by Kery, Beth
Francesca forced a grin when Gerard avoided mentioning Ian and his departure. So . . . they were back to skirting the topic of Ian again. Not if she could help it.
“Since Ian left? Yes, I suppose I haven’t been that hungry. But leave it to one of Mrs. Hanson’s teas to get my appetite going again,” she said, eyeing the scones, Danish, sweet cream, and fresh jam on the tiered porcelain serving dish.
“Shall I pour for you?” Mrs. Hanson asked.
“No, I’ll do it,” Francesca said, sitting across from Gerard. She opened her mouth to ask Mrs. Hanson to join them, but then closed it when she focused on Gerard. As much as it was the norm for her to take tea with the housekeeper, she doubted it was typical for Gerard.
“I’ll just leave you to it then,” Mrs. Hanson said warmly before departing.
“I’m glad to hear your sketching is going well,” Gerard said. “May I have a look after we finish?”
“Please do,” Francesca said as she poured from the china pot.
“I feel as if I haven’t seen much of you lately,” Gerard said.
She studied his face closely as she stirred cream into her tea. “Well, a lot has been going on, I guess. And I’m afraid I can become a bit withdrawn when I’m working on a project. How have you been?” she asked, her concern for his well-being after the shooting audible in her question. “I’ve never really had much of a chance to speak with you in private after what happened with Brodsik,” she said. “It must have been awful for you . . . and still is.”
“It was a shock, certainly,” Gerard said, sipping his tea, his expression sober.
“I haven’t thanked you, either.” She set down the scone she’d picked up, her appetite suddenly fleeing. “If it hadn’t been for you,” she hesitated, not wanting to sound so melodramatic as to say, I might be dead. “Who knows what havoc Brodsik might have created?” she managed to say instead.
“As much as I would prefer that the circumstances were different, I am glad I was able to do what I could to stop him,” Gerard said quietly.
“I would never wish the situation on anyone, but you responded very bravely.”
He gave a small smile and set down his teacup.
“And you? Are you suffering again, with Ian’s departure?”
She blinked at his question, given the fact he’d been avoiding saying Ian’s name in her presence earlier.
“I’m doing all right,” she said, keeping her voice even. “At least he’s agreed to keep in contact this time. With Anne and James anyway. At least we’re not fearful for his life or well-being.”
“Yes, well that’s something, of course.” He paused. She sensed he was trying to broach a delicate subject.
“What is it, Gerard?”
“I’m well aware that you, Anne, and James know of some kind of secret about why Ian became so emotionally disturbed last summer and disappeared. And I understand,” he said, holding up his hand in a placating manner when she opened her mouth to try and explain her silence yet again. “I value your discretion. I’m not trying to pry. It’s just that . . . I came upon Lucien and Ian talking together in the sitting room a few days before he left Belford Hall. They were talking about a man called Trevor Gaines. Ian has apparently bought his house and has been conducting some sort of search in it. I only bring it up because I was very concerned by Ian’s tone. He sounded quite . . . intense. I won’t go so far as to say ‘mad’ but he certainly sounded obsessed with the topic.”
Francesca swallowed thickly, shocked, absorbing the disturbing news while Gerard studied her. Ian had bought Trevor Gaines’s house?
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. It’s just . . . I assumed that Ian’s secret that you’ve all been guarding is somehow related to this man Gaines. I wanted to assure myself that if you, Anne, and James were aware of whatever Ian is involved in, that you were also aware of how . . . unbalanced he sounds on the topic.”
“Unbalanced?” Francesca asked warily. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
“Even Lucien was uncomfortable while they talked. I could tell. Who wouldn’t be, with Ian ranting the way he was. He sounded very angry, but for the life of me, I couldn’t comprehend at what his fury was aimed.” His laugh sounded uneasy. “For a moment, I thought he sounded a little like . . .”
