I was so excited, and nervous, that I trembled. But unlike in Ren's closet, there were no telltale lines indicating a hidden door to a hidden compartment. I frowned. I'd been so certain…
I stood back and studied the wall. When I did, I noticed something startling—the grout between the stones made a square the same size as the hidden space in Ren's closet. It looked to my untrained eye that the grout was modern, a slightly different color and compound.
Ren, what are you hiding?
That night in bed, I studied the effects of cocaine. Ren's description of it was common to what most people experienced. As Ren said, the high was short. And powerful if you freebased. The physical euphoria was matched by an emotional one that made all your problems seem insignificant. You were happy and optimistic. And confident you could do anything. What could possibly go wrong? But the comedown could be hell. It was easy to see why people wanted more. They became addicted to the way it made them feel. When freebasing, the dosing was unpredictable, too. So easy to overdose. No wonder Will had. But the question on my mind was this—if Ren wasn't high, why was Zoe driving that night? Why hadn't Ren driven? And why wouldn't he say?
I couldn't help myself. I got out of bed and went to the white lady's room. I sat there in the dark, listening to the echoes of time, hoping something came to me. I was surprisingly unafraid. But neither the white lady nor inspiration came to me. That square of wall, however, haunted me thoroughly.
The contractors and craftsmen arrived early the next morning, along with my ghost hunters. My life became a happy, busy blur. Activity everywhere I looked. Fires to put out. This was the kind of chaos I'd learned to thrive off. I'd thought I was done with it, that I wanted a quiet life in the country. And maybe I did. But for now, I needed the distraction.
The contractors began with the east wing and the guest bedrooms that needed the most work. After consulting with the ghost hunters, who had thoroughly studied the information from both journals, we all decided to concentrate on the most haunted areas—the lake, the dungeon, and, because I insisted, the white lady's room. I argued that she might not be the most sighted haunt, but she was certainly one of the most intriguing. They set up three teams, one for each location, filling with eager volunteers from all over the world. The plan was to spend the next month watching for paranormal activity. The team was excited. Construction often stirred up paranormal activity. The stage was perfectly set.
Both my days and nights became ludicrously busy. I spent my days with the contractors, event planners, website designers, accountants, and lawyers—everyone needed to set up a bed and breakfast. I spent my nights hunting ghosts and slept very little. We caught some promising events—some EVPs, a shadowy presence that moved across the dungeon. A chair that moved on its own. And a glimpse of a figure rising from the mists of the lake.
But the white lady eluded us. I reluctantly agreed that the ghost-hunting crews should move their cameras from the white lady's room to the east wing. But I continued to sit in her room night after night, staring at that wall and wondering what was in there. What had Ren—I was sure it was Ren—hidden there? Why didn't he want me to see it? Was whatever was behind the wall my personal Pandora's box? Bluebeard's room of dead wives? If I opened it, would I unleash all kinds of mayhem?
The temptation was extreme. I was surrounded by men with hammers. Men who knew how to take down stone walls. Men with imaging equipment that could see into stone walls. I had one of my brick contractors examine the wall. He agreed the grout was new, compared to the ancient walls of the castle.
"Can you image it?" I asked him.
"I can, duchess," he said. "But it will cost you."
"I don't care about the cost." I studied the wall. I'd seen some of the images of the other rooms and the concrete floors. The images showed rebar and other building materials. But could they show what I wanted to see? "How distinct will the image be?"
He scratched his head and took another look. "Eh, brick and stone are tricky. Brick emits radiation. Not much," he added, and then launched into a technical discussion of the difficulties.
"You're saying you won't get a good image of what's in there?" I asked.
"I'll be able to tell you if there's a void, certainly. If there's gold doubloons in there, they mightn't be so distinct."
Gold doubloons! If only.
He dragged the imaging equipment in. By the end of that afternoon, I had my answer—there was indeed a void there. Maybe it was a vault. It was something. And, best he could tell, there was some sort of box, or rectangular item, in there. He needed more expensive equipment to get any finer granulation.
