Chapter 15 Ophelia #2
“Because a liar will always lie to you, and most of them are pretty damn good at it. Never ask someone to promise they’ll tell you the truth. You’ll always have to parcel that out for yourself. Now ask your questions, Ophelia.”
He’s sharper than I expected. I thought he was on his deathbed, and the way he coughs now and again confirms that, but his mind seems to be intact.
“Tell me what happened between my mother and father. Not what the newspapers said, but what really happened.”
He narrows his eyes and openly studies me, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Don’t you know? They fell in love like two fools.”
Again, I’m surprised because I fully expected him to tell me the newspaper version.
“Carried on for months right under my nose. She was not for him though.”
“Because he was staff?” I ask.
“Precisely.” He surprises me with his answer.
It’s honest and straightforward at least, even if it doesn’t exactly paint him in a good light.
He puts the cigarette to his lips and pretends to take a drag.
“An agreement had already been made for Claire. People like us, Ophelia, we don’t marry for love. ”
Silas squeezes my knee and I turn to him but he’s looking at the old man who, when I look back at him, is watching us.
“You got lucky, I think. Just make sure she stays that way. Regardless, and you can think me a classist for saying it, but Horatio was staff and Claire was royalty in our world. As such, she had an obligation. She didn’t see it that way though, not when it came to Horatio.
But…” he trails off, his expression darkening.
“Turns out Horatio was the least of the evils that haunted—and hunted—her. Glass hearts.” He shakes his head, begins to cough, and I think I hear him say too little too late before the nurse helps him with his oxygen mask.
Once the coughing fit has passed, he looks down into his almost empty glass and this time, I’m sure I see it. Sadness. Regret maybe.
He brings the tumbler to his lips and drains it. “He was a good father to you?” he asks me, surprising me yet again.
I nod. “Yes, he was. Overprotective but I understand why now that I know this.”
“He should have brought her home. If I’d known sooner, maybe he would have. Maybe she’d be alive now if I’d just paid attention.” He rests his head back, looking tired and resigned.
Although I don’t fully understand his comment, I feel a little sorry for him.
“Go on, Ophelia,” he says, meeting my eyes again.
I clear my throat to ask my next question. “Do I have other family?”
“Apart from that piece of shit you saw me kick out of here? No. Everyone is dead. And I’ll be dead soon too.
Don’t ever smoke, young lady. It’s true, all those terrible things they say and the pictures they put on the cigarette packets.
It’s bad for your health.” He puts the unlit cigarette to his lips and makes like he’s inhaling. He winks at me.
I smile. He’s not horrible. A little crazy, maybe, definitely eccentric, but not horrible.
“Now. I’d like you to meet with my lawyers in the morning. There’s quite some paperwork, you can imagine. I want it signed and done before I leave here.”
“Paperwork? I don’t care—”
“You make sure she does care,” he tells Silas. “It’s quite a lot of money, and I will be certain the right person inherits it. I’d rather burn it to ash than give it to that snake.” I’m not sure he’s talking to either of us at that last part, and I wonder if I’m wrong about his mental state.
Silas takes his wallet out and pulls a card from it. “Here. Have your lawyer contact mine. She’ll handle things on our end.” Silas turns to me. “Unless you prefer someone else.”
“No, Nigella’s fine. But you don’t even know me,” I tell my grandfather.
“I know enough. You’re no imposter. Fox confirmed that, but I’m guessing he’s regretting that now that you married the wrong boy,” he tells me then turns back to Silas.
“You’ll sign something too. To protect her from you so you don’t go getting any ideas.
Goddamned greed. It’ll destroy this whole damn country.
Hell, it’ll destroy the world. Already has, hasn’t it? ” He shakes his head.
“Mr. Carlisle-Bent, it’s time for your medication and some rest. You’re working yourself up,” a nurse says.
Silas and I stand up, taking our cue.
“Ah, fuck off,” my grandfather tells him, and I laugh. He turns to me, smiles and nods. “You sound just like her when you laugh. Horatio ever tell you that?”
“He did, actually. Many times.”
“Well, it’s true.” He turns to the female nurse. “Margaret, get that box I brought. It’s in the bedroom. Bring it to me.”
“Just a minute,” she says.
He looks up at Silas. “Your daddy’s a piece of work.”
“I don’t like to refer to him as my daddy.”
“Good. As crooked as they come and thinks he’s got everyone fooled.”
Silas smiles. “You’re right about that, Mr. Carlisle-Bent.”
Margaret returns with the box which my grandfather takes.
It’s a very old, faded purple wind-up jewelry box that he fumbles to open.
When he does, a small, bent ballerina takes a quarter turn to choppy, broken music before stopping.
He watches the little doll inside then roots around underneath to take out a gold locket on a chain.
He puts the box on his lap and opens the locket.
He smiles at it fondly, and the sight of him looking at it like he is, is bittersweet.
I feel the loss of this man who is sitting right here, who I know is not going to be here for very long.
“Here. It was your mother’s. Her mother gave it to her. It’s the two of them when she was just a baby. Claire left it behind when… well, it’s yours now.”
When I reach to take it from him, my fingers brush his and he captures them, holding on to them for a minute, moist eyes locked on mine. This moment isn’t bittersweet. It’s just heartbreaking.
He keeps hold of me and turns to Silas. “Keep her away from the stones, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll take good care of her. Always have. Always will.”
He nods and hands me the box. “And you. You make sure you come back to see me.”
“I will. I promise. And you can trust that promise.”
He smiles.
“Come on, Mr. Carlisle-Bent. Let’s get you to bed,” Margaret says.
I watch him being led away and he suddenly looks smaller and frailer, and I feel so incredibly sad.
“You okay?” Silas asks me.
I nod, and hand off the box to open the locket. Inside are two tiny black and white photos. On one side is a woman I look a lot like and on the other is a tiny bundle of a baby. My grandmother and my mother.
“Come on. Let’s go,” Silas says.
I tuck it into my pocket and let him lead me onto the elevator and down to the lobby.
We pass the entrance of the bar as we go, and I glance in to find Chandler sitting there smoking that fake cigarette and drinking a whiskey.
He raises the glass to me but doesn’t smile.
In fact, his face is the opposite of a smile. A chill runs down my spine.
Silas must feel it because he stops, too, and when he takes a step toward the bar, I pull him back.
“Don’t,” I say, remembering what my father told me, that Chandler Carlisle-Bent is more dangerous for me than the Foxes ever were. Understanding why he’d say that.