The Midnight Estate #6
“What is he doing here?” she whispered sickly when Silas walked back into the kitchen after speaking to the handyman. He shrugged.
“The washing line has been bothering me for a while. It will make so much more sense at the side of the house, don’t you think?”
The washing line made no sense at all at the side of the house, but Marie rushed towards Silas and threw her arms around him anyway.
“Thank you,” she choked.
“It’s okay,” he said, wrapping his arms around her briefly. “It’s going to get easier, Mae. It promise you it will.”
Marie was not the only one suffering the after-effects of what had happened. Silas seemed distracted and quieter even than
usual. She suspected he was worried, as she was, about what long-term effects the fright would have had on little Ernie. They
hadn’t seen him since that night. Christine thought they were still down with the flu.
Mae had once considered that once she adjusted to life in that new country, maybe saved up a little money and had her baby
and found her feet in this new country, she might move out of Silas’s home. He had been nothing but welcoming, assuring her
time and time again that she should feel free to stay as long as she wanted. But she had taken something from him even in
allowing him to smuggle her out of the US. It seemed a strange thing to worry about in relation to an adult, but she did worry
that something of his innocence had been lost. His own freedom was even at risk now, because if Silas’s role in covering up
Rupert’s death ever came to light he’d surely go to jail. All because of her.
In some ways Marie thought it would be best for all of them—for Silas, for Ernest, even for Christine and for Marie herself—if
she were to move on.
The problem was that monstrous secret hidden in the backyard of the mansion. Marie feared it and couldn’t bring herself to
go near it, and she kept waking in the night too scared to leave her bedroom in case Rupert was somehow in that hallway again.
As she walked down the stairs she would sometimes see flashes of that body on the floor, as if she was both in the past and
in the present, somehow all at once.
But despite all of that, she knew now that she was trapped in that mansion forever, and that thought sometimes filled her with dread because what had at first seemed like an impressive, imposing building now felt like a prison.
It was so noisy—the structure creaking and cracking and settling in the night, the wind rattling the window frames even during the day.
She wanted to move to a smaller house, a home where there was nowhere for evil to hide, a place where she could feel at ease again.
But she needed to keep an eye on that cemetery.
Remaining in Silas’s mansion was the only way to be sure that her secrets remained buried.
“Funny thing,” Christine said to Marie a few days later. As far as Christine knew, Silas and Marie had recovered from their
flu, and the women had gone to buy vegetables from a street vendor, a local man who sold in-season produce out of his truck
on the main street of town. “I ran into Bettina Michaels yesterday. Do you know her?”
Marie shook her head.
“Oh, you’ll meet her soon enough. She’s married to one of the local police officers and she’s the biggest gossip in town.
Said an American man came through last week, looking for his wife. For some reason, he was convinced she had taken up with
Silas, of all people. He went to the station to ask where he might find them. Did he . . . er . . . did he come to the mansion
to speak with you?”
Marie was so startled she dropped an onion.
It rolled along the street, coming to a stop in a gutter.
She gave chase, taking a few steps to grab it, giving herself a stern, forceful mental lecture as she did so.
It was inevitable that Rupert had spoken to someone when he came to town—perhaps even inevitable that he would have spoken to the local police, given he was an officer of the law himself.
She and Silas had prepared themselves for this as best they could, although they had not anticipated that it might be Christine who asked about him.
“We’ve been so sick,” Marie said weakly. “Maybe Silas spoke to him while I was napping. He didn’t mention it to me but if
it was a misunderstanding he probably just straightened it out.”
“And none of that sounds familiar to you?” Christine was watching her closely. Marie’s heart was beating so hard against her
chest, she wouldn’t have been surprised if Christine could hear it too. She forced herself to laugh.
“We both know my brother is far from a Lothario. I struggle to imagine him having nefarious affairs at any time, but while
things with you are . . . well, as they are, never.”
