Chapter 39
THIRTY-NINE
I’ve often wondered why the wives of the wealthy work for charities and other useful distractions; it’s because they are bored silly.
The moment I arrived home this afternoon, my options were to walk around the garden, watch TV or go and sit in my room.
The children won’t be home for hours. I need something to pass the time.
I’d enjoy watching Pierre prepare for the evening meal but the upstairs–downstairs mentality that I’d assumed had vanished in Victorian England is well and truly alive in Rhode Island.
I’d like to spend time in the kitchen, as it’s always the hub of a house, but the moment I step one foot inside I feel like a foreigner.
The longer I’m here, the worse it gets but I have heard Ruby telling the staff to remember that I’m not one of them.
The thing is, when I arrive, any conversation ceases immediately and starts up again as I leave.
I’ve made a habit of pausing to listen and it’s usually about me.
I nod to the staff working in the kitchen, fill a mug with coffee, add the fixings and walk out the door. I pause in the hallway.
“What’s wrong with her today?” Sue’s voice drifts toward me. “I figure Mr. Hunter has had a few words with her about taking our keys. I mean, who does she think she is? She arrives here and then tries to change everything. I knew he wouldn’t agree to it.”
“I wonder how long this one will last.” Amy stifles a chuckle.
“If she keeps going up to the third floor, anything might happen.” Sue lowers her voice and I can almost see her leaning closer to Amy.
“Strange things happen up there and I heard that more than two of the women that lived here in the past had been dragged away screaming after wandering around up there. A hundred years ago if a person ended up in a sanatorium, they never left.”
“What did you hear about the third floor?” Amy’s voice rises. “Do people say it’s haunted? I’ve always figured it was just rats that lived up there.”
“Nah, they don’t say it’s haunted.” Pierre chuckles. “Think about it. The rooms are so tiny and claustrophobic and you can hear conversations, like whispering through the heating ducts. Those women figured they’d gone mad.”
So, they hoped I’d go mad and be locked away in a psychiatric ward?
How nice. I climb the stairs and this time I stare into the eyes of Laura.
Secrets and lies surround her and I have no solution to the mystery of her death.
Strangely, I feel sorry for her, even though the woman is a thorn in my side and dominates my marriage.
For my own peace of mind, I need to get to the end of her story.
Inside my bedroom I set my coffee on the desk in front of the window and stare at the rose bushes swaying in the breeze.
Diving back into Laura’s diary is placing my own peace of mind at risk.
I believe reading the thoughts of someone who is obviously mentally disturbed is upsetting me more than I realize.
Reluctantly I take the laptop out of the drawer, place it on the table and plug it into the power.
It’s as if something is compelling me to do it rather than my own free will.
I can’t fight against it. I need to know what happened.
Trepidation creeps over me as I open the files and scan the last few entries before Laura’s death.
Two people mentioned she may have taken her own life and now Sue is implying the same thing.
Not many people got close to her but Jack and Tom had intimate relationships with her so may have seen something in her behavior I’ve missed.
August 26
I took photos of Ava today and transferred them to my laptop.
When I took the photographs, Ava refused to smile at me; she pulled a sad face and tugged at her hair.
She always liked me to brush her hair in front of the mirror and now all she does is call for Jenny.
It’s as if I’m not her mother and never had children.
Maybe it’s a good thing because now they’ll be just the way Jack wants them to be.
I make a note of the date and go through the image files until I find the photographs mentioned.
I’m shocked and check the dates and go back and forth many times but what Laura describes is chilling me to the bone because I see a toddler with long dark hair.
She has inquisitive dark eyes and a smile that would melt anyone’s heart.
Why did Laura see her as sad? What type of mental disorder did she have that caused her to see things differently to other people?
Laura had been under supervision by a psychiatrist. If there had been any problems, wouldn’t Jack be dealing with them by now?
Unless her condition had deteriorated because she wasn’t taking her medication.
I imagine Jack being at his wits’ end with her.
It must have been a terrible time for him.
I’m disturbed and weird thoughts are flying through my mind but I must read on.
August 27
I lost time again this week. I have gaps in my memory.
Earlier, I passed Ruby in the hallway and noticed she was wearing my scarf.
I asked her about it because it was a silk one I’d purchased in Paris.
She laughed at me and told me I’d given it to her for her birthday two days previously.
I know the date of her birthday—Jack always makes sure she has a special dinner with us—and it’s not for a day or so.
I checked the date on my laptop and I’ve lost two days.
I have no recollection of what happened over that time.
Someone is doing this to me and now I’m sure Jack is involved.
I mentioned Ava’s reluctance to be with me and he wanted me to spend more time with the children—not alone—never alone.
He had Jenny bring them to us and I stared at Noah.
He wasn’t my son. I didn’t recognize him and yet Jack acted as if nothing was wrong.
They’ve switched out my son for another baby. Where is Noah?
What?! I stand so fast the chair tips over and clatters to the floor.
Shock trembles through me and I take a few steps away from the laptop as if demons are going to pour from it.
Missing time was bad enough but I know enough to know not being able to recognize her own child or misreading their expression is paranoia.
The entire entry is laced with confusion and the unsettling idea that someone was manipulating her reality—but who—and why?
By this time Tom wasn’t living at the house, so that left Jack.
If Laura’s condition wasn’t induced by drugs maybe she did take her own life.
She’d been living in a confused state of hell for months.
I can’t read on and close the laptop and hide it back in the drawer. I need to get out of this horrible house. I grab one of Jack’s ball caps and head out the back door and walk to the beach.
The sound of the waves crashing on the wet sand and the sun sparkling on the ocean lift my spirits.
I’ve only known Jack for a short time. It hasn’t even been six months yet but I believe deep down in my heart he’s a good man.
I admit I had my suspicions but I really don’t believe that he murdered Laura.
I will speak to him when he returns home about her health the few weeks before her death.
One thing I can’t get my head around is the fact that she was well enough to go to a celebration on the yacht the night she died.
From what the staff told me previously, and the diary entries, she sounded too far gone to be able to be taken out in public.
I walk, leaving my footprints in the pristine sand.
The shore break wets the beach and, as the wave is pulled back into the ocean, it leaves a golden sparkle and the sound of rolling pebbles.
I allow the sound to filter through my brain, calming me and helping me to think clearly.
Laura mentioned the fear of being drugged and took every precaution.
Why did she believe she was being drugged?
It doesn’t make sense that the medication given to her by the psychiatrist would cause paranoia and delusions.
I need to discover what medication she was taking and then search for it on the internet to find out what it’s for and how it affects people.
I’m wondering now if it’s time to tell Jack about the diary.
My only concern is that if Tom isn’t involved, what will happen to him when Jack discovers he had an affair with Laura?
My head fills with images of Jack and my stomach drops.
Just being with him makes me believe my life has changed for the better.
My time with him is wonderful. I honestly couldn’t ask for a more considerate or gentle husband.
I don’t believe he intentionally deceived me about his tragic past but I didn’t expect to be thrown into a web of lies and deception.
It’s over seven years since Laura died and yet it’s as if she’s still here, waiting for the truth to come out about her death.
I don’t know if she jumped or was pushed.
In her state of mind, anything is possible.
When I read her diary, I felt sorry for her and now, knowing her inner thoughts, I feel as if I’ve lived through the breakdown with her.
I turn and stare at the house. I can make out Laura’s bedroom window—Laura’s bedroom—Laura’s home. Laura, Laura, Laura…
Will she ever be gone from the house and my life?