Mrs. Voyle sniffed, but returned her attention to the meat in the pan, while he dropped his boots onto a rubber mat next to the door in the utility room, then wiped up his mess with a handful of paper towel.
“If you’ve come for your breakfast, you’ll have to wait. It’s not ready yet.” Mrs. Voyle poked at the sausage simmering in a layer of grease. He managed to suppress a shudder.
“That’s all right.” Reece tossed the sopping towels in the rubbish bin. “Is the coffee made?”
She nodded to the machine on the counter. “Help yourself. What are you about coming in so early?”
He shrugged and ambled over to the coffeepot. “I’ve a lot to do today.”
“I suppose you will after all this rain.”
Reece took a mug from the cupboard in front of him, poured the sludgelike liquid and rolled his eyes. The woman couldn’t even make coffee right.
Gripping the steaming cup, he leaned back against the counter and eyed the tight-faced woman. How to get her on the subject of Eleri and the missing men without appearing too eager? He’d have to say something soon. The longer he stayed, the more he’d have to eat.
“Eleri was very specific about wanting the grounds tidied before noon,” he ventured.
The housekeeper snorted and spooned watery eggs into a serving dish. “Eleri will be too busy with Meris’s daughter to be bothered with you today.”
“I didn’t realize Mr. James had another daughter.”
Mrs. Voyle wiped her hands on her grease-dotted apron, and shot him a hard stare. “If Mr. James has any sense left, he’ll toss that one out on her backside. Just like her mother. Hand out, ready to take what she can. Do you know about Meris?”
He shrugged. “A few things.”
“She was a piece of work that one, chasing after Mr. James like a bitch in heat. He was still married, you know? Crazy Enid might have been, but having that red-headed witch throwing herself at her husband certainly hadn’t helped matters. She had her accident only days after Meris told Mr. James she was pregnant.”
Reece had heard talk of Eleri’s mother’s death. It was part and parcel of the ever-growing legend that surrounded Eleri. And like so many of the stories there was more than one version. Some claimed Enid James took her own life when she realized the child she’d produced was evil, while others claimed Eleri managed to convince her mother to kill herself with her nefarious powers. The official report stated that Enid had died due to misadventure, having lost her footing while walking the cliffs.
“Enid knew about the affair?”
“She’d have to have been a simpleton not to. Mr. James was so bewitched by Meris he had her living in the house. That woman knew what she wanted, and exactly how to get it.”
He frowned. There were richer men out there. “All this because Meris had been after Mr. James’s money?”
Mrs. Voyle chuckled and turned back to the stove. A plume of gray smoke wafted from the charred sausage in the pan.
“She wasn’t interested in his money.” The housekeeper turned a knob on the cooker, and the blue flame beneath the pan vanished. “Meris wanted Stonecliff. Claimed she was related to the original family who owned the property.”
“The Jameses didn’t always own Stonecliff?”
Mrs. Voyle scooped out the blackened sausage into another serving dish. “No, Mr. James’s great-uncle built this house nearly a hundred years ago. But before that, the Worthings owned the land. The entire family was killed in a fire. Took the house, too. Have you not come across the ruins during your work?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t. Where are they?”
“Deep in the woods, near The Devil’s Eye.” She set a lid on the tray. “It’s probably for the best. The grounds are haunted.”
Reece snorted before he could stop himself. Mrs. Voyle glared at him over her shoulder.
“People say this place is haunted, too. I haven’t seen any ghosts.” He kept his smirk fixed in place and his tone light, so she wouldn’t know just how serious he was. Years of swindling people had taught him a lot about body language. The more he appeared to consider the whole thing a joke, the harder the housekeeper would try to convince him otherwise.
“Not haunted,” the woman said, holding his gaze. “Cursed. This land is cursed.”
“Because of the people who disappeared?”
