Chapter 42
GRACE
Idon’t know if it’s normal for a mother to just sit and stare at her baby, but that’s all I seem to do since my perfect little boy arrived.
I stroke his hand as he sleeps in his Moses basket, beside me on the sofa, completely overwhelmed by the love I feel for him.
I can’t believe there was ever a time when I considered not being a part of his life.
I can’t help but think about Polly, and how hard it must have been for her to give away her baby.
Cecelia startles me when she rushes into the room, her eyes wide and skittish, and her skin deathly pale.
“Gracie, pick up the baby. We have to leave,” she whispers, looking back over her shoulder as if there's some kind of threat.
“What are you talking about?” I stand protectively in front of my son. I’ve never trusted this woman, and I don’t intend to start now.
“There's someone in the house. They have a gun. Get your son and come with me,” she whispers louder in frustration.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” The first sign of Jack leaving us, and this bitch is already playing her manipulative games.
“For goodness sake, girl. Pick up your baby and come on. I’m trying to help you.” She narrows her eyes at me fiercely.
“First of all, I’m not a girl. I’m a woman. And secondly, why on this earth would I trust you?”
I look past her when a scream comes from the kitchen, and when it’s followed by a loud gunshot, Cecelia raises one of her drawn-on eyebrows cleverly. Having to make a split-second decision, I pick up Benjamin and decide I have to trust her.
“Where can we go?” I ask, clutching him to my chest and rocking him. The gunshot startled him awake, and the fact that he’s crying isn’t helping at all.
“You need to shut him up.” Cecelia kicks off her heels and takes my hand, dragging me into the hall while cautiously looking towards the opposite corridor that leads to the kitchen.
“Library,” she whispers, guiding me towards it while I somehow manage to settle Benjamin down. Once we’re inside, she quickly grabs a chair, resting it back on two legs under the handle to jam the door.
“We’re not safe here; anyone could get through that eventually,” I tell her, searching around for another option.
I curse myself for being so blindsided that I left my phone in the living room.
“We need to call Jack. We need to call the police.” I keep rocking Benjamin, praying that he remains silent, but my heart is beating so fast, he’s bound to pick up on my fear.
“Who would want to hurt us?” I ask, trying to remind myself that Jonah is dead.
It can’t be him. Jack killed him.
“I don’t know; we can try and figure that out when we’re safe,” she tells me, counting the books on the shelf before pulling one out.
“Cecelia, now is not the time for reading,” I growl, wondering if this woman is fucking crazy.
She smirks at me when a loud pop comes from the bookshelf, and it opens up like a door.
“It’s called a panic room. Thankfully, we have three of them,” she explains, grabbing my elbow and urging me to get inside.
“Wait.” I stand firm, despite the threat that's on the other side of the door. “How do I know you aren’t going to hurt us?” Cecelia has been so cruel and hateful towards me since I arrived. This could easily be a trap.
“Oh, come on, Gracie. I may not like you, but I certainly don’t wish for you or your baby to be dead.
Get inside.” She rolls her eyes impatiently, and when Benjamin starts getting upset again, I slyly pick up the letter opener from the desk beside me.
Tucking it in my back pocket, just for precaution, I do as she suggests; heading inside the panic room and hoping I’m making the right decision.
Cecelia waits until I’m standing in the corner before heaving the door shut and trapping us in the white-walled empty room.
“Can’t you shut him up?” She looks at my son with her lip curled as she stands with her shoulders against the wall and her arms folded.
“He’s a baby,” I remind her, on edge and fucking scared. I take out my breast and give him what I know will calm him down, just so I can try and think straight.
“Who is that person, and why do they want to hurt us?” I have a sense that Cecelia knows more about this.
“I don’t know who it is. I just saw a masked man enter the house through the pantry holding a gun.” She sighs.
“You really don’t miss anything, do you?” I have no idea how this woman manages to have eyes all over the house.
“Well, in this case, dear, it’s a good job I don’t. You can thank me for saving your life when we get out of here.”
“And what if they don’t leave? What if they find a way to get in here or…or set fire to the house?” My head is swirling with scenarios as I hold my son tighter, stroking his little head and praying it doesn't come to that.
“This room is practically bomb proof. Bernard had it updated a few years ago,” she assures me.
