing. This continued as the day wore on and the expected time for Emma to return came and went. Finally, as my darling Elizabeth grew beset with worry, I saddled my own mount and set off to retrace my daughter’s path.
I found her not far from the house. One of our long-time servants had discovered her before me, and was cradling her poor, shattered head in his lap, sobbing. I knew immediately that this had not been an accident, and my convictions were confirmed when the servant, so overcome with grief he could scarcely speak, told me what he had seen.
The strange behavior of my other children now made terrible sense. The one shock, if one could rightly call it that, was who had struck the killing blows. Not Niles, as I would have suspected, but Henrietta. My beloved Emma had perished at the hands of her own sister. Even so, I was convinced Niles’s influence had been behind it. Henrietta had been a normal child before Niles began to reveal his madness. Any darkness in her heart had arrived with the awakening of her brother’s.
I elicited the poor man’s silence, promising him in return that I would ensure no other creature suffered at the hands of my children. Then I returned home to my worried Elizabeth, and confided in her the dreadful news, and held her as she wept. For a time, I let her believe that Emma’s demise had, in fact, been an unfortunate accident. My wife’s ignorance was blissful but all too brief, for I understood full well what was required of us.
She did not need as much convincing as expected. This gentle woman, who had rarely raised a hand to anyone or uttered an unkind word in her life, had been especially fond of Emma, the one child who had inherited her nature. She was devastated when I told her what I had learned from the servant, who had temporarily been sent away for his own protection, but not shocked. Our dearest Emma was not able to have a viewing, her lovely face and neck had been so destroyed. My wife was not a fool. She was well aware that such gruesome injuries did not occur from a fall off a horse. The creature would have been required to return, and kick her face repeatedly, deliberately, to approximate this destruction.
My quick-thinking wife asked the cook to prepare an especially sugary meal that night, praying it would put Niles into a diabetic stupor, and make our repulsive task easier, but such was not to be. Much like the sleeping aid when he was a child, the additional sugar seemed to have no effect, and he fought like a tiger when we laid the pillow over his face. It took all of our combined strength, but we were determined to protect others from suffering Emma’s fate. God forgive me; I did not regret what we had done. I felt in my heart it was the correct and sole possible course of action. My wife, however, suffered greatly. I fear that she will end her own life before long, but every day I selfishly plead for her to stay by my side for a little longer. I cannot abide the thought of living in this ghastly house without her.
As for my remaining daughter, she was so young that I admit we could not bear to lose her as well. We have agreed to keep a close watch, and see if her behavior improves now that she is free from her brother’s influence. If we see any indication that she embraces the same darkness, then we will do what has to be done. I pray that will not be the case.
For you who have found this letter, please destroy it if my surviving child, Henrietta Vandermere (assuming she has survived me), has proven worthy of the second chance we gave her. However, if she has followed in the path of her brother, Niles, you have my express permission to take this account, along with the stone that was used to kill my daughter Emma, to the appropriate authorities.
Do not delay. Like her brother, Henrietta has an uncanny ability to decipher thoughts before they are spoken. If you have suspected her of ill doing at any time, I can promise you one thing with complete assurance….
She knows.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Ah, so you’ve found it. I’ve been searching for that for years.”
Terri froze at the sound of her voice, but there was nothing she could do. There was nowhere to hide, and no time to conceal what she’d discovered. Why hadn’t she followed her first instincts and taken everything to the servants’ quarters?
Henrietta strode to the desk on silent feet, and hefted the rock in her hands, turning it over almost lovingly. “I’ll never forget the expression on her face. She suspected Niles, but never me. No one suspected me. The sweet, dutiful daughter. The helpless female. Why should anyone be worried about me?” As Terri stared at her in horror, Henrietta smiled and replaced the rock on the desk. “This was quite heavy for a child, you know, but even then, I was strong for my age. Being female, everyone underestimated me from day one. It grew tiresome, but it also came in handy. I was above suspicion.”
“Your father suspected you.”
She laughed, eying the pages in Terri’s hands. “Did he really? Good
for him. I’d certainly given him enough hints. I’d wanted him to truly know me, to see me for who I am, but he always turned a blind eye. As did Mother.”
