"Go back, Heaven," he whispered sadly. I reached out and touched his lips with the tip of my fingers to silence him.
"Not yet," I said. "If we have stolen one precious time, one night more together, let us enjoy it together until the end. I want to lie here beside you until the first light of morning. Then I will rise quietly and leave your bed forever."
He said nothing. He didn't resist. He kissed my neck and drew me back down to him. We fell asleep in each other's arms afterward, but I awoke at the break of day, just as I had promised. I was facing the window, and I watched as the morning light began to lift away the veil of darkness. I had hoped the night would go on forever, but morning had come, just as truth and reality had, just as all the things Troy had said would happen would come. There was no denying time. Our love was too fragile, too private to hold back the flood of minutes and hours, days and months, all the years we would be without each other.
My heart felt like a brick in my chest. Gently I untangled myself from his embrace. Troy was locked in sleep. He looked like a little boy, dreaming of holiday happiness, perhaps dreaming of some tiny new Tatterton Toy. Maybe it was a toy world in which two people like us could share their love without restraint.
I slipped silently from the bed and put on my nightgown and peignoir. I got back into my slippers and went out to-the kitchen to get a match to light the candle in my holder. When I looked back at Troy, he was still asleep, his eyes shut tight, his lips closed gently. I thought about going to him and kissing him once more, but I was afraid to wake him. It was better for him and for me that I simply go. Perhaps when he finally awoke, he would think it had all been a dream.
Perhaps after I got back to my suite and into my bed, I would think it had all been a dream. Perhaps it had all been a dream.
I closed the door behind me and made my way down the stairs into the cellar and then started through the tunnels. All was quiet. The voices that had escorted me during the night had been silenced by our lovemaking. There were no faces on the walls. I passed through the darkness swiftly and made my way up the stairs, through the back of the kitchen and into the great house. It was still early enough for all to be quiet. No one had yet stirred.
I went up the stairs and paused in the corridor.
The strong morning sun was beginning to lift away the dimness and the chill that accompanied it. Without further hesitation I went toward my suite. But just before I reached the door, I heard a horrible scream echo down the corridor. I turned as Martha Goodman came running out of Jillian's suite, her hands pressed against her cheeks. She turned in a circle until she saw me standing there.
"Heaven!" she screamed "Come quickly!
Quickly!"
I rushed down the corridor just as Tony,
dressed in his blue silk robe, emerged from his suite.
He looked at me and I raised my arms to indicate I knew nothing. We both followed Martha into Jillian's bedroom and discovered what it was that had caused her hysteria.
Jillian was slumped in her soft velvet vanity chair facing the empty mirror frame. Her arms dangled over the sides. She was dressed in her black wool crepe suit trimmed with a mink collar and cuffs.
From beneath her jacket peeked a glittering black chiffon blouse. I remembered her in that outfit. I remembered how beautiful she had looked, how stunning, how like a diamond set against black velvet.
The room reeked of her jasmine perfume,
suggesting she had bathed herself in it. Her hair was pinned up with pearl combs and she had been at her face again, caking it with makeup, staring into an illusion of herself and going through those long, intricate beauty rituals that used to take up so much of her time.
Only this time she had been preparing herself for her final gala affair. I gasped and seized Tony's arm as we both stared down at what was obviously a dead Jillian. On the floor, just beyond the reach of her dangling fingertips, lay the bottle of tranquilizers.
Martha Goodman was weeping hysterically. I went to console her.
"What happened?" Tony asked, as if hearing it said by someone else would be the only way it would register in his mind as real. Slowly he went to Jillian and knelt at her side. He took her hand into his and looked into her silent face. Death made the smile under her mask of makeup look even more grotesque.
He turned to me and Martha Goodman. "What happened?"
"Oh, Mr. Tatterton, I didn't know she even understood what it was she was getting whenever I gave her the pills. I told her they were vitamins, just so she would take them willingly. She always smiled and nodded and looked eager to take them."
"Yes?" he said. Martha looked to me. Why wasn't he understanding. She turned back to Tony.
"Well, she must have always known what they were. Sometime during the night she snuck into my bedroom and stole the whole bottle. Then she came back in here, dressed herself like that, and made herself up like that and . . . and she took the entire bottle of tranquilizers. I never heard her; I never knew what had happened until I got up to see how she was and found her like this. But it was too late. Oh, dear, it was too late," Martha said and started to cry again.
I tried to comfort her. "Martha, it's not your fault. You can't blame yourself," I said.
"My darling," Tony said tenderly, wiping off Jillian's makeup. "You'll be able to rest now. There will be no more ghosts to haunt you."
He fell to his knees and pressed Jillian's limp wrist and hand to his forehead. His body shook with silent sobs. Martha stopped crying and both of us stared down at him. Somehow I hadn't thought Tony capable of such a show of emotion. Most of all I thought he had lost his love for Jillian once she had become mentally ill, but he was crying for her now as if she had died at the peak of their love. I suddenly realized that in a strange and eerie way he had refused to see her as anything but the beauty she'd been.
Perhaps that was the real reason why he decided to keep her at Farthy, hoping that, even miraculously, the woman he'd once loved would return to him.