“What?” Francesca asked, her alarm mounting. The idea of Ian purchasing Trevor Gaines’s home, searching in it. . . . Had he been living in that monster’s residence this whole time? Ice water seemed to shoot through her veins at the thought. She shuddered, placing her hand on her chest when an uncomfortable spasm went through it.
“Gerard, what did you think Ian sounded like?” she asked, her voice growing high pitched.
Gerard winced. “Well he sounded a little like my cousin Helen,” he admitted uneasily.
Francesca stared at him, shock making her flesh tingle. “Gerard, that’s a horrible thing to say. Ian is as sane as anyone I know. He’s been through a hell of a lot in a short period of time. He’s had to deal with more than most could endure. More than you know.”
“Francesca, please don’t go,” Gerard said when she abruptly set her napkin on the table and stood. “I realize that Ian doesn’t often appear the way I observed. That’s why I wanted to make sure I brought it up to someone who has an idea of whatever he’s been experiencing for the past half year. I was aware that Lucien and he were discussing something secretive by their manner, but I’d never seen Ian behave in such a . . . an irrational way. Although,” he added under his breath, “surely you’ve noticed he’s been rather . . . frayed at times during this visit. Anne and James certainly have. Actually, I have seen him act oddly one other time in his life,” he said, pausing in reflection. “When he first came to Belford as a child, he could be very moody and unpredictable. Sometimes he reminded me of one of those feral children, to be honest. Not to that degree, of course, but still . . . It was tragic to see it, imagining what he must have endured with only a madwoman for a companion for the first ten years of his life. For a moment when I saw him there in the sitting room, I was reminded of that child. I thought he was going to strike out at Lucien like a cornered animal.”
“He would never do that,” Francesca grated out, her chaotic thoughts suddenly landing on how wild Ian had looked the other day behind the stairs, how he’d flung Lucien’s hand away from him. She didn’t believe that Ian was mad for an instant, but what if he really had endured too much emotionally? She’d worried what he was doing during this soul search was unhealthy for him, but she hadn’t imagined him doing something as extreme as buying Trevor Gaines’s house and conducting some sort of obsessive search. And for what? What could he possibly hope to find?
A wave of powerful nausea went through her at the thought.
What if Gerard was right? She’d worried that Ian had been emotionally cut open with the news of Trevor Gaines and his mother’s death, but what if he really was skating on the edge? What if he’d gone over the edge at times? He was always alluding to the fact that he had no choice in his mission, and she’d fought that concept tooth and nail.
But wasn’t it true that the closer a person got to madness, the less and less choice they had? They felt compelled, ruled by powers other than their own.
I didn’t choose any of this. Fate did.
She moaned softly, nausea rising to her throat at the memory of him saying those words.
“Francesca, please sit down,” Gerard implored, standing and looking alarmed. “You look very pale.”
“No. No, I’d just like to be alone,” she managed, hardly aware of what she said when Gerard reached out to steady her. She removed his hand and somehow made it out of the room.
* * *
Francesca rushed into her suite, experiencing a strange sense of rising panic overlaid with a clear focus. She needed to go and find Ian. She needed to assure herself that he was safe and not desc
ending into a place where she couldn’t reach him. Never in a million years would she have allowed him to continue on this soul search if she’d thought his mission included spending time alone in Trevor Gaines’s house, sifting through the remains of his sick life.
But was he alone? She wondered, pausing as she began to open her drawers. Hadn’t Elise referred to the fact that Lucien might join him? When Elise had mentioned it before, she’d had some vague idea that perhaps both of them would go to Morocco together so that Ian could ask Fatima about his mother. She hadn’t been happy about the idea, but it seemed downright healthy compared to what Ian had actually been doing and planned to continue to do. God, if Ian really was in Trevor Gaines’s house, please let Lucien be with him. Lucien, at least, could steady him in this bizarre mission. She rushed to her purse and pulled out her cell phone.
“Elise?” she said a moment later, relief rushing through her at the sound of Elise’s voice. “I’m so glad I caught you.”