“Well, did Bernard put a panic button in his panic room?” I ask, looking around for something we can use to call for help.
“We need to contact Jack.” I keep going over and over in my head who would want to hurt us.
Jack said his father had enemies, but surely those enemies wouldn’t come for us, especially now that he’s dead.
“Jack is probably out there doing what he does best and—”
“With all due respect, Cecelia, Jack is nothing like your husband was.” I tuck myself away when Benjamin falls back to sleep. “I get that you're bitter and twisted about the fact you were cheated on, but Jack isn’t like that.” I refuse to let her get inside my head with her usual shit.
“If you’d let me finish.” She raises her brows at me again. “I was going to say, he’s probably out there being a hero.” Her response throws me off completely. I’ve never heard her say a kind word about him.
“What are you talking about?” Now I’m really starting to panic; this has trap written all over it, and I can’t believe I’ve been so blindsided by all the love and emotions I’ve been having to not see this coming.
“Let us out.” I quickly move toward the door. Sensing that I’ve made a huge mistake.
“Absolutely not! You go out there, and you could die,” she growls at me. “Gracie, a person has come into our home with a gun; Jack would never forgive me if I let you leave the safety of this room.”
“And do you really expect me to believe you care what Jack thinks? You hate him. You hate us. What is this, Cecelia? A desperate attempt to get what you think you deserve? Because if it is, you can have it. I don’t need a title or money to be happy, neither does Jack.
Call off whatever this is and just let us go,” I beg her, looking down at my innocent sleeping boy and hating that I put us in this vulnerable position.
“I’ll tell you what this is. It’s an old, bitter woman trying to do what's right for a change!” she yells in frustration, before sliding down the wall to sit on the floor, and messing up her perfectly-styled grey hair when she runs her fingers through it.
“I promise you, I don’t know who that person out there is, but unfortunately, I can’t say that the reason they’re here isn’t my fault.” She looks up at me, guilty.
“What are you saying?” I stand over her, desperately needing to know what all this is about so I can try and find a way to get us out of it.
“My husband used to run a club. A club that was–”
“I know about the club,” I interrupt her, shocking and confusing her at the same time.
“Not The Residence.” She shakes her head.
“The stately home in Kent." I prove that I know far more than she realises, hoping it will hurry her to the point.
“How do you—?
“None of that matters right now, just tell me what you know.”
“The club was exclusive, and it was barbaric.” Her hands tremble as she explains. “I had no idea it existed until after Thomas was born, and I tried so hard to push it to the back of my mind.”
“You knew all that time, and you never did anything about it?” I stare at her in disgust.
“I couldn’t. I’d seen what Bernard did to people who went against him; you only have to look at what he raised Jack to be to know how desperate he was to keep his secrets. I had Thomas to consider.”
“More like your reputation, Cecelia; those girls were children.” I think back to how awful it must have been for Polly when she was younger. Being exploited by her own brother. From what Cecelia is telling me, Bernard had been running that God-awful place for decades.
“I know, I know, and I’m sure to go to hell for not speaking up.
But I’ve been trying to fix it.” She stands back up, wiping her tears.
“I started looking into the old finance records that Bernard kept so guarded. I wanted to figure out who was involved so I knew who I could trust. Last year, I managed to get into one of the safes, and I found some pictures.” She closes her eyes and swallows heavily.
“He must have had them to use as blackmail, in case any of his members didn't toe the line.” I see the fear in her face and can only imagine what the photographs were of.
“And…?”
“When it became clear that Jack was going to inherit everything, I knew it had to come to an end. I used the people in those pictures to put together a solid list. I wanted Jack to deal with the men in Jack’s way.”
“You mean you wanted him to kill them?” I hear the quiver in my own voice. “You should have taken that list and those images to the police.”
“And put all their wives and families through hell? Let’s not forget the fact that these men know people who can get them out of anything. I thought my way was far more just…and that their families would be spared the shame of scandal.”
“You put Jack in danger; you know he’s a good person and would want justice for what his father did.”
“Come on, dear, we both know Jack can handle himself. I’ve had to hear Bernard brag about it for years. Let's not pretend he doesn’t enjoy the tasks he gets set. He was the right man for the job.”