The House of Secrets

by Elizabeth Blackwell

  “Evelyn?” She looked around to see Winslow staring at her with concern. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  Caught off guard, Evelyn felt her eyes fill with tears. In the days following her conversation with Will, she’d braced herself to talk to Charles, but he hadn’t been home all week. The constant uncertainty had sapped her strength.

  “I’m tired, that’s all,” she said, blinking to catch the tears before they could fall.

  “Yes, I imagine you would be,” Winslow said. Their eyes met in a moment of understanding. He had sat through the Sunday dinners, watching Charles’s treatment of her steadily deteriorate. By now, all of Baltimore must know that her marriage was troubled. Evelyn had assumed the family would unite against her, but perhaps she had an ally after all. Winslow would never openly side against Alma, but knowing he sympathized helped.

  “Aunt Evelyn!” Beatrice demanded. “I put down my piece! It’s your turn.”

  “You’re right,” Evelyn said. “Winslow—” She searched for something appropriate to say. “Thank you for your concern.”

  He smiled and gave a brief nod. “On with your game, girls.”

  Evelyn knew she would be ostracized if she divorced Charles, but Winslow had given her hope that she might not be shunned completely. He might even allow her to see Beatrice occasionally. Losing this bright, cheerful girl—whom she now thought of as her own flesh and blood—would be the most painful part of leaving the Brewster family.

  THAT EVENING, as Evelyn sat down to another dinner alone in the vast dining room, she was startled by a commotion at the front door. She stood to investigate, but had only taken a few steps when Peggy rushed into the room.

  “It’s Mr. Brewster, ma’am,” she announced. “He’s gone upstairs to change for dinner, and he says he’ll join you momentarily. I must tell Mrs. Gower!” She dashed off toward the kitchen.

  Evelyn’s heart began to pound. How typical of Charles to give her no notice of his plans. He dined at home so rarely now that she had grown accustomed to eating by herself. She followed Peggy to the kitchen and saw Mrs. Gower relighting the stove. Peggy was frantically polishing a silver fork and knife.

  “Do you have enough food?” Evelyn asked.

  “I always make extra, just in case,” Mrs. Gower said. “I’ll heat this up a moment and have Peggy bring it in.”

  Evelyn returned to the table. She placed her napkin on her lap and smoothed out the creases, her hands moving over the linen as if they could calm her racing heart. Her appetite had disappeared.

  “Darling.” Charles walked into the room toward her, pressing a kiss to her forehead before taking his seat. The casual affection of the gesture startled her. “Sorry to interrupt your meal.”

  “Not at all,” Evelyn said. Before she could say more, Peggy walked in with a plate of food, moving so un-steadily that Evelyn feared she would drop the whole thing. She placed it with a thump in front of Charles.

  “Will that be all, sir?” Peggy asked.

  “A bottle of wine,” Charles said. “Red, don’t you think, Evelyn?”

  “Whichever you prefer.”

  “Red, then.”

  Peggy nodded and dashed back toward the kitchen. Evelyn half expected to hear the crash of a broken bottle in the distance.

  “Not much of a welcome,” Charles said with a smile. “I expected to be greeted at the door with an embrace from my devoted wife.”

  Evelyn stared at him, uncertain how to respond. Charles laughed at her confusion.

  “Doesn’t it amuse you?” he asked. “Putting on a pretense of a loving marriage for the staff? Ah—here’s the wine!”

  Peggy struggled to uncork the bottle. After a few tense moments, Charles stood up and took the bottle from her hand. “Allow me.” He popped the cork and nodded to the young maid.

  Peggy was clearly relieved by her dismissal. No doubt she and Mrs. Gower would be listening at the door throughout the meal. Evelyn wondered if Charles would continue the doting-husband charade for their benefit.

  Charles poured a glass of wine for himself, then held the bottle out to Evelyn. She shook her head. She needed to think clearly tonight.

  “So,” Charles began, slicing his meat with forceful strokes, “I thought it time we had a talk.”

  “I agree.”