“Francesca? What is it? What’s wrong?” Elise asked, making Francesca realize how panicked she sounded.
“Nothing, I hope. It’s just . . . is Lucien with Ian?”
There was a short pause. “Yes. They’re in France,” Elise finally said.
“Elise, are they at Trevor Gaines’s house?”
“Yes,” Elise replied in a thin voice. “I’m not happy about it, but Lucien insisted he wanted to do it, especially for— Francesca, who told you where they were? Did Ian?”
“No, he told me he didn’t want me to know above all else,” Francesca said, frowning at the memory. He knew if she tried to talk him out of it, he might listen, so he’d preferred to leave her in the dark about the exact nature of what he planned. Damn him. “Gerard told me. He overheard Lucien and Ian talking. Why didn’t you tell me what they were doing?” she accused.
“I just found out yesterday, before Lucien left. He told me that Ian didn’t want you to know. I told Lucien I wasn’t going to lie to you about it. In fact, I’d almost decided to call you one way or another. You just happened to call me first.”
“It’s mad,” Francesca hissed. She blanched and grimaced when she recognized what she’d said. “Ian is already skating on the edge. How is wandering around that awful man’s house going to help his state of mind any?”
“I agree,” Elise said, sounding miserable. Francesca held the phone to her ear, listening as she dragged her suitcase out of the closet. She’d just pack some bare essentials and leave her nicer clothes and jewelry behind at Belford. She doubted she’d need eveningwear for this mission. “But they want to know if they can discover any other of Gaines’s children, or at least I know Lucien wants that, very much. Apparently, there’s a man who lives on the grounds even now who is . . . you know . . . one of Gaines’s offspring,” Elise finished uncomfortably.
A bitter taste rose at the back of Francesca’s throat. It was such an ugly scenario. She hated, despised the idea of Ian submersing himself in it. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and opened it.
“I can’t let him do it,” she said, opening a drawer and grabbing handfuls of underwear and bras and tossing them into the suitcase. “It’s absolutely the most unhealthy thing in the world for him.”
“At least Lucien is there this time,” Elise said hopefully. “I don’t think it’s a good idea, either, Francesca, but I understand the need to heal. For closure. And Ian . . .”
“What?” Francesca asked, pausing with some sweaters clutched in her hands.
“I think he wants to compile all he can learn. Try to make sense of Gaines’s motivations, how he became the way he became. Lucien said something about Ian not being satisfied with the psychological profile a prison psychiatrist wrote about Gaines.”
“And Ian thinks he can write it better?” Francesca asked incredulously. She shut her eyes, that feeling of nausea rising in her again. She remembered what Anne had said about her grandson’s search for himself. You know how important clarity is to him. He prizes seeing clearly above all else.
“I don’t think he wants to write a psychological profile, of course,” Elise said uneasily. “I just got the impression from Lucien he’s trying to fix in his mind who his biological father was, and that all available information from news articles and everything wasn’t sufficient for him. He wants to sort it all out in some kind of organized fashion so he can make sense of it.”
“Yes,” Francesca said starkly. “And in doing so, prove to himself he’s not Trevor Gaines.” She tossed the sweaters in the suitcase and went in search of some jeans.
“You don’t actually believe that Ian thinks he’s even a little like that man?” Elise asked, sounding stunned.
“I think he’s hurt and confused. And I think he’s grasping for evidence of who he is in a place that will only give him lies for answers. This search is taking him down a dark path, one that could very well kill him,” Francesca said grimly.
There was silence on the other end of the phone for a few seconds. “Francesca, do you really think things are that bad?”
“I don’t know,” she replied honestly. “Maybe.”
They talked for a few minutes more while Francesca finished packing. Elise grew more and more concerned as she listened to Francesca’s worries, but Francesca assured her that she was actually greatly relieved that Lucien was there with Ian.
“But you’re still going to Gaines’s house?”