“Well, I did laugh when I heard that part,” Christine admitted, but there was something very serious in her gaze. “But the timing is just . . .” She trailed off,
as if expecting Marie to finish the sentence, but Marie had no idea what to say. She just stared at Christine, trying to keep
her expression neutral. “Maeve, honey, I mean, you have to admit, it is quite unusual for another American to find his way out here. You and Silas are the only Americans I’ve ever even seen in this town! It’s such a coincidence
that a third would pop up out here, especially just a month after your arrival and . . . well, I’m so sorry to bring this
up, but right after the loss of your . . . you know. The loss of your husband.”
To Marie’s horror her eyes filled with tears, and she looked away from Christine, overcome.
“Oh, Maeve!” Christine whispered, reaching to squeeze her forearm.
“Honey, I didn’t mean to upset you or to accuse you of anything, I swear!
I just know Silas, that’s all. If he went home because your mother was sick and found that you were in trouble, say if he learned that you’d gotten yourself stuck in a bad marriage since he left . . . I just know he
would do what it took to get you out. If your husband isn’t dead but he is bad news, you can tell me and I’ll help.”
Christine almost had it. Almost. Marie wanted so badly to tell her the truth in that moment but she and Silas had made a vow that they would take their secret
to the grave. Marie wiped impatiently at a tear that spilled over from her eye and Christine reached to gently touch her shoulder.
“I’ll understand if it didn’t go the way you two told me it did. That’s all. I promise.”
“My husband is dead,” Marie whispered thickly. Something about her tone must have rung true to Christine because she suddenly pulled Marie
close for a hug.
“God, honey. I’m so sorry to bring it up. I just had to ask, you understand. I didn’t want you to bear it all alone if you
were hiding from someone awful and he’d tracked you down here.”
“That would be terrible,” Marie said dully. “Thanks for asking, but I’m fine.”
They went about their shopping and didn’t speak of it again.
Airmail came from California some months later. Marie brought it to Silas’s desk soon after the postman visited. She’d been
opening his mail for months by then, but she must have known instinctively not to open that one. She set it on the tray on
his writing table, the one she’d carefully labeled Not Urgent, and let herself out of his office.
Her belly was enormous by then. It was as though it had suddenly popped out and become undeniable the day after he finally convinced her she must see a doctor to confirm the pregnancy.
She’d finally told Christine the news, and even Ernest was overjoyed to learn that he would soon have a little cousin to play with.
Silas had a lot to worry about in those days, but Marie’s situation was weighing most heavily on his mind. If the doctor’s
calculations were correct she was due to have that baby any day, although she’d told Christine a much later date, more in
line with the supposed timeline of her hasty wedding and immediate widowhood. Marie and Silas had not discussed the plan for
the baby’s birth in any great detail, but Silas had promised her he would help her when the time came.
She had no wedding certificate. No husband. Some of Christine’s friends worked in the local maternity ward, so Silas couldn’t
even pretend to be the fictional Aaron West himself. It was a dreadful dilemma and had been keeping Silas awake for weeks.
Silas was so fond of Marie and also so very worried about her. It was clear to Silas that the battle scars left over after
everything Marie had been through had not yet begun to heal. She was jumpy, flying into a panic at any unexpected sound or
movement, and she struggled to assert herself. That was no wonder after what she’d been through, but her determination to
avoid conflict had reached almost pathological levels. Silas knew he drove her mad at times—when he was working he would forget
to tidy up after himself, to attend to calls and letters that had pressing deadlines attached. He knew this irritated Marie
no end and yet she would never call him out about it. He only had an inkling she was angry with him when she’d go very quiet
and start stomping around the house.
Because when Marie wasn’t upset with him, she was not at all quiet. In fact, he was certain he’d heard her life story six times by then, every little
detail from her high school years to her relationship with Irving and the death of their parents, then her courtship with
Rupert. She’d even told Silas the story of how she met him, and the story of her escape to Australia, and the story of the night of Rupert’s death. It was as though she was trying
to process every difficult thing she’d encountered in those past few years by speaking it aloud again, and again, and again.
Telling him and telling herself the story as if she voiced it just one more time she might make sense of it. It was as though she’d suddenly been struck down with a case of conversational mania.
Most concerning of all to Silas was Marie’s refusal to prepare for the baby’s birth. Christine had been gathering clothes