  “It must be clear to you—as it is to me—that our situation is untenable.”

  Was Charles about to ask her for a divorce? Evelyn hadn’t dared to hope it would be this easy.

  “I blame myself,” he continued. “I should have been frank with you from the beginning. I thought, given your obvious intelligence, that certain aspects of our marriage would be understood. I overlooked your sheltered upbringing.” He raised his hand as Evelyn started to protest. “Yes, yes, you attended college and helped support your family by working in that dreadful shop. I didn’t say you had an easy life. But it was a sheltered one. You weren’t exposed to society. And you had a rather romantic idea of what marriage entailed.”

  He paused to take a bite of food and chew leisurely. Evelyn clutched her napkin under the table.

  “You must understand that I never intended to be faithful to you,” Charles stated. “I’m simply not made for fidelity, my dear. I was entranced by you, of course. I even imagined I was in love with you for a while. Keeping me at a distance was a brilliant maneuver on your part. Allowing me only a kiss here and there kept me hungry for more.

  “I could have married anyone, as my mother never tires of telling me. But so many of the debutantes I met in New York and Philadelphia could talk of nothing other than clothes and society gossip. The way you spoke up for yourself was refreshing. I could tolerate a silly mistress—one doesn’t take a mistress for the conversation—but I would have to marry someone with wit and intelligence.

  “I didn’t want a clingy wife, either. I’m not one to sit quietly by the fire at home. So many of the women I met viewed their suitors as substitutes for their fathers—men who would indulge their every whim and drown them in compliments. I wanted a woman who wouldn’t depend on me to meet every need.”

  “And these are the reasons you lowered yourself to marry me?” Evelyn couldn’t meet his eyes.

  “Certainly, I would have met with far less resistance from my family had I married someone of my own class.” Charles gulped down the remainder of his wine and refilled the glass. “I met a few suitable young women who appeared both intelligent and independent. But a woman from a powerful family would have presented another sort of difficulty. She might have expected behavior of which I am incapable.”

  “Such as fidelity?” Evelyn asked bitterly.

  “I need to live my life as I please,” Charles said. “The last thing I wanted was a father-in-law who would lecture me about my behavior over cigars after dinner.”

  “And I had no father. No one to defend my reputation.”

  “Enough!” Charles snapped. “My decision wasn’t completely coldhearted. You forget what passion you inspired in me. I greatly anticipated our wedding night.”

  Evelyn remembered the strength of his hands a few weeks before, as he slapped her face and forced himself upon her. She couldn’t think of a time when he had touched her body tenderly.

  “I’ve given you a good life, haven’t I?” Charles said. He lifted up one hand, indicating the dining room’s expensive French wallpaper and crystal chandelier. “You want for nothing.”

  “Nothing but my husband’s affection,” Evelyn said quietly.

  Charles smiled. “Well said. You have not lost your tart tongue after all.” His cheeks were ruddy, and Evelyn noticed that his glass was empty again. He paused to fill it, then raised the goblet in her direction.

  “I propose a toast. To a new beginning.”

  This must be it. He was ready to suggest a separation.

  “I would like to correct my earlier oversight and make clear my expectations for this marriage,” Charles went on. “From this day forward I will treat you as my wife i
n public and accompany you to events as necessary. You will continue to enjoy all the benefits of the Brewster name and fortune. You will live in this house, and I will increase your allowance so you may buy gowns in New York, if you please. I will even offer a settlement to your mother—it’s only right that I support my own mother-in-law.”

  Evelyn’s heart sank. Charles wasn’t offering escape. He was setting the terms of her imprisonment.

  “In exchange, I will conduct my private life as I wish.” Charles drained his wine glass yet again. “When I come home, I expect to be treated as a husband, with all the rights that implies. If you are willing to be accommodating, perhaps I will feel inclined to produce that heir my mother is so anxious for.”

  Charles would keep humiliating her, and he expected her to be grateful. The sting of disappointment overrode Evelyn’s fear.

  “May I make another suggestion?” she asked. Charles poured the last of the wine into his glass.

