I run out of the room, to the hall, and lean out over the railing. Maybe it’s knowing I spent a peaceful night with him, in his house, for the first time ever, maybe it’s that amazing scent that does all sorts of things to my insides, I’m not sure. But, whatever it is, I want to see Jeremy.
“Jeremy?” I call out. “Jeremy, are you still here?”
I strain my ears in eager anticipation of his reply. Instead, a different voice greets me… though one that is no less familiar.
“Mr. Stonehart left for the office about ten minutes ago, Miss Ryder.” I spin around and see Rose walking towards me. “I’m afraid to say that you just missed him.”
“Rose!” I exclaim, and rush over to wrap my arms around her. I might not get Jeremy this morning, but seeing Rose is the next best thing.
“Oh!” she grunts as we collide. She pats my back. “I’ve missed you too, my dear,” she says.
I release her and step away. So much has happened in those last few weeks that somehow, I expected Rose to look different.
Nope. She is the same as ever, in that black-and-white maid’s uniform and gray bun of hair atop her head. It’s almost shocking to see her exactly as before.
A sudden stab of guilt pinches my stomach. Am I more excited to see Rose than I was to see Fey?
“You look wonderful with a tan,” Rose says. She brings her hands up and touches my hair. “And the sun has lightened your hair.” She gives a coy smile. “No wonder Mr. Stonehart kept you there an extra week.”
I blush suddenly, and then giggle. Maybe the reason I’m so excited to see Rose is because I don’t need to pretend to be anyone but who I am with her. I don’t need to watch how I act, or what I say. I can be… well, free.
And freedom is a concept of the highest importance to me.
Without warning, Rose’s good cheer disappears. She frowns a little, and then narrows her eyes.
“What?” I say, still holding the smile on my face. “Rose, what is it? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
She shakes her head and looks away. “Nothing,” she says quickly. “Just surprised a little. That’s all.”
“Surprised?” I crane my neck to the side. “By what?”
Rose shakes her head again. “It’s… nothing.” She clears throat. Her eyes dart to the spot she’d once shown me which contained a hidden camera. “Nothing.” I get another smile. “Come,” she says, taking my hand. “Charles has breakfast ready for you, and I’m dying to hear about your trip.”
***
Over a delicious breakfast of waffles and fruit, I recount to Rose everything that happened post-Portland. I don’t mention Paul, or the revelation that he is my father. If Rose knows about him, so be it. But I’m not about to volunteer that information yet.
Something’s changed in Rose’s demeanor, though. She tries to hide it, tries to be as she is usually, but she seems… nervous. A tad uneasy. She smiles and nods while I speak, commenting at all the right places. But, her eyes are constantly shifting. She squirms in her seat when she looks at me, almost as if she’s in the same room with a languid cobra. If she remains still and doesn’t disturb it, there won’t be any trouble… but one wrong, sudden move, and it will strike.
I can’t take the subtle-but-growing discomfort any longer. I should feel like I’m connecting with her as I recount my trip, not drifting farther apart.
I stop my story right before the night of the gala. I put my fork down, “Okay, Rose,” I say. “Tell me the truth. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, Miss Ryder,” she says, too quickly. It’s almost as if she’d been expecting the question. “Why would you think something’s wrong?”
“Well, for one, you’re as fidgety as a choir girl before the priest. Did something happen while I was away?”
“No,” she shakes her head. “Things are the same as ever here. Nothing’s changed.”
“Something’s changed,” I press. She flinches slightly, and looks away.
“There, see!” I exclaim, pointing right at her. “You did it again. Is it Charles? Did something happen between the two of you?”
“No,” she says, folding her hands into her lap. Then, without warning, she stands up.
“I just remembered,” she starts. “I left the washing machine running, and I need to…”
“Sit down, Rose,” I say. I don’t know where such assertiveness has come from. Maybe it’s a by-product of spending so much time with Jeremy. “I know for a fact you don’t have anywhere to go. Besides, you can’t run from me. We’re both in the same house together. If you really have to do the laundry—” I stand as well, “—then I’ll go with you.”