She turned back to the stove and covered the sausage platter. “The disappearances are just the tip of the iceberg. How else can you explain Mr. James’s misfortunes? Two dead wives. Failing investments. Oh, things get better for a while, but they always crumble in the end. And now with that Matthew Langley…” She snatched the spatula from the counter and whirled to face him, waving the utensil like a witch waving a wand. “You mark my words, they’ve found one dead man. There’ll be more.”
Did she actually know something about what happened to the men who’d vanished, or was the woman merely relishing in the story? “Why do you stay?”
She jerked a shoulder. “We all have to eat, haven’t we? Mr. James pays more than a fair wage. There’s evil here, granted, but it doesn’t want me. You, though…”
“Afraid I might disappear like the others?” he asked, forcing his voice to remain amused despite the cold prickling the back of his neck. “You shouldn’t worry. I don’t.”
“You wouldn’t—too young and full of yourself. Still, you’re not a bad sort. We’ve certainly had worse working here.”
Like Matthew Langley? Reece had heard stories about his predecessor. And a con man could always recognize another con man. “What do you think happened to the men who disappeared?”
“I think they’re dead.” Mrs. Voyle’s dark eyes held his. “The house takes what it wants. It always has.”
* * *
Brynn stood with Eleri outside the pocket doors separating Arthur’s siting room from his bedroom. Nerves fluttered in her throat and she wiped her damp palms on her pants. What did she have to be so nervous about? He was the one to ignore her for the past twenty-three years. He was the one who owed her an explanation, who should be nervous.
Eleri hesitated before sliding open the door. “He’s not a nice man.”
Knots tangling Brynn’s insides squeezed. She swallowed hard. “Thanks for the warning.”
Eleri pushed open the doors and Brynn entered the dimly lit room. Silence closed in on her, except for the low hiss from the oxygen tank next to the bed. The sour odor of sickness combined with a sterile hospital-like smell sent a sharp pang slicing across her middle. For an instant, she was back in her grandfather’s hospital room, watching helplessly as he wasted away. She swallowed hard and shook the memory away, making a concentrated effort to breathe through her mouth. The doors slid closed with a thunk behind her.
“If you’re coming in, come in.” She jumped at the man’s raspy voice.
Nice to see you, too, Dad.
She let out a slow breath and squared her shoulders, then crossed the room to a chair next to his bed—getting her first look at her father in more than twenty-five years.
He met her gaze with her own dark brown eyes—Eleri’s eyes, too. His thinning white hair was cut short to his head, gaunt features sharp, pointed, much like her sister’s. His sallow skin grooved around his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. Propped into a sitting position with pillows, heavy blankets hid his lower body. Long clear tubes coiled from the oxygen mask over his nose and mouth to the tank on the floor. Despite the telltale signs of illness, he sat stiff and regal.
Brynn held her breath, waiting for some spark of recognition.
Nothing.
Her heart sank. He might as well have been a complete stranger.
He shoved his oxygen mask aside and nodded to the empty chair next to the bed. “Sit.”
Sit? Really? Twenty-three years and the best he could come up with was sit? She hadn’t been expecting them to fall into each other’s arms, or that he’d crumple to his knees and beg for her forgiveness—okay, maybe she’
d been hoping for something like that—but she had expected something more than sit.
She swallowed down her hurt and stiffened under the man’s glare. “I’m fine where I am.”
He let out an impatient sigh. “Eleri overstepped herself. She’d no right to bring you here without my knowledge. There’s nothing for you, know that from the start.”
Perfect. Reece had been right. He did think she was after his money. He’d let her go through life believing he was dead, never once tried to contact her, but she was the bad guy here? “I don’t want anything. Eleri contacted me because you were ill—”
“And you came to see what you could get.”
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, fingernails digging into her palms. “No. I’d been told you were dead. When I found out that wasn’t the case, I wanted to meet you.”
He let out a dry bark of laughter that sounded more like he was choking. She wished he were choking. “You thought I would finally be the father you always wanted? That we’d become a happy little family? I made my peace with you when you left.”