  “Surely, this is no way to conduct a marriage.” Evelyn spoke carefully, trying to present her case in a way that would show the benefit to him. “Clearly, I am not suited to this sort of life. If you were free of me, able to do as you pleased…”

  “How is that possible?”

  “A divorce,” Evelyn said.

  For a moment, she thought it might work. “It would be best for both of us. I would take the blame, and I wouldn’t ask for any financial support….”

  “Financial support!” Charles shouted. Evelyn shrank back in her chair from the force of his anger.

  “You want to ruin my reputation and my family’s good name, yet I’m supposed to be grateful that you aren’t asking for financial support? Have you gone mad?”

  “Surely it would be preferable to this,” Evelyn said.

  “Perhaps when you’re an O’Keefe you can speak lightly of such things. Do you have any idea what repercussions a divorce would have for me? I’d be laughed at behind my back. Subjected to the most insulting gossip. My mother and sister would be humiliated. How dare you suggest such a thing!”

  He slammed his empty wineglass on the table. Evelyn kept her eyes on her plate. The sight of the cold, congealed fat around the roast beef brought on a wave of nausea.

  “I can’t imagine…” Charles began, then stopped suddenly. He grabbed Evelyn’s arm. “Is there another reason?” The rage in his eyes made her cringe, but he held her firmly in place. “Someone else?”

  In her terror, there was only one possible response. “No,” she said. “Of course not.”

  He released her with a shove. “No, you would never be that stupid.” Charles was incapable of seeing the world through anyone else’s eyes. He expected Evelyn to turn a blind eye to his affairs, but he would never tolerate infidelity from her.

  “There will be no more talk of divorce,” Charles said. “I’d hoped we could settle this in a friendly manner. Instead, you insult me.”

  Evelyn searched for a way to calm him. Would he believe her if she apologized and pretended to agree with him? She could manage to be a dutiful wife for one evening.

  “It’s been a difficult evening,” she said, picking up her napkin and placing it on the table. “Tomorrow, perhaps, we can find a solution that suits us both.”

  She stood up and quickly walked past Charles, hoping he would stay behind. The thought of what he might do made her light-headed with fear. As she crossed the foyer toward the stairs, she heard him approaching behind her.

  “That’s all?” he asked, grasping her shoulder and forcing her around to look at him. Evelyn saw his red cheeks, his cold eyes. At that moment, she hated him.

  “I’m exhausted.” She could barely keep her voice level. She wriggled out of his grip and turned to walk up the stairs. She kept her steps slow and steady, afraid of provoking him by moving too fast.

  “A husband has rights,” he said. She felt his breath on the back of her neck as he followed her upstairs.

  She reached the top of the staircase. The door to the bedroom was only a few feet away. “You’re drunk,” she said, turning to face him. “Surely there’s another woman whose bed you would share tonight?”

  “Ah, that’s the spitfire I married!” He laughed.

  Evelyn inched backward, watching Charles as she would a wild dog with its teeth bared.

  “Seeing you angry sparks something in me.” Charles put his hand out for her, but she was just beyond his reach. “You wouldn’t deny me, would you, wife?”

  Evelyn looked down demurely. “Perhaps if you gave me a moment alone, to prepare myself.”

  “What surprises do you have in store?” His words were slurred.

  Evelyn spun around and dashed through the doorway to her bedroom. She slammed the door closed with one hand and locked it. Charles shook the handle outside.

  “What are you doing?” he shouted.

  “You’re drunk!” Evelyn shouted back. “Leave me be!”

  There was a sudden crash as Charles flung himself against the door. “This is my house!” he bellowed. “You can’t lock me out!”

  Evelyn backed away from the door as it shuddered under Charles’s assault. What would he do to her if he broke in? She crouched on the floor next to the bed, wrapping her hands around her legs to stop the shivers that rippled through her body. Even if he did get in, Mrs. Gower and Peggy were downstairs. They couldn’t help but hear this. They would help her get away if he tried to hurt her.

