Chapter Fourteen
Nicholas
I found Margaret in the kitchen, where she would usually be making the afternoon tea and preparing for dinner.
Given that there were no cooking aromas, a single pot on the stove or even a kettle boiling, I guessed something else had stolen her attention.
Grace and I were festering in her mind, making her seethe.
She was resting two balled fists against the counter top, looking out over the patio and the gardens beyond, her face like a scrunched-up newspaper. Her countenance didn’t get any better when she spotted me.
“Grace and I have something to celebrate tonight. I thought we’d eat on the terrace by the fountain. Can I rely on you to call the caterer, and have a bottle of champagne brought in?”
Margaret’s arm flew out as she snatched a potato peeler from the draining board and hurled it directly at my head.
I dodged it, just, before ducking to avoid more oncoming ammunition.
Forks, spoons, a strainer, a cheese-grater and a mandoline went soaring over my head and shoulders, but mercifully, no knives.
Maggie’s face was red, her chest heaving, her eyes glistening with tears, by the time she stopped.
“Why don’t I set up a table with a linen cloth and two chairs by the statue of Louisa instead?” She argued breathlessly.
“Margaret,” I said. “Let’s not go through this again.”
“You’re just the same as when I first worked for the Crowthornes. Nothing has changed. You’re that indignant little boy who wouldn’t listen to common sense, and now look what you’re doing.”
I began to gather up the kitchenware that littered the tiled floor.
“What am I doing, Maggie? I’m making myself and the woman I love dearly very happy. It’s time we all moved on. We should have moved on a long time ago.”
“And why didn’t you?” she asked, folding her arms across her breast.
“Margaret.”
“And have you noticed that someone else hasn’t exactly moved on?”
I sighed. It had been a long, difficult day – I wasn’t in the mood for this conversation now, or ever.
“Everything can be worked around. We’re turning to a new chapter in Crowthorne House,” I said, sighing deeply as I packed the items away in their various homes.
“Imagine what Alexander would think if he could see you now. Imagine what your parents would think!”
“Alexander was a foul, abusive, disturbed soul and I was glad to be rid of him,” I said coldly, watching Margaret’s face turn ashen, her expression aghast.
“Nick! You mustn’t say that!”
“And my adoptive parents are not here to pass comment. They’re dead and gone.”
“Take it back, this instant,” she said fervently. “I won’t hear you speak of Alexander that way.”
“Over my dead body, Margaret.”
“Nicholas!”
“You’ve never believed me about Alexander, and that is your choice,” I said.
“But if my real mother were here to speak for herself, she would tell you how despicable you were not to believe me, I’m sure of that.
She was disregarded as a whore when she fell pregnant with me, just as I was disregarded as a bastard to that whore. ”
“I was more of a mother to you than she would have ever been,” said Margaret, her expression bitter. “But I was also a mother to dear Alexander, who adored you, Nick, regardless of these claims you make about him now.”
There was no use in arguing with her the way I had years ago, trying to convince her of the torment, the pain, my brother put me through when we were teenagers. I’d accepted it long ago. She was in denial, and she wanted to stay there – but she knew. Deep down, she knew.
“A mother? You were no such figure of importance to me.”
Margaret’s face turned like thunder.
“She’s not normal. You do realise that, don’t you? The girl isn’t right. I’ve seen her going into the mortuary, looking at the deceased – just looking at them, like she’s fascinated and can’t tear herself away,” said Margaret, shaking her head incredulously as if I was the one in denial.
I flinched as if her words stung. It drove me wild to hear criticisms of dear Grace, but I let none of that be apparent to Margaret in my expression. I would prevent her from gaining any satisfaction in that regard.
“You seem to suffer from the same affliction, to be following Grace around like that,” I began, chewing over her words.
“It’s really not uncommon in this industry.
There’s nothing wrong with having an interest in death.
How do you think funeral directors come about?
You think they’re summoned from the underworld, suited and booted with a licence folded in their breast pocket? ”
Maggie closed her eyes for a long time and then slowly opened them, as if I’d said something unbelievably stupid.
“She kills things, Nicholas.”