"Do you want me to dig it out, duchess?" He looked eager to take it on. It was a bit of a treasure hunt, after all. "I can work it into my schedule."
I put my hands on my hips and studied the wall, debating with myself. If I opened the wall, Ren would surely notice. "If you opened it, could you put it back exactly like it was? Completely restore it?"
"Oh, aye," he said. "Not a problem."
"So that no one would notice? So that it would be completely indistinguishable from how it is now?"
"I'm a master mason," he said, chest puffed. "I can take it out stone by stone until we have enough space to pull out whatever's in there. Might take a day or two, all told."
I ran my gaze over the wall. "I'm undecided. Let me think on it."
He nodded and turned to return to work.
"Don't tell anyone I asked you about this," I said, trying not to sound as urgent as I felt. "Especially not the duke. If there's something in that wall, I want it to be a surprise for him. I'd like to tell him myself."
He winked at me. "Certainly, your grace."
And now all I had to do was wrestle with myself.
On weekends, Ren came home to the castle. He'd arrive Friday afternoon to view the week's progress and talk to the contractors and construction crews before they closed up for the weekend. Then we had the weekends mostly to ourselves to plan and make love. And make love and plan.
We walked the estate. Ren showed me the land he wanted to turn into housing and sell off. His passion about it was catching. I agreed he should move forward immediately, feeling guilty for going against Manly's express wishes. But I knew it was the right thing to do. Ren loved the estate as much as I did. As much as Manly did. Greed wasn't driving him. This was his vision for keeping the estate relevant and healthy.
We filed for permits. We dreamed of the beautiful community we'd make and how it would revitalize the village. We hired a surveyor to plat the land and planned community. Ren began designing plans for the houses and showing them to me on weekends. They were wild and brilliant, but practical, affordable, and livable. His houses would be in great demand. I added my little ideas.
The project made Ren truly happy. I was happy to be part of his creative process, part of the genius. But mostly I was deliriously happy when he was at the castle, more in love with him each minute we spent together, all my fears forgotten.
He gave his thoughts on the bed and breakfast and helped with the big Halloween event I was throwing—a ghost tour of the lake, a costume party, followed by a late-night castle ghost tour for the overnight guests. I tried to convince Ren that we had to dress as the knight from the lake and the white lady. I got him to agree to be a knight and for me to be a lady.
"But not the white lady," he insisted. "And not the ghostly version of the knight. Living knights and ladies, Bliss. In full color. The lord and lady of the manor. Nothing ghostly."
I couldn't convince him that the lake knight and white lady were the perfect themed couple's costumes for our party. They were the castle's most famous, most tragic couple. They were the ghosts we'd be hunting.
I hired a top costume designer to make our costumes, and a movie set designer Ren knew to design the decorations for the ballroom. On a whim, I decided to surprise Ren with his house gargoyles sitting on pillars around the room, and on the railing up the stairs to the castle. The ca
stle's real stone gargoyles were huge and too high up to get a good close look at. Not concrete statues, of course. Styrofoam. And a couple of stunt ones, the kind you could bash someone over the head with. I had the idea I might like to push one off its perch to give the guests a good scare.
My Halloween event sold out within hours.
During the week, Ren and I talked every day. I excitedly shared the latest ghost news and the progress being made. Ren shared his day and stories from life in London. Hanging up and ending the connection always took great effort.
But it was me who was changed in the long days when he was away in London. I longed to hear three little words he wouldn't say—I love you. Me, who tripped on my tongue trying not to tell him how I felt. Me, who struggled with the literal wall between us. Me, who had the doubt and suspicion about him, the morbid curiosity. Me, who'd fallen headlong for him and felt the curse of the white lady as Zoe had. Me, whose love for him loomed, tragic and doomed to be unrequited. If not for my periods of doubt, it would truly have been honeymoon days.