“But I-I don’t understand why you killed her. She was your sister.”
“I wish you wouldn’t remind me. That simpering, do-gooder fool. I was mortified to share the family name with her. Precious Emma, talented Emma.” She scowled, remembering. “It was such a relief when she was gone. Niles was the one person in this house I could stomach.”
She plucked the pages from Terri’s nerveless fingers. “He killed Niles, didn’t he?” She scanned her father’s letter while Terri sat as if paralyzed, wondering what to do. Henrietta Vandermere was a murderer, but she was also a hundred years old. She couldn’t honestly expect to restrain Terri, strong for her age or not. “Oh, Mother did too. Now that is a shock. I wouldn’t have thought she had it in her.
“Ah, Niles. Such a delightfully twisted little thing he was. He made life interesting, but he didn’t do a very good job of hiding his…tendencies. Not like me.”
As Henrietta continued to scan the pages, Terri slowly rose from the chair. The elderly woman gave her a bemused look. “Now, where do you think you’re going, dear? You know I can’t let you leave.”
“I’m afraid I can’t finish this job, Miss Vandermere. I-I was going to tell you in the morning. I’ll just get Dallas and we’ll go. You don’t have to worry about me saying anything.”
“You’re right, I don’t,” she said, pulling a pistol from her purse, “because no one is going to see you again. It’ll be as if you were never here.”
Cold dread seeped through Terri’s body, paralyzing her once more. She’d never been on the wrong end of a gun before. Dallas. If she’d let her go with Derek, her child would have been safe. But who could have imagined this would happen? As Henrietta had said, she’d been underestimated – or misunderstood – her entire life. “My ex-husband, Derek, knows we’re here. He’s serving me with court papers. If I disappear, an alarm will be raised. He’ll scour the country searching for Dallas. He’ll never let it go.”
“Hmm….” She pretended to look concerned. “I’m terribly sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Derek met with a little accident this evening. If he survives, I don’t believe he’ll be in much shape to be searching for anyone.”
“Derek?” Terri’s knees weakened, and she clutched the desk for support, mind whirling. She’d wanted more than anything for something to erase him from her life, for a lightning bolt to shoot from the sky and release her from her misery. But now that he might be gone…. “But how? That’s impossible.”
“See? You’re no different from the others. You underestimated me as well. No one expects a woman, especially a woman of my age, to be mechanically inclined, but I know lots of things I’m not supposed to. And, before you think of taking this gun from me, I can pull the trigger before you take more than a step.”
Terri didn’t doubt it. She wondered about all the other restorers who had abandoned the project. That curious comment Howard Vandermere had made. Had they really abandoned it, or were their bodies buried on the property? In the garden, where her daughter had been spending so much time? “Please let us go, Henrietta. I promise you, I won’t breathe a word of any of it. No one would believe it anyway.”
She smirked. “How dumb do you think I am? The second I let you go, you’d be phoning your charming little cop friend, bringing him here to arrest me.”
“No one’s going to put you in jail. I promise.”
“Why, because I’m old? Because I’m a lady? I’m a murderer, Ms. Foxworth. They don’t tend to let murderers walk free in this country.” She laid her father’s letter back on the desk, and then used both hands to hold the pistol steady. She cocked the gun, and at that ominous click, Terri’s mouth went dry. “Not with such wonderful evidence. My father was too smart for his own good. I knew he’d hidden something somewhere, especially with Gertie tearing this place apart with all the subtlety of a deranged mountain lion.”
Was this it? Was her life going to end here, in this hateful house? And what of Dallas? She could scream, yell, try to warn her, but the chances of her daughter hearing her were next to nil.
“I wasn’t that worried, of course. I knew she would fail, as I had failed. No one knows this house better than me, and I couldn’t find it…but a restorer, an expert in old houses like Glenvale…well, they might have a chance.”
“If you weren’t worried, why did you fire her?” Terri stalled for time, but she wasn’t sure why. This wasn’t one of her beloved movies. Officer Molloy wasn’t going to burst through the door to rescue her. All she could do was postpone her own death, and for a matter of minutes at most.
Henrietta wrinkled her nose. “She irritated me. Always acting like she knew more than anyone else, always sneaking around thinking no one noticed what she was doing. Please. She knew nothing.”
