Necessary Evil

by Killarney Traynor

  My stomach fluttered.

  Then he texted again: How’s Trusty?

  I resisted the urge to show Gregory the thoughtful message. Instead, I replied that Trusty was fine and would be returning tomorrow. I slipped the phone back into my pocket, aware of Gregory’s gaze.

  Then, as the girls grew noisier in the kitchen, I rose and gestured to the kitchen.

  “I’ll go quiet them,” I said.

  The girls cheered when I came in. They were happy, flushed with the triumph of a successful week. Their four teachers - Lindsay, Jacob, Aunt Susanna, and Darlene - looked as happy and as exhausted as the rest.

  It was a nice night, so I ushered everyone outside, and we served the treats on the back porch. The girls clustered around the food tables, chattering and laughing. Darlene worked the grill while Lindsay and Jacob scooped ice cream, and Aunt Susanna and I filled in where-ever necessary.

  For some reason, I was very popular that night. The students clustered around me to gush about their riding camp, brag about their achievements, or show me one of the simple trophies they’d won over the course of the week. I was glad for the distraction, something to keep me out of the office, even as I was consumed with curiosity – how was Gregory getting on?

  One by one, mothers and nannies turned up to collect their charges for home and most of them were persuaded to stay a few minutes for ice cream. The night stretched on. Eventually the party dwindled and ended. Jacob took Lindsay home, and I shooed Aunt Susanna and Darlene into the living room to drink wine and chat so that I could be alone with my discomfort.

  I cleaned the porch, filling a trash bag with plates, cake, and forgotten souvenirs, and wiping down the table, grateful to have something to work out my restless energy on.

  Then I went inside and started the kettle. I stood, watching it warm, absolutely miserable. I thought about Joe and his kind inquiry about Trusty, seethed about the conversation in the kitchen this morning. That, and the phrase, We do tend to believe the ones we’re in love with, was whirling through my head when I heard the office door burst open behind me.

  I turned, but Greg was already in the room, waving a piece of paper, his face alight with excitement. He was in front of me in a second, grabbing my shoulders in delight, his eyes dancing.

  “I’ve got it, Maddie, I’ve cracked it!”

  “What!” I gasped. “What?”

  He was so excited he was chuckling, practically dancing. He released my arms and waved the page. “Right here – read this! Read it, read it!”

  I snatched the paper from him and tried to focus. His handwriting began carefully, then turned to scrawling, but I was still able to make out what he’d written:

  Code: YAAPSBLOJTNFMDJ

  Key: KNOWLEDGEKNOWLE

  Message: INOLDFOUNDATION

  I read it three times.

  This was it.

  This was really it. Here, in my hands, was irrefutable proof that Alexander Chase was a thief - that he’d stolen from the McInnis family, and left the loot here for his mother to find. Here was proof that I had been wrong, that Joe had been wrong, that the treasure hunters had been right all along: there was something buried here, and the old stories were true.

  Here, too, was proof that Uncle Michael had been as wrong as he had been right. He knew that there was more to the story than historians would allow him to believe; but he had always insisted that Alexander Chase had been maligned - that he was a scamp, but not a thief. It was something that would have disappointed him, something I would have spared him if I could have; but I knew that he would have persisted until he found the answer anyway. I knew then, sure as I was standing there with Gregory Randall hovering over me, that Uncle Michael would have allowed the truth to be made public, no matter how disappointed he might have been. He never would have condoned the forged letter, no matter whose idea it was.

  Unexpected tears stabbed at my eyes and I squeezed them shut, trying to shove away the sudden longing to see Uncle Michael just one more time. He’d died in pursuit of this information. How unfair was it that he never got to see the conclusion.

  But I was glad that he never had to know about my lies, or seen how I’d betrayed his trust. Of everything that had happened to us over the past years, what I’d done to Uncle Michael had been the hardest to bear. It poisoned everything, altered my relationships, and made the one man I admired most a laughing stock. This clue, this direction, made my betrayal impossible to put aside any longer - and for the first time in years, I longed to see the inside of a confessional.

  Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned – I have betrayed the man who’d offered me a home, a legacy, belonging. I made a mockery of the man who gave me everything I ever cared about.

  Forgive me, Uncle Michael.

  “Forgive me…” I breathed raggedly.

  “Madeleine?”

  Gregory’s voice was distant, but tender. It was a tone that put me on guard. I opened my eyes and found him regarding me with concern, and I turned away abruptly.

  He shouldn’t look at me like that.

  “We have to tell Aunt Susanna.” As I said it, it occurred to me that we were actually going to see the treasure. My heart started pounding. “Oh my… It’s really real. You were right. It’s actually real!”

  My voice rose into a squeak, and Gregory smiled at me.

  “It is,” he said gently. “And we found it.”

  There is no we.

  I shook my head. “Old foundation - what old foundation? What is he talking about? Our foundation? This foundation?”

  “Think, Madeleine. This house – when was it built?”

  I looked up at him, blinking. “The original building was built in, um, the 1830s? The new addition was put on in 1845.”

  His grip tightened. “They didn’t move the house? Or renovate the basement?”

  “The basement?”

  The words caught in my chest. I gaped at him. But he’d never seen the basement. Even I hardly ever went down there.

  “The basement? But if it’s there… It can’t be there – not here the whole time.”

  “There’s only one way to find out. Show it to me.”

  It was an order and I remembered, Silly little fool…

  I bristled.

  And then something occurred to me and I said, “But…”

  “Come on, Madeleine!” he said, striding over to the basement door. “There’s no time to lose!”

  It was no good trying to get him to stop. I shook my head and followed him as he charged down the wooden steps.

  “You’re in for a disappointment,” I called after him.

  I was correct. He stopped short at the bottom of the stairs, and his face fell as he gazed about in dismay.

  The basement hadn’t changed all that much since the house was built. It was low, dug out as a root cellar rather than the modern idea of a basement, and the succeeding generations hadn’t seen fit to improve upon it. After all, there was plenty of room upstairs and our lifestyle kept us outside. But Uncle Michael’s father had done one, significant thing to modernize it, way back before I was born.

  “It’s cemented!” he exclaimed as I approached. He turned from one wall to the next, then looked at the floor, running his hands through his hair. “It’s cemented, Madeleine! We can’t get at the old foundation!”

  “I know,” I said. “They covered the old walls and floor in the sixties. I tried to tell you…”

  “But did they – did they change anything?” He looked around, then strode over to me impatiently. “Think, Madeleine. Did they dig out the walls or the floor? Did they find anything? Did they push anything out? Think, Madeleine.”

  He was standing inches away from me, and I stepped back, scowling.

  “I don’t have to think. I know,” I snapped. “They did this in the sixties. As far as I know, all they did was put up cement over the existing walls. And if they found anything, don’t you think one of us would have mentioned it by now?”

&nb
sp; He didn’t notice my sarcasm. He was back at the walls, checking the cracks, glaring at them, stalking around as though he’d be able to see the treasure just by pacing. He shook his head in annoyance, almost condemnation, and my irritation grew.

  “It’s behind here,” he said, as he struck the wall with his fist. “It’s behind one of these walls, and we can’t get to it. Not without metal detectors and jack hammers. We’re going to have to bore through them just to take a look! We’re so close! So close and we run into bloody cement!”

  He struck the wall again, then turned on his heel and returned to me, shaking his head. “What a mess! Whose bright idea was it to put up cement here in the first place?”

  “I think,” I said dryly, “that it was my grandfather’s.”

  Something in my tone brought him up short, but not short enough. He sighed and looked around the basement.

  “I was hoping to have something to show you tonight,” he said, and his tone was almost wistful. “I thought it would be so easy. Now we’re going to have to get in detectors and excavators. We could be looking at another few weeks of work in here.”