I was working too hard and too many hours. Not getting enough sleep. Not eating enough. Losing weight. Getting fatigued. Becoming emotional. I was burning out and didn't realize it.
Late the Monday evening before Halloween, on one of my solitary vigils in the white lady's room, I fell asleep on the bed. A chill woke me. I felt a presence, someone watching me. When I opened my eyes, the white lady was at the end of the bed, staring at me.
The hair on the back of my neck stood up. She was terrifyingly beautiful, but her eyes were ice. She looked right through me. If I survived this viewing without my hair turning white from shock, I'd be lucky.
I was frozen, completely unable to move or call out. She turned and started walking, her long medieval gown flowing. I expected her to head for the window. I was strangely terrified she would jump or fall "to her death." That she'd spent hundreds of years re-creating it. Instead, she walked straight through the wall and disappeared. Straight through the wall at the spot of Ren's marked bricks and void.
I tried to convince myself I'd been dreaming. That, in the twilight between sleep and wakefulness, I'd imagined her. She was exactly as Manly described her. But maybe my subconscious had crafted her based on that description. Whatever she was, she'd given me a sign. Two, really. I was hit by a sudden wave of nausea. I ran to the bathroom and made it just in time. Which was when I realized I hadn't had a period in well over a month. I'd been too busy and too stressed to notice. I was very late. Maybe stress alone wasn't responsible for my fatigue and nausea.
The next morning, I ordered a pregnancy test with same-day delivery. Then I found the brick contractor and asked him to open the wall. Immediately.
Chapter 24
The mason and I had to sneak into the room and keep it from the rest of the staff. If you'd been watching us, you might have suspected us of having an affair the way we slinked into the room and closed the door behind us. The fewer people who knew what I was doing, the better. The same for the pregnancy test. I told no one about it, either.
Digging out grout and sawing through stone masonry wasn't the quietest job on the planet. We planned it for a time when Libby and Harris were out and the rest of the contractors were busy in the east wing.
When Pandora opened the box, she was expecting great wonders. I didn't know how Bluebeard's wife felt when she opened the door to that room and found all those dead wives. I wasn't expecting dead wives, plagues, or a beating heart. But my pulse raced all the same.
Using imaging again, the mason homed in on the area of the void where it looked like a large, solid object sat. It took what seemed like an eternity to loosen a single stone enough to remove it. "It's ready to come out."
I crowded behind him and peered over his shoulder, heart beating so fast I thought I might pass out or throw up.
"Ready?" he asked.
"As ready as I'll ever be." I bit my lip. "This is exciting, isn't it?"
"Aye." He grinned and looked up at me. "You're pale, duchess. Are you all right?"
"I think so." I forced a smile. "That box is too small for a body, right?" I was thinking of Edgar Allen Poe again, "The Cask of Amantillado," maybe.
"No worries, duchess. Far too small." He slid the brick out, revealing part of a small, flat metal strongbox that was just slightly shorter than the height of the brick. He looked at me for guidance. "Duchess?"
"I want that box." I eyed it cautiously. It was too big to remove through the space we had. "How many stones, do you think?"
"Another one should do it, I should think. The second one will go faster."
He was right. It did. He was soon handing me the box.
I took it almost reverently, glad that it had heft and weight to it and terrified at the same time. Something slid around inside. If it had been empty, it would have been a disappointing denouement. "Is there anything else in there?"
He shook his head and stepped back for me to take a look, shining the light into the dark space for me.
"Great job," I said, hesitating. Should I look at the contents of the box and put it back? Reseal the space and keep the box for myself? I hadn't thought that far ahead. Usually I was good with a plan. "Can you put the stones back together so no one will notice what we've done, but so we can remove the stones and put the box back later?"
He nodded. "Easy."
I slipped the box into the backpack I frequently carried around the castle, intent on taking it to my room, and left the contractor with instructions to patch up and sneak out.
Libby stopped me on my way back to my room. "Package for you." She handed me the plain brown box. She looked suspicious, but maybe it was just my guilty conscience.
