“Yes,” I said firmly.
Jack paused, and then nodded.
At our next session, the real work commenced.
“Let’s start by looking at something positive. What about the relationship is worth saving? Jack, you first.”
“Our family being together.”
“That’s good. What about something relating to just the two of you?”
“Umm…her cooking, I guess.”
I snorted with disbelief. He couldn’t come up with anything!
“Kate, how about you? What would you like to save?”
“It’s easier to think about the things I’d like to change, but I guess I miss jokes we used to share and how comfortable we used to be with each other.”
Jack stared at me, finally looking me in the eye, but his expression was unreadable.
We put our beautiful house up for sale. Part of me was hoping that it wouldn’t sell and I’d have a legitimate excuse not to move. Unfortunately, the opposite proved true. We had a three-way bidding war and sold it way too quickly and for more than we’d hoped. I cried as I packed away memories of happier times and all the small reminders of moments when our children were growing: the chip in the bookcase where one of the twins had thrown a toy truck, the faint remnants of red crayon behind the door from early artistic endeavors, their bedrooms which still smelled faintly of their warm and wiggly childhood selves. It was like saying goodbye to the best part of us, the part where we had been secure in our happiness. Now we were launching out into the great unknown, the worn vessel that was to carry us already sporting a poorly patched hole in the hull. I couldn’t help but be aware that this last-ditch effort to save our marriage was likely to end badly.
It was with a heavy heart that I drove through the gates of Clouston Hall, the moving van behind me, blocking my retreat. Edwina was waiting in the informal drawing room with her usual disapproving scowl. Jack was supposed to be here with me, but as usual when there was a difficult personal matter, something had come up at work and he was coming later.
Forcing my lips into a smile, I greeted her with a kiss on her reluctantly proffered cheek.
“You’re here at last.”
“Yes.” I couldn’t think of anything else to add.
“It will be good to have Jack here to help out.” She frowned. “It’s been terribly hard on his father, you know.”
“Hmm,” I murmured noncommittally. I ignored the inference that it was only Jack who was required.
“We haven’t had a moment spare to move to the Old Manor, so I’ve told them to put your things in the barn for storage.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised, but my stomach sank to an all new low. They weren’t moving out. I thought it was out of character for Edwina to agree to step back as lady of the house, and I should have known that she would hold on to her position with a death grip.
“Well, now that we’re here, it should take some of the burden from you and give you more spare time to yourself,” I said sweetly.
Edwina looked at me sharply but managed to twitch her lips into the semblance of a smile.
“Yes, we’ll see,” she answered stiffly.
I’d have to wait for Jack to work out a strategy to deal with this, because there was no way in hell I was going to live with Edwina, and it was obvious she had no intention of going anywhere. Game on, bitch, I thought as we gave each other a hard stare.
Edwina and I spent the next couple of days circling each other, waiting for the opening volley. We were hosting a pheasant shooting weekend in three weeks, which was going to be interesting. While most of the plans for the seven or so hunting weekends this season were already finalized, we had to plan for the next year as well.
“Now you are the lady of the house, it will be your responsibility to make the arrangements,” she announced over breakfast. Surprised that she was willingly handing over control, my instincts were telling me that she wouldn’t really be stepping back. That or she had an ulterior motive.
“Yes, thank you, Edwina. Of course, I’m sure I’ll still need your help and advice, seeing as this is the first weekend I will have hosted.” En garde. She gave me a false smile but said nothing more. Her strategy was not hard to figure out. She wanted me to fail, spectacularly, so she could step back in and save the day.
First thing I did was corner every staff member I could find, from the house manager, butler, Head Gamekeeper, and functions coordinator to the dailies and gardeners, learn their names and find out what they did. I’d thought I had an idea of what it took to operate what was essentially a business, but the scope was at once much larger and smaller than I had assumed. While the detail was immense, overall it wasn’t a particularly diversified operation.
The main task was to maintain the house and grounds in good order so as to maximize the revenue the Hall could bring in through tourists, film crews, and weddings, paying guests on the shooting weekends, and the odd festival. The rest was just support functions, like marketing the Hall as a venue and providing food and merchandise to maximize profits, the bulk of which were plowed back into maintenance, which was ongoing and exorbitantly expensive, given the heritage listing and the age of the building. As a secondary branch, there were the estate farms and village housing, as many of the long-serving staff still lived in houses provided by the estate. These also needed to be administered and maintained.
Once I had a handle on what most people did, I decided to tackle this as I would a work meeting. I called together the staff and Edwina to start planning. Because everything was organized so far in advance, we were working on finalizing repair projects for the winter, when the house was closed, and what would be done the following year. We also needed to cover the final arrangements for the upcoming shooting weekend.
The Head Gamekeeper, Mr. Watkins, had started his preparations long ago, rearing the birds, laying out the drives, and controlling the pests. He would be responsible for coordinating the Beaters, who would drive the birds toward the Guns. They would use sticks to beat the bushes, while others acted as Flankers to direct the birds or Stops to prevent them going in the wrong direction. Some of them would be paid, but most would be the more industrious wives and older children who were happy to help out.
