“Is that why they all still live at Witherswood? They hope they’re going to inherit it?”
“Well, Pete has them all employed in various, mostly nominal, capacities in the various family businesses. How he’ll divide all of that up when he dies is unknown, but I imagine the bulk of it will go to Christopher, which I’m sure burns the rest of them up.”
“Ben stays because he feels an obligation to take care of Gabe.”
Gregory shrugged. “That might be true. I had left by the time Gabe had his accident. I know he’s become quite the recluse now, but he was always bitter. Even before he broke his back. And that’s because of that oppressively dysfunctional family.”
“But when you were a boy, you were part of that family.”
He nodded. “My father and Pete were like brothers. Pete treated me more like a son than a nephew. I said before that Pete seemed to favor Donovan. That was true, as far as Ben and Gabe were concerned. But Pete’s true favorite was yours truly. And he was like a second father to me.” Gregory’s face clouded. “That is, until I was nine years old and left Witherspoon to go live with my aunt and uncle.”
Daphne told him how she’d read about the murders. She shared that she knew it must have been so terribly difficult for him. She reached over and touched his hand. He smiled sadly.
“Pete tried to make amends,” Gregory said, in a distant-sounding voice. “He gave my aunt and uncle a lot of money. I used it, too, for school, and for investing, buying property. I turned that sum of money into a hundred times its worth. And then do you know what I did?”
“What?” Daphne asked.
“I gave it back to him. I showed up at Witherswood one day, with cash. It was the amount Pete had given to me, plus interest, for all the years that had gone between. And I plopped it down on the table in the parlor. We were now even.”
“What did he say?”
“He was furious. Because he knew I had used the money he’d given me to get rich, and then to try to put him out of business.”
Daphne made a face. “But ... if you put him out of business, you’ll put me out of business, too.”
Gregory cracked a smile. “I have a feeling, Miss May, you will land on your feet just fine.”
“Maybe so,” she said, “but I wish you and Mr. Witherspoon didn’t have to be enemies. I understand your anger toward him. But maybe someday ...”
“Someday is never going to happen.” Gregory stood abruptly, his mood suddenly sharp and sour. “I’ll never forgive him. He discovered his father’s bloody clown suit and realized he was the killer. Still, he waited a day before taking any action—and in that delay my parents were slaughtered. I can never forgive that.”
“I wonder if he’s ever been able to forgive himself.”
Something else seemed to occur to Gregory. “How’s that creepy butler been to you?”
“Boris? All right. Keeps his distance, mostly. He talks about ghosts a lot.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He was extremely loyal to Pete Senior. Had been with him all his life. And I think he might have known what was going on, and out of loyalty, said nothing to the police. He was there the night my parents died, in fact. His room was only a few yards from where that monster slit their throats. And he claimed he heard nothing.”
“You think ... Boris let them die?”
“I have always wondered whether, out of loyalty to his master, he let my mother and father bleed to death rather than wake the house and call the police.”
Daphne shuddered.
Gregory sighed. “Look. Enough of all this. It’s almost time for us to head back.” He smiled. “Come here. I want to show you something.”
He motioned for Daphne to follow him. He stepped out onto a terrace off the living room, a dramatic platform of steel and glass that spanned a break in the cliffs. If you looked straight down, you looked into the surf. Daphne gasped in awe.
They stood there, looking out over the white-crested, moonlit waves, getting a little damp from the mist blowing off the sea. Daphne suddenly shivered, and Gregory put his arm around her, drawing her in close. How strong he was. How solid he felt.
“I like you, Daphne,” he whispered.
She felt too overcome to reply at the moment.
It was getting late. Ashlee was scheduled to pick her back up at the restaurant at eleven. Back in the house, Daphne wrapped herself in the faux fur and thanked Gregory for a truly lovely evening. “I hope there will be more,” he told her.
Daphne hoped so, too, though she just smiled in reply.
As they stood beside the bike outside on the driveway, Gregory made a move to secure the helmet once again on Daphne’s head. But he paused, and all at once reached down and kissed her. Just a light kiss, on the lips. Daphne responded, and so he kissed her again, deeper this time. Daphne felt as if she might faint right there on the spot. Her head floated off her shoulders and headed out somewhere over the ocean. Never had she known such a feeling. Everything was spinning. Her whole body tingled. Wrapped in Gregory’s arms, Daphne wanted to stay right where she was for eternity.
She had never been kissed before in her life.
Gregory smiled at her kindly as they, finally, gently, broke contact. Then he tenderly affixed the helmet to her head.
Mounting the bike, Daphne was glad for the opportunity to once again snake her arms around Gregory’s strong torso. “Hang on!” he called. The motorcycle revved into life and took off down the cliff road.