“Oh, no,” she says, shaking her head. She looks really nervous now. “Mr. Stonehart would be very angry with me if I let you do any chores.”
“That’s not what I’m saying!” I say, exasperated. “And since when have you been frightened of Jeremy? From what he said, you were the one who forced him to release me from the dark.”
“I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She dry washes her hands. I have never seen Rose so discomfited.
“Oh, come on,” I say, incredulous now. “You live on Jeremy’s property. I’ve seen you in the guesthouse with Charles. It’s obvious both of you are tied to Jeremy in ways I don’t even know. Why else would he trust you with so much of himself? You told me once that Jeremy doesn’t entertain here—that he has an apartment in the city for that. I know you’re more than just a housekeeper, Rose. You have to be. Jeremy wouldn’t have kept you around for twenty years if you weren’t.”
“Would you stop calling him that!” Rose exclaims. I jump in surprise. It’s the first time I’ve ever heard her raise her voice.
“What?” I say quickly regaining my composure. “Jeremy? That’s his name, isn’t it?”
“Not to you,” she hisses. “He’s not Jeremy. He’s Mr. Stonehart. Mr. Stonehart, and nothing else. Do you hear me?” She jabs a finger at me. “Do you understand?”
Then she catches herself. Her eyes go wide. Both hands whip up to cover her mouth.
Without another word, she spins back and runs out of the room.
I stare after her, speechless. What the hell was that all about?
I listen as her rapid footsteps fade from hearing. I don’t follow, even though I want to. She needs time to cool down, first.
But I definitely have to get to the bottom of things.
She’d been so compassionate, so caring, so understanding toward me before. Yet now, it’s as if she sees me as a different person.
I start towards the kitchen to find Charles. Maybe he’ll be willing to talk to me.
I stop halfway there. I’d forgotten Charles is deaf. And though I’m sure he can read my lips, I don’t know sign language. Would he be willing to speak—can he speak? Or is he mute, as well?
Well, I figure there’s no time like the present to find out. It would be good to at least say hello.
I wander through the vast space. Once or twice, I catch myself ready to call his name before stopping short. He wouldn’t be able to hear me. Still, it feels like the natural thing to do when looking for someone.
The kitchen, as always, looks absolutely pristine. The stainless steel appliances all gleam in the morning sun, and there’s not a smudge of dirt anywhere. The countertops are clean, the sink is empty. In short, it looks like a show room.
I wonder what Charles does when he’s not cooking. I mean, it can’t take that much to prepare meals for just one man. One woman, too--if I were to count myself.
There has to be more to the Rose-Charles-Jeremy triangle than what I know. Has to. I’ve always suspected it. Only now, without the collar, do I find myself in a strong enough position to find out.
Wait. I take in a sharp breath. The collar. The missing collar. That’s what threw Rose off!
I think back to when she first greeted me by the railing. She commented on my tan, on my hair. Her eyes dropped to my neck… and that’s
when she started acting strange.
A newfound determination pulses through me as I resume my search. Every time Rose broke eye contact in the dining room, I thought she was glancing at the floor. Only now do I realize that what she was actually doing was glancing… at my neck.
Holy shit! That means she did know! The lying cow! She knew everything Jeremy was doing to me the entire time!
And she dared to fake sympathy? She dared to act like she had no clue about my captivity?
The betrayal stings more than anything Jeremy did. She wasn’t just a passive, unwitting housekeeper. The whole time, she was actually working with Jeremy. Working with the man who was keeping me prisoner.
Hell! They probably conspired on the whole good-cop, bad-cop thing.
Anger builds inside me. At Rose, and at Jeremy. He’d arranged the whole thing with her so that I would think I had a friend. He’d arranged it all with her so that I would think I have an accomplice.