Invitations had been sent and acceptances received weeks ago, so I just had to finalize sleeping arrangements and the menu for the weekend. Edwina sat silently throughout, which I was glad about, though it made me wonder what she was up to. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
Every time I spoke to one of the staff and asked them to do something, Edwina went behind my back and changed the order.
“Excuse me, madam,” Mr. Watkins said in his quiet gravelly voice. “I hate to bring this up, but I thought you should know that Lady Preedy is changing your arrangements. It is upsetting the staff, who don’t know what to do, caught in the middle as we are.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Watkins. I will talk to her. I understand how difficult this transition is for everyone.” Fuck, I thought, how do I make Edwina behave? We were going to have to talk, but how to make a dent? I needed something big to make an impact, but I had no idea what. She was determined to make me look like a fool, and I had little leverage with the staff. They might like me, I hoped they did, but Edwina had been their boss for years. Running to Jack would solve nothing. I needed to sort this out on my own, but how?
The answer came the following week, in a form I could never have imagined, even in my darkest thoughts, during one of our sessions with Faye.
Chapter Twenty
“JACK, HOW IS YOUR RELATIONSHIP with your mother? Are your parents still together?”
“Yes, they’re not divorced, but they were never that affectionate with each other. I don’t really know what their relationship is like.”
“You don’t think they have sex?”
“They probably do,” he said, huffing uncomfortably, “but not with each other.”
“Do they have affairs?”
“I
don’t know about my father, but my mother did.”
“How do you know that?”
“She told me.” He coughed to clear his throat. “She told me when I was younger that she had been in love with another man and my brother was his.”
I gasped, completely shocked, but at the same time not. It explained why she treated Crispin differently and why he didn’t look like Jack or his father.
“Why would she tell you that?”
“Because I asked her why she didn’t love me as much as she loved Crispin,” he said, breaking down, his chest heaving. “She was always touching him and hugging him and telling him how wonderful he was. Nothing I ever did was right.”
My heart broke for him and the difficult childhood he had endured.
“One night I saw something.” His voice had lowered to a whisper. “I saw my mother touching Crispin…inappropriately.”
“Jesus!” I murmured, feeling sick.
Jack wept uncontrollably. Oh my God! How fucked up was his family! It explained so much, about him and about Crispin. I broke out in a cold sweat, as an unimaginable possibility occurred to me. I raced through my memories, trying to recall if there was ever a time I had left the boys alone with Edwina. My chest eased slightly with the realization that we had never left them with her for any length of time, and she didn’t treat them the same way she did Crispin. They seemed well-adjusted and happy, but I was going to talk to them—carefully, of course.
“Jack, I am so sorry.” I put my arms around him tentatively, trying to comfort him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid you would leave. I’m still afraid of that,” Jack admitted, and my heart leaped in response. “You and the boys are the best part of my life.”
“I moved to Gloucestershire. I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t committed to staying,” I explained gently. “But we have to get Crispin some help. What he’s been doing…” There was no argument that Crispin was deeply disturbed, and despite the family’s denials, there was little doubt in my mind that the rumors were true.
He nodded. I reached over and squeezed his hand. He returned it, gingerly at first and then with great fierceness, as if he were trying to hold me there forever.
I returned to the Hall on my own, still in shock. I didn’t see Edwina, for which she should be thankful. I went up to our room and sat down heavily on the window seat, feeling lost, sickened, and out of my depth, not knowing what to do or say that could make this any better or easier.
At that moment, sitting in the enormous, antiquated, cold house, I felt what my life could have been, pressing heavily like a physical pressure on my brain. It was the life I could have had if I’d chosen differently all those years ago. A life that was lighter and sunnier, without the heavy dampness of living in an ancient society. My children would be home with me, tracking in sand and laughter. I could almost see the flash of their bronze skin as they passed through the white house in my mind. A few decisions here and there, and I would have ended up living in Sydney instead of London.
Stopping myself, I hauled my thoughts back to the present. It was too late for regrets. I had a life that so many aspired to, and I should appreciate what I did have. Just because I had never planned it didn’t mean that it wasn’t where I should be. I couldn’t afford to think that my whole marriage was a mistake. My eyes caught on the photographs of the boys taken when they started school at Harrow in a room surrounded by the signatures of so many other boys who had been exactly where they were, a continuity unbroken in centuries. So much history had value and importance, and wishing it away was an insult to half of them, even if it came from Jack’s side. Whatever was to happen, I had my children, who would make everything worth it a hundred times over.
The next morning, my shock and disbelief had turned to cold, hard fury. Edwina, knowing nothing of what was coming, was cheerfully ordering the staff around with great huffing and puffing.
“Edwina, we need to talk. Now,” I said icily, keeping my voice low.
Her chin rose disdainfully. “I am busy right now. I’ll get to whatever it is later.”
“I’m happy to do it in front of everyone, but what I have to say I’m fairly sure you don’t want the staff to know.”