As planned, Ashlee was waiting for her. Gregory dropped Daphne off, then sped back down the road. It wouldn’t do for someone to come upon them all together. Once Daphne was in the car, Ashlee pumped her for details. But all Daphne would say was that it had been wonderful. She felt as if she wanted to keep all the details to herself, like precious gems in a jewelry box.
“Sweetie, if I were you, I’d say to hell with Witherswood and bratty little Christopher and take off with Gregory,” Ashlee said. “Really, I would not blame you for an instant.”
When they got back to the great old house, Daphne was still in kind of a dreamy daze, and told Ashlee she’d be inside in a little bit. She just wanted to walk for a while. Ashlee smiled, seeming to understand. As her friend went into the house, Daphne wandered out toward the stables. She loved coming out here. Even on a cold, damp night like this, there was something warm and comforting in the stables—the smell of hay, the kind, compassionate nickering of the horses. Ben had offered to teach her to ride. She’d like that. Gregory could ride, and wouldn’t it be lovely to go riding with him?
She was walking past the horse stalls when she heard a clank of metal.
She looked up.
There was someone in the shadows.
The figure of a man.
Daphne’s heart began to race.
The figure was approaching her.
She was about to run when a slice of moonlight revealed the figure to be Donovan. Even at five or six yards away, she could smell he’d been drinking.
“Have fun tonight?” Donovan asked.
Daphne held her ground. “Yes,” she replied. “Ashlee and I just got back.”
“Gee,” Donovan said, drawing closer. “I didn’t know Ashlee could drive a motorcycle.”
Daphne’s blood turned to ice.
Donovan was nearly in front of her now. “Not very discreet of you, doll, to go riding around town on the back of Gregory Winston’s Harley-Davidson.” His eyes burned with fury. “Wouldn’t Uncle Pete like to know how you really spent your evening?”
“How did you—”
“I was in town, having a few pops,” he said, and burped in her face. The smell of gin was putrid. “And who do I see go whizzing by but everyone’s favorite little virginal governess.”
Daphne turned to leave, but Donovan grabbed her wrist. It hurt.
“Let me go!” she shouted.
“You little slut,” he seethed. “How dare you refuse me, then go whore yourself out to the man who’s trying to destroy this family?”
“Help me!” Daphne screamed, but now Donovan had her in his grip, and he clamped his other hand over her mouth.
“Scream all you want, bitch, but no one can hear you out here,” he said into her ear.
With that he pushed her down into a pile of hay, falling on top of her. Pinning her down by the neck with his left hand, he used his right to tear open her blouse.
“I’m going to take what I’ve wanted from the first day you walked into this house, you lying little tramp,” Donovan told her. “And there’s nothing you or that fucking asshole Gregory Winston can do to stop me.”
TWELVE
“Help me, please!” Daphne screamed, as she felt Donovan begin to tear at her skirt—her new polka-dotted skirt. “Help, someone!”
“Donovan!”
Right away Daphne recognized the voice. It was Suzanne. She seemed to be always on the hunt, looking for her fiancé, and with good reason. Now she walked into the stable with a look of utter horror on her face.
“Donovan!” she shrieked again.
He backed off of Daphne, staggering to his feet, looking away, not making eye contact with Suzanne. She rushed at him, grabbed him by the shoulders, and spun him around to face her. Then she slapped his face. Hard.
Daphne stood, pulling her torn blouse together.
“He tried to rape me,” she told Suzanne.
The other woman glared at her, then turned again to Donovan.
“She lured me in here,” he said, his eyes still averted from both of them.
Suzanne slapped him again.
Then she spun on Daphne. “If you breathe a word of this, I’ll destroy you.”
Daphne was so shocked she couldn’t answer.
“I mean it,” Suzanne said, taking a step closer. “I will say you really did lure him in here, that I caught you very happily engaging in a sexual seduction of my fiancé.”
Daphne was aghast. “You’d really do that? No matter that he tried to rape me.”
“I would.” Suzanne lifted her chin defiantly.
Daphne understood. To lose Donovan meant to lose his money, and the fortune he hoped someday to come into. Suzanne wasn’t going to risk that.
“No one would believe you,” Daphne said, refusing to cower. “Everyone knows his reputation, and they know I’m just a little girl from a convent.” She let her blouse fall open, revealing her bra. “With a torn blouse, which I shall keep for evidence.”
“If you’re so confident, then go ahead, spill the whole sordid story to Uncle Pete,” Suzanne snarled. “Donovan’s his favorite nephew. See what his reaction will be. See who he will choose. Him or you.”
Daphne said nothing. She just pulled her coat closely around her and took a step toward the door. But then she turned back.
“If he ever comes near me again,” she spit, “I swear, he will be sorry.”
Then she hurried out of the stable.