At least Jeremy was up front about everything he’s done to me. Only Rose was cowardly enough to feign ignorance.
Fuck! It means my initial suspicions about her were right. Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I should have trusted my gut. I should never have fallen victim to my need for a friend, a confidant, someone I could trust—or, whom I thought I could trust—when in reality, that person was the one I needed to watch out for most.
Knowing as much as I do about Jeremy, I am sure he would have had everything about my imprisonment planned, down to the most infinitesimal detail. Of course he wouldn’t allow some random housekeeper to know about me, to communicate with me, after going through such pains to control every other facet of my being.
That is the only way Rose’s change in attitude this morning makes any sense. She saw me without the collar and freaked out, because… because…
Because Jeremy never warned her.
He never intended to take the collar off on the trip. He’s deviated from his plan. And Rose wasn’t expecting that.
I stop again. Fuck! I need a drink! I look around the kitchen, searching for a bottle of scotch, or wine, or something strong enough to steady my nerves. I’ve never been a big drinker—obviously not, going through what I did with my mother. However, time spent with Jeremy at the villa, with the abundance of wine, seems to have whet my appetite for liquor.
I find what I’m looking for in the top shelf of an enormous cabinet. I’m not tall enough to reach the row of bottles, however. I think of the bar in the basement, right beside the pool, and consider trekking down there instead—when the sound of movement makes me turn my head.
Speak of the devil. It’s Charles, walking into the kitchen, carrying a full crate of frozen meat.
He stops when he sees me. A look of surprise flashes along his face, and then he smiles wide.
“Lilly,” he says after a moment. “It is good to see you.”
His voice is thick and he speaks very slowly. The pronunciation of syllables is off enough that it takes me a few extra seconds to make out the words. He speaks a tad too loudly.
But at least he does speak! I beam at him in excitement, all need for a drink forgotten. Finally, I have someone else to talk to, someone else who knows the goings-on of the Stonehart estate from the inside!
“Charles!” I exclaim. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.” I look down at the crate. “Why do you have so much meat?”
He smiles at me, then shakes his head, and points to his lips. “I have to see your mouth to understand you,” he says. It sounds like he’s talking through a mouthful of soup.
I hit the side of my head and feel like an idiot. Well, duh.
“I’m sorry,” I say, brushing my hair aside to give him a clear view of my face. “I said I’m very happy to see you. I wanted to thank you for a wonderful breakfast.”
He stands tall at the praise. “It was nothing,” he tells me. “It is a pleasure to cook for a beauty like you.”
This time, it’s my turn to blush at the compliment. I give him a shy smile and run a hand through my hair.
“Did you come in here looking for something?” he asks me. He looks at the open cabinet behind me, evidence of my liquor search. “Those,” he says, his eyes glinting with mirth, “are all cooking wines.”
Cooking wine. Cooking wine! Of course the kitchen would be stocked with cooking wine, and not real drinks.
“Or are you still hungry?” he continues. “Jeremy told me of the provisions about your weight, but…” he winks at me, “…I think I can make an exception. This time, for you, if you can keep a secret.”
“There are enough secrets going around without us adding to them,” I mutter under my breath.
Charles clears his throat. “Sorry?” he asks.
I shake my head and speak clearly. “Nothing. You call him Jeremy, too?”
“Of course.” Charles frowns. “He calls me Charles, and I call him Jeremy. Why would anything else make sense?”
“So he’s not Mr. Stonehart?”
Charles’s eyebrows go up. And then, he begins to laugh. It’s a bit of a strange sound, coming from a deaf man. Somehow, its sheer honesty is comforting. I start to smile.
“Oh, no,” he tells me. “No, no. I’ve known the lad since he was just a child, no taller than my knee.” He holds a hand parallel to the ground at knee-level. “He was little Jeremy then, and even though he’s grown much since…” Charles’s hand slowly moves up until it’s hovering above his head, “He will always be little Jeremy to me.”