She looked at me, uncertainty fluttering behind her eyes. With poor grace, she agreed, and we went off to the library.
“I want you out of this house today,” I said as soon as the door closed behind me. I clenched my fists to hide my shaking, wanting to inflict pain on her, to make her feel some of what she had done to those innocent young boys. I wasn’t generally someone for physical violence, but she was the lowest, most despicable version of a mother. I couldn’t imagine how she lived with herself.
“Excuse me?” she asked haughtily.
“Did I mumble?” I could barely restrain myself from punching her in the head.
“Who do you think you are to order me out of my own house?” She glared at me.
“Who do you think you are to molest your own son?” I said with utter disgust. Then, I had to ask the question every other mother would ask. “How could you?”
“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She stumbled and sat down heavily.
“Jack told me what you did to Crispin when he was a child. You fucked him up so badly, he’s hurting people, and you just pay everyone off to protect yourself. You are responsible for this. You will leave here. I don’t care where you go. I will give you no opportunity to see my children. If you choose not to leave, I will expose you. I will ring the Daily Mail and give them a long and in-depth interview and then every other publication that wants one. I will tell them how you sadistically beat both your children with whips and sexually assaulted Crispin.”
“You need me. You need my money,” she gasped indignantly.
“We’ll manage. This will be your only warning. I expect you gone by the end of the day.” I turned and left.
Edwina and, I assume, Arthur too were gone by dinner that night, though only to the Old Manor at the other end of the property. Frankly, I would have liked to see her go to the other end of the world. It grated badly that she wouldn’t be punished, but I knew Jack and Crispin would never do anything about it. Going to the police? Refusing all contact? It wasn’t going to happen. At least I wouldn’t have to see her every day, knowing what she’d done. At least that’s what a sane, rational person would assume. I forgot, momentarily, that Edwina was insane, and she topped up with a bowl of crazy for breakfast every morning so she would never run low.
Two days later, I was sitting in the room I had made into my study, as it was one of the few rooms that had working Internet. Wireless wasn’t possible in a house where the walls were two feet thick. I was having my morning cup of tea when in waltzed Edwina.
“Good morning.” She smiled. “I’ve come to help you out with the shooting party organization.”
“Um…no…” I said, astounded. “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that you weren’t to come back here.” I had, hadn’t I? I had a moment of doubting myself in the face of her certainty.
“Don’t be silly. You need help.”
“No, I don’t. Not from you. I would like for you to leave now.” I gritted my teeth.
“Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of tea?” she asked, seeming genuinely confused that I wasn’t pretending nothing had happened.
“No, Edwina, I’m not. You are not to come here again without an invitation from either myself or Jack. Do you not remember our last conversation?”
“No. What?” She cocked her head, looking at me questioningly. Fuck, it was like she had wiped it from her memory.
“Seriously, Edwina. Get out!” I wasn’t going to go through the whole thing again. My God!
“Fine! I’ll be speaking to Jack about this,” she said with a huff, as if I was in the wrong. Fortunately, she left, and I followed to make sure she went out the door. I immediately sought out the head housekeeper and butler to make sure they
passed on to the rest of the staff that Edwina was not to be admitted without notifying me first.
It should have been a turning point, Edwina moving out and Jack opening up to me, but it wasn’t. As if the admissions had been too much, Jack retreated behind a well-constructed wall, cleverly camouflaged with politeness and courtesy. That was the closest we ever got to genuine sharing of emotion, other than the ever-present anger that was buried uneasily in shallow graves.
“You can’t order Mother out of the house,” he said on Friday night after returning from seeing his parents at the Old Manor.
“Yes, I can. How can you expect me to just pretend that everything is okay?”
“Just because you want things to be different doesn’t mean they are. We need her money for the house. Nothing about that has changed, and we can’t afford to upset her too much.” He ran his hands through his hair agitatedly.
“She beat you and abused your brother. How can you stand to be in the same room as her?”
“Stop being a child!” he thundered. “I’m the one it happened to, not you. If I can deal with it, you certainly can.”
“You’re dealing with it?” I scoffed.
“What did you think was going to happen? That she would apologize and hand herself in to the police?”
“No—”
“If you confront her again, she’s going to deny it, and we’ll be in a worse position because she will strike back. Just pretend I never said anything. God, I wish I’d just kept my mouth shut. Fuck!” he swore violently.
“Ignoring something isn’t dealing with it. You’re suppressing everything, and one day you’re going to explode when you can’t push it down any more!” I accused him. “By letting her get away with this, you’re telling her it’s okay! What if she touched the boys? Are you saying that’s okay too?”
Jack glared at me, his eyes wild, his breathing heavy and labored behind his tightly clenched jaw. A shiver of fear raced down my spine, causing my heart to beat faster. A zing of adrenaline gave me a burst of mental clarity: He was holding onto his control by a hair, something I had never seen in him before in all the years we’d been together. His hands were clenched in fists by his sides, shaking with effort to remain still.
Saint Kate of the Cupcake: The Dangers of Lust and Baking Page 17