  “Oh, terrific,” I said. “More confusion, more disruption, and we’re going to start tearing apart the house while we’re at it. And all of this is dependent on the idea that the cement pourers didn’t actually discover the treasure first and steal it. Marvelous.”

  He looked at me in confusion, a confusion that I ignored as I continued, “And before you bring in the jackhammers, you will think to ask Aunt Susanna first, won’t you? She might not be so keen to bore into the walls at random, especially since we are the ones that are going to have to pay for the repair and the cleanup.”

  He caught my arm as I turned to leave. “Madeleine, don’t worry about the expense. We’ll work something out, the two of us.”

  I threw his arm off, all the pent up frustrations of the day exploding at last.

  “The two of us?” I spat back at him. “The two of us? There is no us, Professor Randall, there is me and there is you, and that’s it. Do you understand me? That’s it, and that’s all, and that’s all there ever was.”

  Randall stood totally still for a minute. I couldn’t read his eyes, because the light was reflecting off of his ever-present glasses - but for once, I didn’t need to. The red stain blossoming across his face told me that my message had gotten through.

  With visible effort, he maintained his calm. “Madeleine,” he said slowly, “about last night…”

  I cut him off.

  “I don’t owe you a word about last night,” I hissed. “Since when have I given you permission to pry into my personal life? You have no right to it and no right to judge. Who I date and who I fall in love with is none of your concern. Joe Tremonti was part of my life long before you blackmailed your way into it.”

  He looked shocked. I stepped in and pushed the point.

  “That’s right. You’re here because you’re a blackmailer, a manipulator. Joe is here because I want him here. I may be a ‘silly little fool’, but I’m smart enough to know what I want and how to get it. I’m just smart enough to know which man is on my side and which one is here to just make a name for himself.” I jabbed my finger at his chest. “Whatever you and my aunt might think, I know where to put my trust, and it’s not with the man who uses extortion to get ahead.”

  His hands were flexing and clenching as his jaw worked, and I thought, He’s going to punch a wall and break his hand.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he reined himself in, and the tone he used when he spoke was so flat it was terrifying.

  “So you’ve decided that Tremonti is the man you can trust?” he asked.

  I refused to flinch. “I know he is. When I needed someone to lean on, Joe was always there for me. Like he is now. Like he’ll be permanently, once this whole matter is finished and I’ve sent you packing back to Hadley College.”

  I turned on my heel, intending to stomp out, but his quiet voice stopped me in my tracks.

  “Always there for you?” he asked.

  I turned and found him glowering at me, his jaw so rigid the words could hardly get out.

  “After all that we’ve gone through these past weeks, you still think of Joe Tremonti as your rock? Your knight in shining armor? Do you even know the man?”

  “I know him enough to know that he’s a real man,” I said. “That’s enough for me.”

  Although I didn’t think it was possible, the color on his face went a shade darker.

  “Before you go make this proclamation public,” he said, “let me ask you this: what kind of ‘real’ man convinces the woman he loves to lie?”

  The question hit me like a blow to the chest. Before I could recover, he was pushing on.

  “What kind of a man has her put her integrity on the line? Convinces her that she is too weak to face the truth head on, and then helps her to risk her reputation and livelihood by forging documents?” He took another step forward. “What kind of a man helps the woman he loves to construct the lie, and then leaves her to bear it alone? What man leaves the woman he cares about alone in her hour of need? What is your definition of a real man, Madeleine? Who lies, then walks, and only comes back when it’s convenient for him to do so? Is that what you want? A pretty boy who encourages you to avoid what you ought to face? The man who thinks that you are a…”

  “A silly little fool?” I interrupted, cutting him off. “I heard you this morning. Discussing my personal life, as though you had a share in it. You don’t. You never have. And before you get all high and mighty, do I have to remind you exactly why I allowed you to stay here? Do you want to talk about manipulation? Do you want to talk about leaving someone high and dry?”