I paused, almost wanting to laugh, it was such a ridiculous thing to say. I found that the air had disappeared from my lungs. I coughed, clearing my throat.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
Margaret had gone mad. Truly, mad.
“I’ve seen her. First it was the odd insect, then it was birds, then a rabbit. Out in the garden, when it’s getting close to dark. She sits and watches the light fade from their eyes along with the dusk,” said Margaret. “You seem to have a thing for young blonde girls with peculiar fascinations.”
I groaned and waved her away, unable to tolerate any more of it. Still she stepped closer, telling me more and more about the animals. The ones she’d seen Grace smother, or strangle, and only god knew what else.
“And I’d pay very close attention to the horses, because I have a feeling one of them is going to die unexpectedly, too, at this rate,” she said.
“I’m disappointed in you, Margaret. These are dreadful accusations. I’ve seen it for myself – Louisa couldn’t hurt a fly. Yesterday I helped her kill a wasp that was trying to sting her, for heaven’s sake.”
Margaret smiled wryly. “You do realise you said her name instead of Grace’s, don’t you?”
“A slip of the tongue,” I snapped, wishing I could wipe that smirk off her face. A lesser man would do it, but that wasn’t me.
“She followed you, you know. Her and that girl, Eugenie. It won’t be long now. That friend of hers is another one to watch, although I suppose stupid and spoiled is better than downright evil.”
I gave pause, watching Margaret’s eyes as she challenged me, with my hands behind my back.
“I think it’s time you and I parted ways,” I said, finally. “I couldn’t care less what was written for you in the trust. You’ve broken the terms as far as I’m concerned.”
Her gaze levelled with me. She softened her voice.
“I’m trying to help you, Nicky, can’t you see that?”
I wanted to see the back of her. I truly did. But deep down, I knew I only wanted her gone because I couldn’t stand to hear what she was saying. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, believe it of Grace.
And even if it was true...we all had our demons. Louisa certainly had hers, and I’d loved her. That was the only connection between the two of them in my mind. They both needed, and deserved, love.
“Stay out of our way, Margaret. If what you’re saying is true then you’ll be just as likely to go out of here in a hearse as you are in a taxi cab,” I said, leaving her standing there, gawping. “I’ll leave the choice up to you.”
I headed out into the courtyard and the gardens beyond, fuming, clenching my fists.
According to Margaret, Grace had attended the church service with Eugenie and seen me there – but what else had they seen?
How much of it? If Grace had seen the worst, then she wouldn’t be resting in the pink bedroom right now, wearing my engagement ring.
It was a prudent reminder that something needed to be done, and soon, before it destroyed everything for me and Grace and the little empire I knew we could run together.With Grace at my side, I could, over time, be respected again.
She wouldn’t be twenty-one forever, and we could have children, raise a family together, and turn Crowthorne House into something more than the tomb it was presently.
We could resurrect it, and restore it to a thriving family home.
I could picture it in my mind’s eye now. My wife and I in the drawing room, by the Christmas tree, with our three children and another on the way. It had been decades since I had allowed myself to imagine that dream. Because of Grace, I could see it becoming a reality now.
The engagement would keep Grace content, but only for a while, I knew that.
As I paced among the gravestones, I thought of all the ways I could distract her.
There was work, of course; always work to be done, and funerals to attend to, and that would keep her busy.
The Christmas ball and its preparations was another fine distraction, as well as her dress, her hair, her jewellery – all things that she would want to plan for and consider.
Seeing as Margaret had turned hard against us, arrangements for the ball would no doubt be left for me to organise.
Driving lessons – of course, I would distract Grace with her driving lessons.
It was just the announcement, then, that I had to worry about. Any questions could fizzle away in the sea of excitement that Grace would be coasting on, just as soon as her sores healed. This bought me, at least, some time to figure this out.
There was Dorian; I knew I must make amends with him. I would meet up with him, buy him a drink, and explain myself. I’d apologise, make it right again. There was still time. I could set it all right before the whole ball of twine began to unravel.
There came a rustling sound behind me, among the bushes. A twig snapped. I span around and thought I saw something, like a smear of white, escape my periphery. A hush came over the garden and the small cemetery.
“Louisa?” I asked into the muted air.
There came no reply.