He winks again. “But do not tell him I mentioned that. He hates to be called little anything.”
I stare at Charles in amazement. He knew Jeremy when he was a kid? That means he watched him grow, saw him when he was still under his father’s influence. Hell, it means he knew him longer than Rose!
And he is so unguarded about it. Is Charles the treasure trove of information I need? Is he the one I’ve been looking for to give me an unfiltered, unabridged look at Jeremy Stonehart’s history?
“Charles,” I say carefully. “If I ask you a question, would you be willing to answer honestly?”
“Honesty is what I prefer,” he tells me. “So I will do my best. What would you like to know? Where I keep the sugar cookies, maybe?”
I laugh and shake my head. “No. Nothing like that. It’s something simple: How did you come under Jeremy’s employment?”
Charles looks affronted. “That is what you had to preface by asking for the truth? I’d be happy to tell you all I know of Jeremy.” He makes a wide, arcing gesture above his head with both hands. “You have been with us long enough that I do not think you will be running anywhere. Employment, you want to know? That is easy. He hired me away from his father.”
His father. Oh my God, will I finally learn about the man who had such influence, such sway, over Jeremy Stonehart?
“You knew his father?” I ask, astonished. “What was his name? What was he like?”
“Ah,” Charles spreads his hands and offers an apologetic look. “That is one thing I have been told not to speak about. Jeremy does not like reminders of his life before he crafted this—” Charles motions around the monstrous kitchen, “—for himself. I am sorry, Lilly.”
“That’s okay,” I say weakly. Damn, I knew it wouldn’t be that easy. “What can you tell me about Jeremy, then? Was he always so…” I search for the right word. “… Domineering?”
“Oh, no,” Charles chuckles. “He was definitely not always like this. Everything changed the first year he went to college.”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Well,” Charles leans back against the countertop. “’Little Jeremy’ was his nickname growing up. Because he was the youngest. Do you know about his brothers?”
I nod. “He told me.”
“There were three boys, all together. His brothers were born just two years apart. They were inseparable, and brilliant. They were amazing sportsmen. They made their father very proud. In school, they got the h
ighest grades. Anything they set their minds to, they accomplished.”
“That sounds a lot like someone I know,” I say. “What were their names?”
“Robert,” Charles says. “And Christopher. Robert was the oldest.”
“And Jeremy?” I ask. “How old were they when he was born?”
Charles thinks for a moment. “Let’s see… I remember Robert’s acceptance into the prestigious prep school around the time Jeremy was born. So that would have made him… thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there?”
“Wow,” I say. “That’s quite an age difference.”
“It is,” Charles agrees. “That’s what started the nickname. It was used lovingly at first. But, I remember, as they all grew up in the same house… it gained more and more scorn.”
“Why?” I ask. “I know Jeremy did not get along with his brothers or father. But I don’t know why that was.”
Charles hesitates. “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he hedges.
“Oh, come on,” I pout. I like Charles. I like his unassuming attitude. His honesty is a breath of fresh air. I also think he likes me. So, I play up that angle. “Please?” I beg.
He looks around the room. “Okay,” he finally nods. “But you must promise not a word of this gets to Rose. If she finds out what I’m saying…”
“My lips are sealed.” I make a zipping motion across them. “I swear. This’ll be between me and you.” I pause, remembering something. “But… you do know about the cameras. Right?”
“It is not Jeremy I am worried about,” Charles says, shaking his head. “Besides, there are no cameras in here.”
I blink. “What?”
He smiles. “A chef requires complete privacy to master his creations. Otherwise, how would I be able to surprise you with my cooking?”
“You’re serious?” I say, feeling super skeptical. “There are really no cameras in here?” I remember Rose pausing not five feet away from where we stand and glancing to the corner of the ceiling, the time she gave me my first tour of the house.
Uncovering You 6: Deliverance Page 9