  “I haven’t left!”

  He practically roared at me, with a force that made me take a step back.

  “I wouldn’t leave you, Madeleine. I haven’t and I won’t, not until this is finished, not until you’re safe. If I haven’t proven that by now, then...”

  The words strangled in his throat. His hands dropped to his sides helplessly as he slowly shook his head at me.

  “Oh, God, Maddie,” he finally said. “What else can I do?”

  In the sudden silence, I stared at him, stunned. He must have seen something in my face, though what it was, I have no idea. Whatever he saw, it brought that mask down again and the cynical twist back into his lips.

  “You don’t love him, you know,” he said. “But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it?”

  I wavered. For one brief moment, I wondered if I was as sure about my decision as I claimed. But the moment passed and I squashed the thought.

  The burning dark eyes, no longer veiled by the reflection, caught mine and held them.

  “After all of this,” Gregory said simply. “It’s still Joe Tremonti, isn’t it?”

  I raised my chin defiantly.

  “It’s always been Joe Tremonti,” I said. “Always.”

  I couldn’t stand it anymore. I turned on my heel and fled up the back steps.

  Chapter 30:

  I stormed up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind me. My breath was coming in shallow gasps, and the feeling that I had just stepped off a cliff into empty space had my knees shaking. I couldn’t stay where I was – either Aunt Susanna would come in and demand an explanation or Greg would appear and the whole argument would start again. But where to go?

  I heard Darlene in the hall, so I darted through the kitchen and outside into the misty, warm air. If anyone asked, I was checking on the horses. It was what I had to do anyway.

  The stables did not hold their usual charm for me that night. I checked bedding, rubbed noses, and spoke soothing words to the boarders – while in my head, ragged shreds of the argument chased each other.

  What kind of a ‘real’ man convinces the woman he loves to lie?

  Greybeard whickered at me, nosing around the pocket of my flannel shirt for a carrot, but I barely noticed. I absently noted that all seemed
in order, that Lindsay and Jacob had done their usual thorough job of cleaning up after the daily events.

  I checked the supply cabinet. It was locked and there was a sticky note on it - in code - from Jacob to Lindsay, and I smiled in spite of myself.

  Jacob had grown on me in the previous few weeks. He’d proven himself to be hard working, able, cheerful even when tired, and not too proud to do any of the jobs put before him. He had greatly eased the burden of my chores, and was a hit not only with the girls, but with the adult riders as well. He was a real find – and Gregory had been the one who’d found him.

  What man leaves the woman he cares about alone in her hour of need?

  Joe Tremonti was part of my existence long before you blackmailed your way into it.

  Stop this, Maddie. Stop this.

  It’s easy to tell yourself to let something go. It’s hard to actually do it when fury surges within, swaying your emotions from one extreme to another. It was only through great effort that I kept myself from breaking down, either in sobs or in another argument with my former partner. I had no idea which extreme would be worse.

  I checked everything in the stables twice, bid goodnight to the boarders, and now had no reason to stay outside. Yet I did not want to go back inside the house. I did not want to face Greg or Aunt Susanna or anywhere near that office. With restless energy surging through me, I felt an intense longing to disappear. To run.

  I grabbed the battery-operated lantern we kept in the barn for emergencies, and headed for the riding trails.

  I never let my riders or guests do the trails at night. Even without the trespassers, the winding paths, low branches, and root-pocked terrain are not safe for nightly strolls.

  But I wasn’t in a reasonable mood. The moon was full, shining strongly through the overhead canopy of branches, and walking the lonely trails was a good deal better than facing the reality waiting for me back at the house.

  It took only a few steps into the trail before I started feeling isolated. I took deep breaths and long steps with great care. The moonlight was strong enough that I didn’t need my lantern - which suited me well, because I didn’t care to signal my location to anyone at this point. I walked firmly, battling fears and memories, too busy being angry to turn back.