The Midnight Estate #4
of their situation. He had asked her to keep this secret and he asked so little of her. The last thing she wanted to do was to cause any further conflict between Silas and his wife and so she bit her tongue and tried to focus on the good things about this unexpected new life she had.
“How’s Silas?” Christine asked one afternoon. She had brought Ernest to the mansion to spend the night with Silas, and Marie
invited her to stay for a cup of coffee before she went home. The two women were in the back garden, in one of the outdoor
rooms, Ernest climbing the low branches of a nearby peppercorn tree. Marie loved that backyard, with all of its lush plants
and trees. She could sit and watch the birds for hours and had taken to refilling the bird feeder with seed every day. “He’s
working, I assume?”
“Yes, he’s been very busy. Working all hours of the day and night,” Marie told her, and she glanced towards the tall windows
of his study behind them.
“I told you it would be lonely,” Christine said quietly.
Marie shook her head hastily. “Oh no, it’s fine. I’ve been helping him as much as I can with his secretarial work and the
house and truly, it’s fine.”
“Maybe it’s different as sister and brother, but let me tell you, as his wife . . .” Christine sighed heavily. “I love him,
Maeve. I always, always will. I’d even go so far as to say I’m still in love with him. But we are not at all well-matched.”
Marie thought about that phrase for a moment.
If Rupert had been different—less controlling, kinder—would they have been well-matched?
She never even thought for a moment about whether their personality types were well-suited, about whether they’d build the right kind of home for each other to thrive.
Rupert just strode into her life when she needed help and then her heart started to flutter when he smiled at her and the next thing she knew, they were exchanging vows.
“Silas is so focused when he works,” Marie said cautiously. “But he still loves you. I know he does.”
“I know that too.”
Marie wanted desperately to ask what the problem was then, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the words. She’d noticed
this about herself lately, and it troubled her. She had once been so bold—so headstrong. Now, she second-guessed herself in
everything, even in how she spoke up in conversations. She heard Rupert’s voice in her head at the strangest moments, even
in that simple conversation with Christine.
Useless. Stupid.
She so wanted Christine to like her. She didn’t want to ask the wrong question and offend her, to risk damaging the fledgling
relationship.
“The first few months of our marriage I told myself that as the wife of someone so talented I had to just understand that
I would never come first,” Christine said. “I was working at the high school back then—I was an art teacher before I had Ernest—so
it wasn’t like I just sat around doing nothing. Then when we realized a baby was on the way, Silas was so delighted and proud
and excited and I quit my job to focus on getting ready. That’s when I first noticed how lonely I was when he was writing.
You’ll have seen it plenty of times, I imagine. The way he thinks about nothing but the work. The way he can sit opposite you at dinner for half an hour eating without tasting a thing, that faraway look in
his eyes, because he’s with you in body but his mind is upstairs writing.”
Marie had noticed that. She didn’t mind, but that was at least in part because she owed Silas such a debt of gratitude and besides, and she had things to think about too. She was happy to sit in silence.
“It got worse after Ernie was born,” Christine continued. “He slept so poorly at first. Silas was also up half the night working
but it didn’t seem to occur to him to help with the baby. I nearly went crazy with the sleep deprivation, and meanwhile Silas
was just carrying on as if nothing had changed. When he finished writing his book, he’d swoop back into my life and into Ernie’s
life and he’d try to make it up to us but . . . I don’t want a part-time husband, Maeve, and I didn’t sign up for a part-time
marriage. The fact that he thinks it’s a lark that the town thinks this house is haunted so no one wants to visit it—But the loneliness of living out here almost killed
me . . . It was all just too much. I tried to talk to him about it but it was like he couldn’t hear me. That’s why I left.
Has he told you I caught him off guard when I did?”
“He hasn’t said much about it at all. Just that he loves you and he wants—”
“He wants me to come home,” Christine sighed. “I know he does, and I wish I could. But do you see him changing anything at
all to get me to come home, aside from visiting me at Mum’s house every now and again when he takes a break from his work? I think
we all know he’s not capable of changing, Maeve. This is just who Silas is . . . who he will always be. I was so unhappy when
I was here, and now I’m not. I’m starting to think that we’ll have a better relationship if we live in different houses.”
Marie looked up to the study windows again. Her throat felt tight.
“Are you sure?”
Christine hesitated.
“No. Not yet.”
“Promise me you’ll talk to him as soon as you are. It would be cruel to let him live in hope.”