Chapter 16 #2
Something in his tone—a tremor of desperation, a hint of underlying panic—caught my attention. This wasn’t an attempt at reconciliation. The fucker only came back to get the manor back. He came to take the only thing he’d left me with.
Sowerby moved closer to my father, his weathered hands clenched. “Darius,” he warned, a protective edge to his voice.
“I mean it,” Darius continued. “I’ve heard rumors—about the restorations and updates to modernize it. I won’t stand for it.” His eyes were wild, darting nervously around the room.
Eliza stepped forward. “What rumor is it that you’ve heard, sir? The restoration is proceeding exactly as planned with the highest amount of respect for your wife’s plants. I have black roses going in tomorrow,” she said with a watchful eye.
But Darius wasn’t calming down. If anything, it only riled him more.
“That sounds lovely, but I’m quite certain she’d prefer to plant them herself, my dear.
” The rest of his words were jumbled and incoherent and his eyes danced about the ceiling.
His mental state was becoming increasingly erratic. Dementia possibly?
I exchanged a concerned glance with Eliza.
Whatever was happening, it was clear my father was not entirely stable.
The man before me was a shadow of the authoritative figure from my childhood—fragmented and nearly broken.
I couldn’t help wondering if that was new or if it could possibly have had something to do with everything that happened after they left. Either way, I was pissed off.
“You shouldn’t have come back. I’m not the helpless child you left behind.
I will throw every ounce of my weight and power around, spend every penny I have, to ensure you don’t get this place back, and not because I want it, simply for the fact that I know you want it and I want you to hurt.
I want you to hurt, and if this is the only way to do it, then I’ll be damned if I don’t make it as painful as I fucking can. ”
But Darius had retreated into himself, mumbling about doctors and blood checks.
Sowerby moved closer to me, his voice a concerned low whisper. “Jasper, look at him. Your father…he’s not okay. He’s not right in the head. Just look at him.”
I looked away, angry. He was right. It was easy to see he was unwell, and it took all of the satisfaction out of being mean.
“We aren’t stopping the work, and the estate is in my name,” I said, my voice low and controlled.
Darius stepped forward, his hands shaking slightly. “This manor was your mother’s sanctuary. You don’t understand what it means to her—you can’t change it.”
Sowerby erupted. “You blithering idiot, you abandoned this boy, Darius!” Sowerby’s normally calm face contorted with decades of his own suppressed rage. “You have no right to dictate anything about this manor! For god’s sake, let the boy heal. It’s time everything was finally out!”
“No!” my father shouted as he gave a terrified look to Sowerby.
Before anyone could react, Sowerby lunged at Darius, landing a solid punch that sent my father stumbling backward into the wall. The old gardener’s strength belied his age.
“Sowerby, stop!” Eliza intervened, positioning herself between the two men. Her hands pushed against Sowerby’s chest, restraining him. The sweater vests had caused me to temporarily forget what a rough-around-the-edges hard-ass Sowerby was.
I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold. “What is it you two aren’t telling me?” I demanded, looking directly at my father.
Eliza tried to mediate. “We should discuss this calmly. The restoration is nearly complete. Your mother’s original design was quite remarkable.
” She turned to my father. “I think once you see it, you won’t feel conflicted about it any longer.
Perhaps she could come and give me her input as well. ” Her eyes searched his.
Darius seemed to deflate, the fight draining out of him. “No, I won’t step foot in there without her,” he muttered, more to himself than to us.
Sowerby scoffed. “You’ve made your bed, Darius. All of this was your doing.”
The old man’s words hung in the air, a sharp accusation that cut through the room’s thick atmosphere. I could see the weight of guilt pressing down on my father, his shoulders hunched under an invisible burden.
“You shouldn’t live here,” he said, looking at me.
I stepped closer, my curiosity piqued. “Why come back now?”
But Darius said nothing more. Instead, he held a blank stare, lost in some distant memory that seemed to both haunt and consume him.
“Mr. Blackwood,” Eliza addressed my father formally. “Is there something specific at Blackwood Manor that concerns you?”
The silence that followed was deafening. It was like he wasn’t there any longer.
Sowerby, still bristling from his confrontation, muttered, “Some secrets are better revealed than festering in darkness.”