"I can't believe she's gone," he repeated over and over. "I can't believe she's gone."
He looked at her the way he used to, when I had first come to Farthy and found them active and vibrant and alive, when Jillian was one of the most beautiful women I had ever seen and Tony the most elegant man I had ever met. They were some kind of dream couple, the younger husband and his princess living in a castle built from dreams and rich make-believe.
"Jillian," he moaned. "My Jillian." He turned to me, his watery eyes pleading to hear the words, "This isn't so."
"Oh, Tony," I said, "perhaps this is what she wanted the most; perhaps she couldn't live the way she was living any longer. At least she put herself to sleep, seeing herself the way she was—forever young and beautiful. I'm sure she was happy until the end."
He nodded and looked back at her.
"Yes," he said. "Of course, you're right." He kissed her hand and then stood up, pressing his palms against his eyes, then running his hands over his hair as he straightened his posture. "Well," he said, a harder, more formal tone coming into his voice.
"We've got to call the doctor anyway. There is always an inquiry whenever there is an unattended death."
"Oh, dear me, dear me," Martha Goodman said.
"The poor woman."
"Now, no more of that," Tony said quickly.
"Let's do what we must. There are arrangements to be made. People to inform." He turned to me. "Will you be all right? Can you . ."
"Yes," I said. "Martha and I will comfort each other. It will be all right here, Tony. Do what you have to do. help with anything you want."
"Thank you. Well," he said, looking back at Jillian once more, "I'd better go inform the servants and call the doctor."
Martha's sobbing grew harder and louder as he left the room. I walked with her back to her own bedroom and advised her to get dressed.
"I'll go do the same," I said.
"Yes, of course. You're right. I have to get myself together. Thank you, He
aven. You're so strong."
I left her and went back to my suite, stunned by Jillian's death, so hard on the heels of Troy's resurrection—and the resurrection of my love for him.
I was not a stranger to Death.
I thought about Jillian passing from this world to the next; I didn't pity her as much as I pitied Tony.
He had tried to cling to a part of his life that had been happy and wonderful, but now there it was irrevocably gone. Never before had he been as alone as he would be now.
After I dressed I called Logan in Winnerow to tell him the news. He promised to be on the first plane to Boston.
"How's Tony taking it?" Logan asked.
"He's keeping himself busy right now with all the arrangements. The hard times will be afterward," I said, speaking from experience.
"And how are you?" Logan asked.
"I'll be all right."
"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promised.
"Whenever you need me, I'll always be there," he added before hanging up.
Perhaps it was Logan's promise, more than anything else, that opened the floodgates for my tears to rush out. I knew he meant what he said, and the softness in his voice reminded me of how much I needed and wanted family. I had once hoped that Jillian would be more like a mother than a grandmother to me. She turned out to be neither and I resented her for that, but I had never stopped wanting her to love and need me.
I thought about all the family I had lost—the mother I had never known because she died giving birth to me, the father I thought I had, but who resented me because my birth took away the young wife he adored, my granny, who was old far before her time, worn down and haggard by the hard life in the Willies, my grandpa, who had come to love and rely on me, but who was lost in his own imaginary world until the day he died, and my gentle and loving brother Tom, the victim of a cruel freak accident, an accident caused by my need for love and retribution.
For me love had always been like a small cloud of smoke drifting through my life. I reached out to touch it, my hands plunged right through it, and it drifted on, farther and farther until it disappeared in the distance. Only Logan had remained constant as the sun. Only Logan promised always to be there. And Troy. . . at the thought of him all I could do was cry. I cried for myself as well as for Troy and for Jillian. I cried for Granny and Grandpa and Tom and the mother I never knew. Finally I cried only for Jillian.
Perhaps as she sat before that false mirror and put on her makeup for the last time, she came to know the truth. Perhaps she turned to a dark corner in her suite and saw Death standing there, waiting patiently, smiling gently as Granny had smiled when she died. I could almost hear her talking to Death, as if He were someone who had come to escort her to the most gala affair of her life.
"Oh, dear," she would say, "are you here already? You must be patient; you must give me time to prepare myself properly. There are distinguished people to meet and see. I must refuse to go anywhere until I am ready," she would insist. Then she would have gone to her closet and sifted through all the garments until she settled on that black suit, thinking it was perfect for this particular occasion.
"And anyway, Tony always tells me that black is my best color. What do you think?" she would ask, turning to Death and showing Him the outfit. Death would nod and smile and she would put it on, splashing the jasmine perfume over her breasts and arms beforehand. Then she would have worked on her hair, choosing those beautiful pearl combs. "These Tony gave me years ago. As a surprise, you know. He was always coming home with some surprise or another. He loves me so. Worships me, you know."
Yes, Death knew.
She made Him wait as she worked on her
makeup, perhaps for hours, until she was satisfied.
Then, rising from her seat, she turned and spun and studied herself from every angle. Finally she went into Martha Goodman's room and found the bottle of tranquilizers.
Back in her suite she swallowed pill after pill, chattering away about this friend or that, about something this one wore that was in style, something that one wore that was out of style. Death was patient, a good listener. How happy He made her right to the end.