I thanked her and took it to the room I shared with Ren. Pregnancy test or secret treasure? Which box, which potential life change did I open first?
Surprisingly, pregnancy was the less frightening option. Pregnancy gave me an out from this marriage if I wanted it, if the box revealed too much. Or too little. Pregnancy would give me the beautiful baby I longed for. A boy would be perfect. We'd have the heir for the title, too. But a girl, which I would love, would still inherit the estate. I could still manage it for her.
I took the test to the bathroom and took it with surprising calm. Part of me thought my symptoms were just stress. The other part of me was hopeful the first part of me was wrong. I wanted a baby. I wanted Ren's baby, badly.
The first part of me was wrong—I was pregnant. I sat in the bathroom and cried tears of real joy. I needed to call Ren—
No. Telling him over the phone was no way to share this big news. I needed to tell him in person. I'd have to wait until he came home for the Halloween party. Plan some clever way to tell him. In the meantime, the pregnancy test was another thing to hide. I wrapped it up and hid it beneath the bathroom counter.
I went to the bedroom and sat on the bed beside the other life test, the strongbox. I was no longer calm. Maybe I should wait? Do this another day? Give myself time to enjoy and get used to the thought of being a mother?
But I was running out of time. And my curiosity wouldn't rest. I steeled myself and reached for it. I trembled so badly I fumbled. What was I hoping to find? A smoking gun? Would anything short of it be disappointing?
This was like a treasure hunt, or a horror hunt. What if whatever was inside convicted Ren of the worst? I put my hand on my stomach, protecting my tiny nib of a baby from the thought of its father being a monster. And how could I even think that of Ren? Was my judgment of character so terrible that he could have fooled me so completely?
Somehow, I managed to finally unlatch the box. I lifted the lid, so nervous that I was almost sick. And, of course, being pregnant didn't help.
I peered in at the contents—a spoon, a lighter, a bag of white powder—no doubt cocaine, but labeled white lady—an envelope, a small diary, and a ring box. I didn't touch the drug paraphernalia.
White lady. Their pet name for cocaine. All the "sighting
s" made sense now. Their obsession with the room. Ren's insistence that Zoe's sighting of the white lady was a hallucination. Why had Ren saved the coke? Was it easier to hide the evidence than destroy it? I had to hand it to him—he'd effectively hidden it for ten years.
I picked up the ring box and stared at it. I hoped this wasn't what I thought it was. When I opened it, a small solitaire engagement ring sparkled at me and my heart squeezed tight. It was exactly what I'd thought and feared.
It would have been easy to assume it was Zoe's with Will. But I knew better. I'd seen pictures of the ring Will had given her on her finger. This wasn't the same ring. This ring was Ren's style—Ren's budget style, perhaps, but his, definitely. I had a horrible feeling this was an engagement ring Ren had bought for Zoe. Why hadn't he told me? How many more secrets was he keeping?
The envelope had Ren's name on it written in a young, feminine hand. When I opened the diary, the handwriting was the same—big, round, and loopy—and Zoe's name was written inside.
There comes a point in life where you have to decide who you want to be and what lines you'll cross to get there. A point when every ethic and standard you have is tested. This was mine. Did I want to be a voyeur into a life that ended ten years ago? Into the personal thoughts of a dead woman I both despised and pitied? Did I dare to find the solution to the puzzle of what happened that night in the river? Or did I let those ghosts lie?
My curiosity was too great. The contents of the box felt, to me, like Ren's twenty-one-year-old heart boarded up behind the wall. Was this a tribute? A time capsule? Could his heart be set free to love another? To love me?
I had no idea. I didn't understand the young Ren's mind any better than I understood Ren now. I didn't know whether the current-day Ren's heart was irreparably damaged or had healed enough to love again. All I really knew was that Shaw thought I could be good for Ren and that she loved him as deeply as any mother could.
Duked: Duke One, Duke Society Series Page 24