His words ploughed into her like fists, stealing her breath. There was no point in lying to herself. She’d wanted all those things. A father. A family. A sense of place. And having him throw it in her face was like having her insides carved out with a spoon.
Her eyes burned and the back of her nose tingled. But she bit her bottom lip until she tasted blood. She’d be damned before she shed a tear in front of this man.
“How nice for you,” she said, her voice deceivingly unaffected. “You’ll have to forgive me, though. I was three and have no actual recollection of the event.”
“Your mother never wanted you to come back, and neither do I. I’m surprised your grandparents allowed it.”
“They’re gone.” And she was twenty-six years old. She wouldn’t have needed their permission.
Arthur jerked his shoulder like a sulky child. “I’m sorry for your loss, but if you think you’re going to get anything from me, you’re mistaken.”
No, he was the one who was mistaken. She’d come here for answers, and she wasn’t leaving until she had them. “They told me you were dead, you and my mother. Why?”
“We sent you away because we didn’t want you.” He over-enunciated each word as if speaking to a dim-witted child. “Isn’t that obvious?”
And becoming more so by the moment. Could the answer really be that simple? Since Eleri’s phone call and discovering the papers granting her grandparents guardianship, the secrecy behind her grandparents’ behavior implied a sort of conspiracy. But maybe there was no conspiracy, no dark secret her grandparents were hiding. Perhaps letting their granddaughter believe her parents were dead rather than admitting they simply hadn’t wanted her was kinder than telling her the truth.
But she had eight letters that said otherwise. Proof her mother had wanted her. Proof she had been afraid of something. Proof her father was lying to her now.
“I drowned,” she said.
“Very nearly,” Arthur agreed, with a dispassionate shrug. “We were neglectful, neither your mother nor I interested in caring for you. Having accomplished what she needed to with your conception, you served no purpose to either of us. Now, I’m sure you’ve a life of your own.” He lifted a hand as if to silence her, even though she hadn’t tried to speak. “Not that I have any interest in hearing about it. It’s better for everyone if you go back to where you came from.”
Her insides shriveled, frozen and sore. A knot swelled in her throat, but she swallowed it away and pushed on. “Did you try to drown me?”
He rolled his eyes. “No one tried to drown you. You wandered off and fell into the water.”
“I remember someone holding me under.”
He shook his head. “You’ve confused the memory of Thomas pulling you out—”
“Who’s Thomas?”
Arthur let out an impatient sigh. “It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t work here anymore. My point is you’ve simply confused your rescue with someone trying to hurt you.”
Could he be right? She’d been three, and couldn’t remember more than the weight of hands on her shoulders, of flailing, of the water rushing into her mouth and up her nose when she couldn’t hold her breath any longer. And blind terror.
“No.” She cleared her throat, her mouth having suddenly gone dry. “Someone was pushing me under, not pulling me out.”
He leaned forward, dark eyes blazing. “Then who was it, hmm?” His lips curled back, exposing short, yellowed teeth. “What happened to you was an accident, nothing more.”
He flopped against the pillow and pushed his mask back into place, drawing deep, gasping breaths as if he’d been drowning.
“Go.” He waved a limp hand. “I’m tired.”
She didn’t care that he was tired. Hell, she didn’t care if he dropped dead in front of her. “What about my mother? How did she die?”
His eyes glinted like black glass. “She fell down the stairs. Now, leave. I have nothing else to say to you.”
He turned his head away, gaze focused on the far wall. Silence stretched between them, interrupted by the wheeze of the oxygen tank and his own gurgling breaths.
The lump returned to her throat with a sharp ache. She stood and hurried from the room before her control slipped. When she lost it—and she was close—she didn’t want him to have the slightest clue.
She pushed open the pocket door, but instead of Eleri a man and woman she hadn’t met were waiting. Both stood from wingback chairs set on either side of a cold fireplace, two opposites on the same spectrum. Both were tall—the woman only a few inches shorter than the man and he had to be at least six foot. He was dressed in a crisp pinstriped suit, his short white hair nearly as striking as his pale blue eyes.