“Yes,” she said. “As soon as I can get packed and hire a taxi to take me to the airport.”
“Maybe I should meet you there,” Elise said, sounding worried.
“No, it’ll be all right, Elise. I’ll call you if I think you need to intercede with Lucien.”
“Call me either way once you get there,” Elise begged.
“I will,” Francesca assured grimly.
* * *
Gerard was waiting for her when she entered her one-bedroom flat early that evening. Clarisse started and gave a little scream when she turned on a bedside lamp and saw him sitting calmly in a living room chair.
“Oh my God, you gave me such a fright,” the young woman squealed.
“Why are you so jumpy? Does it have to do with this?” Gerard asked. He turned his hand, the diamonds flashing in the light catching Clarisse’s attention.
“Why do you have Francesca’s necklace?” Clarisse asked, confused, staring at the diamond choker. She set down her purse and coat at the back of the couch and walked toward him.
“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” Gerard asked.
She halted. “What do you mean?”
“Francesca came to me early this afternoon, in a panic because this very necklace had gone missing,” Gerard lied smoothly. Francesca had told him no such thing. In fact, she’d sought him out, distracted and harried, and returned the necklace to him with apologies for being unable to accept his gift. He’d followed and watched her unobserved afterward, and saw her leave Belford Hall with a suitcase, her manner furtive as she got into a cab. “She was beside herself,” he continued his story to Clarisse. “I told her not to worry—the necklace is insured, after all—and assured her that I would find it. And so I did.”
Clarisse’s mouth fell open. Her blue eyes grew wide in shock. “Wait . . . you can’t mean you think I took it?”
“I found the necklace in your bedside table. You’ve been a very bad little maid, Clarisse,” he purred.
For a few seconds, she just stared. She moved jerkily, suddenly lunging for the couch but stumbling. She caught herself on the arm of the sofa and fell into it.
“I never took that necklace!”
“I found it here,” Gerard said simply, standing and walking toward her. He looked down at her, smiling.
“If you found it here, then you put it there,” she muttered in rising disbelief.
“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I put a necklace tha
t I already own in your apartment?” Her pink lips opened and shut several times as she stared at him in bewilderment. He was enjoying seeing her helpless. The trap had snapped shut with her securely in it. She would do whatever he said now. “Didn’t Francesca tell you that I gave her this necklace for Christmas?” he continued. “She told me she planned to return it, though. We both know how obsessed she is with Ian. She must have felt guilty about receiving such an expensive piece of jewelry from another man. Misplaced loyalty. Even now, she’s on a plane flying to confront the love of her life for having abandoned her once again.” He shook his head sadly. “Those two are a keg of gunpowder set to explode, if you ask me.”
Clarisse’s wide eyes grew even larger. “Please don’t do this. Don’t tell Francesca I took that necklace. I need this job.”
“I know,” Gerard said earnestly. He nodded to several framed photos of her family set on the mantel. “You have a younger brother that’s quite ill, isn’t that true? Cystic fibrosis. Such a shame.”
“How do you know about Scott?” she asked incredulously.
“I know all about you,” Gerard assured, his voice rich with compassion. “Including the fact that you’ve been arrested before for stealing.”
Every ounce of color drained from her face. “I was only sixteen when that happened. My friends dared me to steal some clothes from a shop, and I was stupid enough to do it.”
He nodded. “A very expensive shop, no less. It seems you have a liking for luxurious things you can’t afford,” he said, rolling the sparkling choker over his fingers thoughtfully. “And you failed to mention that crime in your application as a maid at Belford, didn’t you? Even though the question was asked, you lied.”
“I was sixteen years old!” she repeated, her voice shaking. Tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t tell Francesca I stole from her. I never took anything from her. I wouldn’t.”
“Shhh,” Gerard soothed, taking her hands and lifting her from the couch. He palmed her jaw and caressed her cheek with his thumb, drying a few spilled tears. “I won’t. There’s nothing to worry about. No real harm has been done.”