“She thought you killed Niles. And you know why? Niles told her so. He was the one pushing her to keep looking for proof. He was the one who told her about the cellar.”
“Oh, so that’s how she found my little hiding spot. I was wondering about that. I didn’t suppose she was smart enough on her own. Pretty little thing, but she was standing behind the door when God handed out brains.”
“Your hiding spot?” This kept getting worse and worse. Terri didn’t want to hear anymore, couldn’t hear anymore. The thought of this genteel woman, this woman with her pleasant smile, doing all those atrocious things….
“Yes, mine. You’re doing it again – underestimating me. I told you, all the best ideas were mine. Niles tried to match my wickedness, but he didn’t have it in him.”
“I guess that’s why he thought you killed him.”
Something flickered across Henrietta’s face, something Terri couldn’t identify, but that gave her a spark of hope. If she could get to her, distract her long enough to disable her. Maintaining eye contact, she slowly felt the surface of the desk. Wasn’t there a letter opener somewhere close by? She was sure there was. Or the Stanhope pen. That was sharp enough to do some damage.
“That was a ruse to lure Gertie to the cellar. He never believed that.”
“If you loved him so much, why did you keep giving him candy? That easily could have killed him.”
Henrietta smiled at the memory. It was a terrible sight. “I was a child, Ms. Foxworth. My brother loved sweets, and I loved my brother. Of course I brought him anything he wanted. How was I to know?
“Anyway, stop baiting me. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work. Niles had to know it was Mother and Father who murdered him. He had to have seen them when they came into his room.”
“Not necessarily. Not if he was asleep, and they put the pillow over his face quickly enough. He thought it was you.”
Henrietta shook her head. “No, that can’t be true. Why would I kill Niles? Niles was the one person I loved in this entire family.”
But Terri could tell that wasn’t true, either. She’d seen the woman’s face as she’d read her father’s letter. Henrietta had loved her father, and her realization that he’d known exactly what kind of person she was had pained her. For all her boasting, she hadn’t wanted him to see the monster she was. “What about your father? You loved him.”
“Loved him? I love him still. He should not have killed Niles for the things I’d done. That was foolish. But he was a good man.”
“Maybe that’s why Niles would never believe Howard killed him. He thought it was you. You were the murderer in the family.”
Terri wasn’t sure why, but hearing Niles had suspected her was the one thing that appeared to aggravate Henrietta. The gun lowered slightly. “It isn’t true. He would never have believed that. We were thick as thieves. Two peas in a pod. I would never have hurt him. He had to know it was them. They were the ones who confined him to his room day
and night. They were the ones who starved him. They were the ones who put the white knobs on his doors to let him know his place in the family, as if he were no better than a servant. They treated him as if he were less than human.”
The woman made a strange face, and at first Terri thought it was in reaction to the thought of her brother blaming her for his death, but then she smelled it too.
Smoke.
“Do you smell that?”
“Henrietta….” Terri’s eyes widened as she saw smoke, drifting like mist toward them from the hallway. It appeared like fog, and in seconds it had grown so thick that she could no longer see more than a foot or two outside the door. “The house is on fire! We have to get out.”
“But how—” Squaring her shoulders, Henrietta raised the pistol. “It doesn’t matter. This will make it easier to get rid of you.”
This is it. Terri closed her eyes, waiting for the sound of gunfire, the last sound she would hear in her life. I love you, Dallas. I wish I’d been a better mom.
Instead, she heard coughing. She risked a look. Henrietta was doubled over, gasping and hacking. Smoke poured into the room, stinging Terri’s eyes.
“Mom? Mom! Where are you?”
Dallas.
She could hear sirens in the distance, and that spark of hope returned. Perhaps she wasn’t going to die here. Maybe she’d get a second chance.
As her coughing fit continued, Henrietta fought to hold the gun steady, but it was impossible. Her hands shook. Terri took a chance and dropped to the floor.
The gun went off, deafening her. Glass shattered, but she was still alive. She crawled toward the door, tears streaming from her eyes. Strong hands grasped her wrists, and she cried out. They yanked her from the room so fast she had no chance to look for Henrietta.
The Restoration Page 21