She wanted to cry. In fact, she did cry a bit as she walked back up to the house. She felt certain Mr. Witherspoon would believe her if she told him. But what his reaction would be, as Suzanne pointed out, was unknown. For now, Daphne decided to say nothing. She wanted to report Donovan to the sheriff. And she might. She very well might do just that. But for now, she just needed to be by herself and think.
Oh, how easily she could crumble after such an episode. But Daphne resolved she would be strong. Every day, it seemed, brought her a new challenge that she had to meet. She wasn’t going to be beaten. Not by Donovan, not by any of the horrors she had encountered in this house and this family. She’d best them all. She’d make Mother Angela proud. She’d survive her challenges. She’d discover why this place was her destiny.
But more than anything, Daphne wanted to be in Gregory’s arms. She had felt safe there. Safe in a way she had never felt safe before.
Despite the trauma she’d undergone in the stable, Daphne fell quickly to sleep, and her rest was not fractured by nightmares. She slept soundly, and when she woke up in the morning, it was Gregory she thought of first, Donovan second.
She still hadn’t decided what she would do when she headed down for breakfast. And by then her decision had been made for her.
Pete was waiting for her, his yellow, weary eyes blazing in his head. He told her he wanted to speak with her immediately in the study.
Once there, Daphne noticed Ashlee was sitting in a chair waiting. She looked upset.
“I understand you did not go to the movies with my wife last night,” Pete said, his lips trembling with rage. “I understand, instead, that you went off riding with Gregory Winston on his motorcycle.”
“I—I—” Daphne stammered. She had not been prepared for this.
“I forced Ashlee to tell me the truth,” Pete said, “so don’t try to deny it.”
“I’m sorry, Daphne,” Ashlee said in a small voice.
“Mr. Witherspoon,” Daphne said, aware that her own voice was shaking, “Gregory has been very kind to me. But I can assure you that I’ve told him that I think his vendetta against you is wrong, and that he should really—”
“I have no interest in hearing your excuses.” He turned away from her, needing to steady himself against a chair. “Don’t you see that man is using you to get to me? He has vowed to destroy me and my entire family.”
“I don’t think he really wants to do that, not deep down,” Daphne said. “It’s just the terrible grief he carries... .”
“How dare you stand there and defend him? Do you know how many businesses and employees he’s stolen from me? How he’s devalued my properties?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I never wanted to offend you.”
Pete’s pulsing red face seemed ready to burst with anger. “Well, you have! And thanks to Donovan, I now know you to be ungrateful and unreliable.”
“Donovan?” Daphne asked, the name bitter on her tongue.
Mr. Witherspoon nodded. “He and Suzanne were out last night. They got back together here very late. Both of them saw you on Winston’s motorcycle.”
All at once Daphne understood their strategy. They would claim to have been together all night, so that gave Donovan an alibi for what happened in the stable. And by beating her to the punch, by going to Pete accusing her before she could accuse Donovan, they had ensured that anything Daphne might now say about the attempted rape would look like an attempt merely to discredit Donovan, or at least, to shift the focus off her own transgression. It was a brilliant, devious move, and Daphne was stunned into silence.
“Pete,” Ashlee was saying, “it was just a simple motorcycle ride. Nothing more than that happened. It wasn’t premeditated. Daphne and I were out, and we ran into Gregory. He offered to give us both rides. I declined, of course, but it’s true I encouraged Daphne to give it a whirl. After all, she’s been cooped up here, and things have been tough for her, with Christopher acting out and all... .”
Pete said nothing, just turned away from them both to stare out the window. “I may have to consider terminating your employment here,” he said to Daphne.
“Mr. Witherspoon, I assure you I have not been disloyal to you,” she replied.
“By going out with that man, even just accepting a ride on his motorcycle, you have been disloyal.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Ashlee said. “We’ll give you a terrific settlement and help you find a place of your own in Boston. We won’t leave you without resources.”
Daphne blinked in surprise. Ashlee seemed to be accepting rather too quickly a decision that her husband hadn’t even made yet. But maybe she knew more than Daphne did. Maybe Pete’s mind was already made up.
But it appeared there was still some reason for hope. “I will need to think about this,” Pete said, his back still turned. “That’s all for now, Daphne. You’d best begin Christopher’s lessons.”
With great difficulty, Daphne got through the day. Christopher was back to being super-cooperative and excruciatingly polite. His governess, however, remained wary, on the alert, waiting for his next move, because she was sure it was coming.
That afternoon, sitting in the glass sunroom, Daphne drank some chamomile tea cook had prepared for her and tried to calm herself. What extremes of emotions she’d felt in less than twenty-four hours. Happiness, anxiety, terror, confidence, confusion. What if Mr. Witherspoon asked her to leave? She longed to talk with Gregory, but knew that, for now at least, any communication with him would have to wait.