The woman, on the other hand, wore a boxy skirt and jacket the color of wet sand, emphasizing her square, mannish frame. Coarse brown hair twined with strands of silver fell in a choppy line to her shoulders as though someone had hacked at it with a pair of garden shears.
“How is he?” the woman asked. His nurse, maybe.
“All yours,” Brynn muttered.
The woman’s thick brows lifted and vanished behind her choppy bangs. A bemused smile pulled at her mouth. She stared expectantly as if waiting for Brynn to say something more.
“Ruth,” the man said, interrupting the odd exchange. “See to Mr. James, please.”
The woman ducked her head, still grinning, and slipped into Arthur’s room, sliding the door closed softly.
With Arthur and the strange woman shut away, Brynn released the breath she’d been holding.
“Are you all right?” the man asked, straight white brows drawing together in a sympathetic frown.
She felt like she’d been through an emotional gauntlet, wanted to scurry back to her room and let loose the knot thickening in her throat. Instead, she swallowed hard and lied. “I’m fine. Where’s Eleri?”
“Called away, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “Do you remember me?”
Not him, not her father, not her sister, not this house. “I don’t. I’m sorry.”
“Of course you wouldn’t—you were just a little thing when you were here last. I’m Hugh Warlow, the butler here. If you need anything during your stay, you’re to let me know.”
“Thank you.”
“It must be quite strange, back after all these years. Does the estate look very different from how you remember it?”
She really wasn’t up to small talk, but she didn’t want to be rude. He was the first reasonably pleasant person she’d met since she’d arrived. “I don’t remember the estate at all.”
His eyes crinkled a little at the corners. “Nothing? Such a shame.”
“I don’t mean to be rude, but where did Eleri go?”
“She’s in the study, speaking to the detective.”
A detective? A chill danced along her spine. “Why is she speaking to the police?”
“I should imagine th
ey’ve more questions about the man murdered here.”
Chapter Five
“Back so soon, Detective?” Eleri squeezed the doorknob until her knuckles whitened. Just then, it was the only thing keeping her standing. The last thing she needed was a visit from the man. Her sister already had one foot out the door. Catching wind of this might give her that final shove.
Harding looked up from the books on the shelf he’d been inspecting, flashed a feral smile and she fought the urge to recoil. “I’ve missed our chats.”
At least one of them had. She forced her feet to move, taking her into the room until she stood before Harding and another cop she didn’t recognize.
Absently, Harding scratched at his salt-and-pepper hair, leaving careless spikes pointing in all directions. Wrinkled bags pulled beneath his eyes, and his gray-stubbled cheeks sagged giving him an unfortunate hound-dog face. The stink of old cigarettes clung to his rumpled brown suit jacket. He nodded to the man next to him. “This is Detective Miller.”
The younger officer, taller with short blond hair and wearing a suit that didn’t look as though he’d slept in it, flashed a warm smile.
Ah yes, the good cop. “Is there something I can do for you?”
He would ask her to sit down next. These interviews had a flow to them, a sort of script. She’d been in this situation so many times she probably knew Harding’s part as well as her own.
The man didn’t disappoint. He pointed to the Queen Anne chair opposite the leather settee. “Sit down please, Eleri.”
“Would you like a cup of tea? Or Mrs. Voyle could make coffee if you prefer.” Ever the charming hostess, but if experience had taught her anything the more cooperative she was, the sooner she’d get rid of them and back to Brynn.
“Don’t trouble yourself,” Miller said, with another flash of his pearly whites. The man was a walking toothpaste advert. “We won’t keep you long.”
Both men sat at either end of the settee and Eleri lowered herself onto the edge of the soft-cushioned chair. For a moment, no one spoke. Instead they simply sat there, carefully placed points in an odd constellation—Harding and she the farthest apart, the oh-so-attractive Miller between them.
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