  Or would they? Charles—and, by extension, Alma—paid their wages. They might feel sorry for Evelyn, but they would never take a stand against the Brewsters.

  Then, suddenly, there was silence. Evelyn waited a few minutes, wondering if Charles was trying to trick her. She crept over to the door and pressed her ear against the wood. She heard footsteps stomping down the hallway toward Charles’s room. A little while later, the steps passed her door again and clattered down the stairs. The front door slammed behind him.

  He was gone. Evelyn slid into her bed, fully clothed, and gathered the blankets over her shoulders. She huddled there, terrified, remembering the rage in Charles’s eyes when he’d accused her of being unfaithful. He would never agree to a divorce. And he must never find out about her love for Will. He was capable of killing them both.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ALISSA SPOTTED Brad immediately, sitting at the bar of the tapas lounge he’d suggested in downtown Baltimore. The time apart had revived him. He looked healthier and happier than he had during the months their relationship had crumbled. His suit was tailored to highlight his muscular frame, and his skin had the ruddy tone that came with weekend golf rounds and after-work pickup basketball games. He flashed Alissa the wide smile he used to dazzle her with when they’d started dating.

  Alissa had forgotten how handsome Brad could be when he made an effort. Over their years of dating, his face had become so familiar that she’d no longer noticed. After seeing him in every possible mood—from gleefully enthusiastic to hungover and irritable—she’d taken for granted the qualities that had first attracted her to him. His dark, penetrating eyes. The well-defined shoulders. Alissa was surprised to discover that even after their painful history, she could still admire Brad on a physical level.

  “Alissa!” he exclaimed, standing up to give her a hug. “I ordered a pitcher of sangria, okay?”

  Alissa nodded as Brad pulled out a tall metal bar chair for her to sit on. They’d never eaten here before, but he’d known what she would order. He could probably pick her favorite dishes off the menu, too.

  “It’s great to see you,” he said.

  “You, too,” Alissa said. She wasn’t sure if she meant it.

  Alissa had been curious when Constance mentioned that Brad had been asking about her. At the time, it had seemed perfectly reasonable to call him and check in. When he invited her to dinner, she told herself that having one final conversation was the only way to put the relationship behind her at last. But as Alissa drove to the city that night, she wondered if what she reall
y wanted was to test herself. See if any lingering feelings remained. Standing here, next to Brad, she felt the old attraction flicker. She noticed another woman at the bar eye him admiringly and was disturbed by her pang of jealousy.

  Despite her nerves and the distracting salsa music blaring through the ceiling speakers, their conversation unfolded smoothly enough after they ordered. That was mostly due to Brad, who’d always been able to make small talk even in the most awkward circumstances.

  They covered the expected topics: work, people they knew in common, Alissa’s progress on the house.

  Diners continued to file through the door behind them, and the restaurant was soon packed. Once, Alissa might have found this place exciting, with its garishly colorful murals and cacophony of voices and clattering plates. But after the quiet of Oak Hill, it was almost overwhelming.

  “So, are you seeing anyone?” Alissa asked, trying to feign indifference, looking at her plate of marinated olives rather than Brad.

  Brad laughed. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask!”

  “Why?”

  “I know Constance told you she saw me with a woman. You’re curious. Admit it!”

  Alissa smiled. “All right. I’m curious.”

  “It’s not what you think. Erica and I work together. She had an extra ticket, I was bored, so I went with her. I guess it might’ve been a date, sort of, but there was no spark.”

  Alissa tried to keep her expression impassive, but she felt relieved. Not because she was still interested in Brad—she knew that now—but because she didn’t want him to move on before she did. It wouldn’t seem fair, somehow.

  “How about you?” Brad asked.

  Alissa shook her head. “Oak Hill isn’t exactly crawling with single guys. Besides, all I do is work.”

  “I figured.” Brad held up the sangria pitcher and offered to pour her another glass.

  Alissa shook her head. “I’ve got to drive home.”

  “Not necessarily.” Brad shot her a devious look.