Outside, the trees were all bare now, gray skeletal arms etched against a sky almost as dark and gray. Winter was coming. The sky looked heavy, as if it were holding the snow it planned to dump on them soon.
Daphne was suddenly startled by voices coming into the room behind her. They belonged to Abigail and Louella, and the sisters were bickering. Abigail was complaining about the housekeepers, who, it seemed, were Louella’s responsibility. The forthright, strict Abigail was scolding the dithery, easily befuddled Louella, insisting she needed to take a firmer hand with the help. When the sisters noticed Daphne sitting there, their conversation ceased.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Daphne,” Louella said. “We didn’t mean to disturb you if you were doing any lesson plans.”
“Does it look as if she’s doing lesson plans, Louella?” Abigail snapped. “She’s only sitting there mooning over that traitor, Gregory Winston.”
Apparently Donovan’s announcement had made its way through the house.
“Oh, Gregory,” Louella said, dimwitted as always. “Are you friendly with Gregory, Daphne? He was such a nice little boy when he lived here.”
“Nice little boy!” Abigail huffed. “That nice little boy has plans to ruin this family! He wants to drive Pete out of business!”
“Oh, that’s right,” Louella said, making a face, revealing not only a double chin but a triple. “I forgot that.”
“And
your
son, Louella, saw
this
young woman cavorting around town with him last night on a motorcycle!”
“Oh, I’ve always wanted to ride on a motorcycle!” Louella exclaimed.
The image of chubby little Louella on a motorcycle was enough to almost make Daphne laugh, and she decided she’d had enough. She turned around to look at the sisters. “I was not cavorting around town,” she said. She figured she’d stick to the story Ashlee had put forward. “He offered rides to both Ashlee and me. I accepted. I shouldn’t have, for which I’ve apologized to Mr. Witherspoon.”
Abigail harrumphed. “It’s not surprising that Ashlee was part of it all.”
“Oh, Ashlee’s a sweet little girl,” Louella said in her squeaky voice.
Abigail shook her head as she poured herself a cup of tea. “The way Pete dotes on her ... gives her anything she wants. That car. Those clothes and shoes. He never treated poor dear Peggy so well.”
Daphne knew that was because Pete had never gotten over his childhood sweetheart, a girl named Maria. She wondered if Pete doted on Ashlee now to make up for the fact that he could never love her as much as he loved Maria? Daphne felt quite certain that the photograph she’d seen Pete holding that day, the one he’d so quickly hidden, was not Peggy, after all. It was also not Ashlee. It was, almost certainly, Maria. He still carried a torch for a girl he had loved more than two decades ago.
At that moment, the sound of the heavy knocker on the front door reverberated through the house. It always made Daphne jump. And for some reason, it made her especially anxious this time.
She stood, scooting past Abigail and Louella, who followed her like curious cats. She saw Boris come out of his room and stride across the marble foyer toward the door. The butler looked ghoulish as ever, tall and hulking. He was ancient—he had to be in his seventies—but he was still as strong as an ox, and swift on his feet. He reached the door and pulled it open.
Peering from the corridor, Daphne gasped when she saw who the visitor was.
Gregory!
“Hello, Boris, long time no see,” Gregory said, his voice echoing across the marble in the quiet house. He looked so handsome in the frame of the doorway, the sun reflecting in his reddish-gold hair, his green eyes sparkling.
Behind her, Daphne heard Abigail huffing. She and Louella were scoping out the scene from over Daphne’s shoulder. “How dare that man come here?” Abigail whispered; then she lowered her voice even more. “I imagine he’s here to see you,” she said, her voice dripping like poisoned honey over Daphne’s ear.
Boris had said nothing in reply to Gregory. The butler just stood there looking at him.
“I’m here to see Pete, Boris,” Gregory said cheerfully. “Would you please tell him I’m here?”
Boris hesitated, then nodded.
“Maybe he’s come to make up with Mr. Witherspoon,” Daphne whispered.
“Oh, that would be nice,” Louella said.
“That would as likely as the sun falling out of the sky,” Abigail snarled.
Boris was about to close the door on Gregory while he went to get the master of the house, but Gregory placed his hand on the door to stop him.
“Oh, come on, Boris, might I at least wait in the foyer?” Gregory asked. “This used to be my home, after all. And it’s rather cold out here.”
“I’m not sure if Mr. Witherspoon would want you to come inside,” Boris said, in that odd, high-pitched voice of his.
“Oh, now, really Boris, what do you expect me to do, set the place on fire?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir,” the butler replied.
Suddenly Daphne’s attention was drawn by footsteps coming from the direction of the study.
“Never mind, Boris,” a voice echoed from the corridor. “I’ll see him right here in the foyer. Step inside and state your business, Winston.”