Chapter 11
11
JONATHAN
G eoff was not exaggerating about the weather. It rains for days on end. So little natural light filters into the house that it’s hard at times to tell noon from night. I’m loath to admit it, but I’m grateful for the children’s rigid routine that gives some shape to our days.
It’s half past 12 on Wednesday when I come upstairs to find Mal sitting on the bench of the old piano. He rushed up here after gobbling down his lunch and I assumed he wanted to get a few minutes of video gaming in before class resumed.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
He startles, but doesn’t move. He has the lid up and he’s staring down at the keys.
I draw level with him. “Do you play?”
He laughs. “Seriously?”
“Would you like to?”
He looks up at me, wide-eyed.
“May I?” I gesture next to him and he slides over, allowing me to sit.
I brush my fingers across the keys. How long has it been since anyone showed this instrument love? My hands move into position almost of their own accord.
Memories flood through me. Mum teaching me to play when I was barely older than Enrique. My first concert—the whole family attended. I play the first few bars of Für Elise. Even out of tune with at least one snapped wire, this piano’s resonance is incredible.
“Legend has it that Beethoven wrote this song for a girl he had a crush on,” I tell Mal as I fumble my way through the second section. “He made it easy to play so she could impress everyone.” I play a little bit more. “But when she got engaged to someone else, he made the rest of the piece as difficult as possible as revenge…” I take my best stab at the complex fourth section, exaggerating the drama. Mal gawks as my fingers run over the keys, oblivious to how many notes I miss or how off key the piano is. I make dramatic faces and he hoots with laughter.
Mal. Laughing. He has the sweetest smile. It brightens up his whole face.
I stand and show him where to put his fingers for the iconic opening bars. His face is alight with genuine joy as he gets the rhythm and manages a few bars without any errors.
“Get away from there!”
I jerk back as Mal scrambles off the seat as if the piano turned burning hot.
Adam is stalking towards us, the west wing door hanging open behind him. “That’s a priceless heirloom!”
“I– I’m sorry,” I stammer.
But his ire is directed at Mal. “Do you have any idea how— you have no idea how— it’s irreplaceable!” His voice is so loud and he is so large that I feel all of the blood drain from my body.
Adam gestures wildly at Mal, “Who said you could play on this?”
He’s sheet white. Every ounce of joy completely gone. And somewhere inside me, from some primal depth, my own anger surges. “I did!”
I step between them. I have to tilt my head back to meet The Beast’s gaze.
My heart is pounding, adrenaline flushing through me. “I said he could play on it. Pianos are meant to be played.”
“Not this one.”
“Oh of course. Not this one in its very prominent place, with its snapped wires and swollen keys. We should have known!”
“You should have asked!”
“When? When exactly could we have asked?” We haven’t even seen him. My pulse is roaring, driving me onwards, before I can stop myself, I fling out an arm towards the piano. “Then again, I suppose neglect is how you show you care!”
The response is ringing silence. I suck in a breath as my words land.
The Beast stares at me. Then he jerks his head towards the control room. “In my office.”
I follow him in and close the door behind me with some force. I turn, knowing that I’m about to be fired and willing to go out fighting. My mouth is opening on my next retort, when I see the screens.
There are about a dozen of them, showing nearly every room of the house. I can see the other children in the playroom around the TV, I can see Lily-Iris in the laundry. I can see Ray cleaning the table in the Kitchen. No wonder Adam made this place his office. He can see what all of us are doing without ever having to actually speak to us. My eyes linger on the empty classroom as it dawns on me just how much he’s likely witnessed.
I forget what I was going to say and instead what comes out is, “You’ve been spying on us.”
“It’s hardly spying. It’s my house.”
“You’ve been watching us. You’ve seen everything.”
My every failure in the classroom, every mistake the children made.
“Yes, I’ve seen everything. Of course I’ve been watching. You’re still in probation, unless you’ve forgotten our agreement?”
I finally tear my eyes away from the screens to settle on Adam again. Now he’s behind his desk, leaning forward on it, knuckles white.
I really am about to be fired.
“I don’t appreciate you speaking to me like that in front of the children,” he says. He sounds surprisingly level.
My pulse is still thrumming. “Noted. And I don’t appreciate you speaking to the children like that.”
“They’re my children.” Our eyes meet. He immediately looks away. “Foster children.”
“I wish you believed that.”
“Excuse me?”
“I wish that you treated them like they were yours and not some project. You should have seen Mal on that piano.” I gesture at the screen that shows the piano. If he had been in here instead of hiding away in his private wing, maybe he would have. “I’ve never seen him so engaged in anything. And now he’s…”
I scan the screens, searching for him.
Now he’s gone.
In my first few days here, I couldn’t wait for the chance to explore. But somehow, weeks have passed and I’ve hardly left the familiar rooms and passages I travel daily with the children.
But Mal was not to be found in any of those rooms, despite us calling for him. It’s still pouring outside, the wind rattling the windows. No chance he left the house. Which leaves the ground floor. We search from room to room, calling his name. There are wallpapered bedrooms, empty of furniture, waiting to be done up for guests who’ll never arrive. There’s the parlor that was mentioned in the magazine article, looking out at the forest. There’s a set of huge wooden doors at the end of a dark corridor that Adam informs me are locked before I even bother checking.
Finally, there’s a dusty office. I stick my head in, taking in the sturdy leather furniture and beautiful Tiffany lamp on the wide wooden desk. I’m about to close the door again when I hear a sniffle.
I glance at Adam. He hangs back, moving quietly into the shadows beyond the door. I step inside. “Mal?”
Another sniffle, the shuffle of fabric. If it weren’t for the absolute silence of the room, I would have missed them. I crouch and find myself eye level with the adolescent, tucked up under the desk. He has his knees drawn up to his chin and he’s clearly been crying, but he dashes athis eyes.
“It’s all right, you can come out.”
“Did he sack you?” Mal asks.
“We didn’t really get to that part of the conversation.”
I’m trying for levity but Mal ducks his head and makes a sobbing noise. He says something, but the words are muffled by his knees.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t get that.”
He repeats it and it sounds very much like, “I don’t want you to go.” Except this is Mal.
“Malakai,” Adam’s deep voice rumbles from behind us. I tense and Mal pulls himself tighter under the desk. “Malakai, come out now. There’s no need to hide.”
Adam’s large frame blocks the doorway. Even when he’s not trying to be, he’s intimidating.
I gesture for him to join me on the floor. At least that way he’s less of a physical threat. To my surprise, he does, crouching beside me and peering into the dark recesses beneath the desk.
Eyes appear above Mal’s knees, little pinpricks of reflected light. “Are you going to fire Belle?”
“No,” Adam rumbles, voice surprisingly gentle.
“Are— are you going to send me back?”
“Also, no.”
When no further response is forthcoming, Adam sighs and sits cross legged on the floor. “I apologize for shouting. I didn’t expect— I never expected to hear that piano being played again. I overreacted.”
I blink. Is this the same man who was just yelling at us?
“I’ve always had a problem with my temper and it’s gotten me into some pretty bad spots. But you don’t have to be afraid, Mal. Please, don’t be afraid of me.”
For a minute there’s no sound in the room but the distant wail of the storm. Then Mal says, “I’m not. I’m not afraid of anything.”
I almost laugh. “Well in that case, I think we should go back upstairs and continue today’s lessons, don’t you?”