I couldn’t have agreed more, but whatever secrets Darius Blackwood held, it seemed he wasn’t here to share, just as he wasn’t here to reconcile. I stood frozen, my gaze locked with my father’s—a man who had been more of a ghost story than a parent.
He took a tentative step forward, his hands trembling slightly. “Jasper, I know you have every right to hate me, but your mother…” he began, his voice a ragged whisper.
“Hate is a strong word,” I replied, my tone deliberately measured. “Indifference is perhaps more accurate.” The words were a calculated strike, designed to wound precisely where it would hurt most. “You’ve been gone for so long, I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”
Sowerby cleared his throat. “This is a lot for one day. Darius, I think you need to go.”
“This is my house, damn it! Mine!” he shouted back. “I was at the top when I lived here.”
“Is that why you’re here?” I challenged, taking a step closer to him. Even if he wasn’t in his right mind, I wanted to hit him. Hard. “You need money? What do you want? It will be worth it to get rid of you.”
Eliza took an involuntary step forward. “Jasper,” she warned softly.
Darius’s anger seemed to deflate, the fight draining out of him.
“I don’t want your money; I want you to leave this house.
Let the earth take it and every spirit that haunts me,” he said, his voice breaking.
“I’m here because…because I can’t outrun her anymore.
I’m tired of the distance. Tired of the guilt.
This is where I belong, where Hester and I belong, where we were happy. You need to leave.”
It felt like an errant rock had lodged itself in my throat.
“After the declaration of my death, they were supposed to dissolve the trust. But they never did. Someone kept paying the property taxes, maybe you?” He gave me a look. “Legally the house still belongs to the trust. And I created the trust. Once I reinstate myself, it’s mine again.”
For a moment, I saw only a broken man. The anger that fueled me for years suddenly felt hollow, replaced by a confusing mixture of pity, anger, and lingering hurt.
Sowerby moved closer, placing a supportive hand on my shoulder. “We will be expecting something from your lawyer,” he murmured to my father. I could tell this was causing him a lot of anxiety as well.
“I want to understand,” I said finally, the words surprising even myself. “I want to know why. Why—how could you leave me?”
The fire flickered in the fireplace, a silent witness to our confrontation.
He nodded, a single tear tracing a path down his tan cheek. “Because I had to,” he whispered. “I had to. Leave before it’s too late for you.”
Frustrated, I shook my head. I had to turn away to collect myself. He couldn’t even give me a real answer after all this time.
The silence that followed my father’s hollow demand sat heavily in the air of the manor.
His declarations seemed to shake the very foundation of the estate.
I watched as Darius’s figure grew smaller, his silhouette disappearing through the doorway, leaving behind a wake of unresolved tension and unanswered questions.
Eliza approached me cautiously. “Hey,” she said softly, her hand tentatively reaching out to touch my arm. “Are you all right?”
I wasn’t. The confrontation with my father had reopened wounds that had been scarred over. “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice more brittle than I intended.
Sowerby, who had been quiet as he watched Darius leave, now stepped forward. His hand clapped my arm. “There’s a lot more to this than meets the eye, Jasper,” he said cryptically. “Are you all right? I’m going to go call the lawyers now.”
I nodded and watched as he left.
A crimson shadow flickered at the edges of my vision, a brief, almost imperceptible movement that vanished as soon as I tried to focus on it.
The scent of women’s perfume permeated the air, the scent snagging on a hook in the recesses of my mind.
It smelled like my mother. I jogged to the door to look out the window as the taillights of my father’s car disappeared.
I had thought seeing my father had hurt.
But feeling my mother’s presence was like being cut into without sedation.
Had she been with him and just didn’t want to see me?
My teeth ground together until all the muscles in my face were tender and aching.
When Eliza looked at me with a question in her eyes, I just shook my head.
“I smelled my mother.” I let out a long sigh.
“That didn’t sound creepy.” I winced. “She wore Chanel No. 5, and I just smelled her.” Why did Chanel No.
5 feel so fresh in my mind? Had someone recently talked about it?
Worn it? Why did this feel like a full-circle moment suddenly? Did one of the maids wear it?
“Trust me, it’s not as creepy as you might think,” she mumbled, letting out her own long breath. “Well, at least you’re back.”