"I'm very tired," she must have finally told Him and He finally came out of his corner. Perhaps she lifted her hand as He approached, and when He took it, she closed her eyes. His wait was almost over.
In her mind she must have heard music and
long strings of thin laughter. There were people all around her, fine guests dressed in elegant clothing, and Tony standing off to the side as usual with his business associates watching her proudly, for she was his forever young and beautiful wife, even to this moment, this final, wonderful send-off party at which she was the guest of honor.
As it should be, as it always would be.
I sighed, rubbed away the tears with my fists, and rose to go to the bathroom and wash away the evidence of my mourning. I had to be strong for Tony and for Logan and for the servants. I had a responsibility now. I couldn't be a little girl from the Willies.
The doctor had already arrived, examined
Jillian, and declared her dead by the time I joined everyone downstairs. An ambulance had been sent to take her body to the nearby hospital where an autopsy would be performed immediately. Since it was a suicide, the police had to be called in. Tony submerged himself in all these things eagerly, grateful for the distractions.
Of course, the servants were depressed. There was a heavy, mournful pall about the great house, even though it was a bright, warm day. Curtis kept the curtains closed; everyone spoke softly and looked at one another with sad, drooping eyes. Martha Goodman remained in her room most of the day. I visited with her twice. Her plan was to remain at Farthy until the funeral and then leave.
Jillian still had two living sisters and a living brother. Her mother, Jana Jankins, whom I had met when she was already eighty-six years old, was now quite senile and in a nursing home. Tony called the sisters, who lived together, and they said they would call their brother and all be at the funeral. He told me that from the tone of their voices, it was pretty clear they were all expecting some inheritance.
"They're going to be terribly disappointed," he said. "Jillian was never close with them. In fact, she despised them. There is nothing in her will for them.
But there is something for you," he said.
"Please, I don't want to talk about it now," I insisted.
"But we must, Heaven. It was something she decided to do shortly after the incident with Troy, when she told him about Leigh and me and who you really were. She made me promise never to mention it to you. She wanted to be sure that you didn't think she was trying to buy back your love and affection for her.
Of course, after she became the way she was, I never gave it much thought and until now I forgot all about it."
"I guess she was a little more complicated than I had thought," I said. He nodded. "We all seem to be torn between our loves and our hates, pulled in two different directions much of the time, tormented by our feelings. It's almost better to be . . to be . . ."
"To be like she finally was," he offered. "Lost in a comfortable illusion." He stared at me. "How much you look like her now, like her when she was young and very, very beautiful," he said.
I couldn't remember when he had last looked at me so intently. It made me uncomfortable.
"Is there anything else I can do?" I asked quickly.
"What? No, no." The phone rang. "I'll be all right. Logan should be here soon," he said, picking up the receiver.
Tony remained in his office most of the day, refusing to take anything but tea. As the news spread, phone calls came from his business acquaintances and friends. I left him alone when I realized there was still a good hour before Logan's arrival and I had time to go to Troy and tell him the terrible news. I didn't imagine that Tony would have thought to inform him.
This time I went quickly through the maze, threading through the corridors automatically, without so mu
ch as a thought about this turn or that. As usual this time of the day, the front of the little cottage was bathed in sunlight, its storybook appearance an inviting respite from grief and sorrow. Once again I thought of it as an escape from reality, this time very sad and tragic reality.
I knocked on the door softly and turned the handle, surprised to discover that the door was locked.
I knocked harder. It was unusual for Troy to lock his cottage door. He never worried about thieves or intruders, even when he left the cottage for a pro-longed period of time. Since I didn't hear his footsteps, I peered into a front window. The cottage looked empty, quiet. There seemed to be no sign of him.
"Troy," I called. "Are you in there?"
There was only silence in response. I went around to the side and peered in another window, a kitchen window. I didn't see him, but something else caught my attention. There was an envelope propped against the salt shaker at the center of the table, and I could make out Heaven written on the front of it. I could also see that the door leading down to the basement had been left open. Troy had assumed that I would come to his cottage only through the tunnels, I thought. I tested the window to see if it would open, but it had been latched shut. All of the windows were latched shut.
Frustrated and with mounting dread of what I would discover in that letter I went back through the maze to Farthy and snuck behind the kitchen to the doorway to the tunnel. I hurried through it to the cellar of the cottage and up the stairs into the kitchen.
Catching my breath, I scooped up the envelope.
My heart was beating so hard, I had to sit down before tearing the envelope open. Then I pulled out the sheet of stationery within and began to read.
.
My dear, dear forbidden love,
.
Now, more than ever, last night seems like a dream. So many times this past year I had the fantasy, that now, now that it actually came to pass, I find it hard to believe it really happened.
I sat he thinking about you, recalling our precious moments, your warm embrace, the softness in your eyes and in your touch, I had to get up and go to my bed to search for strands of your hair, which, thank God, I found. I shall have a locket made for them and wear them, close to my heart. It comforts me to know that I shall have something of you always with me.
Fallen Hearts (Casteel Series #3) Page 15
