A Lamentation of Swans

by Valerie Bronwen

  No one did, so I wolfed it down and grabbed a bottle of wine from the kitchen to take back upstairs with me. I drank three glasses of wine while checking my email and social media accounts and was a bit woozy when I closed the laptop and put the cork back into the bottle. It was still raining, and the constant patter of rain against my windows, and the occasional blast of wind around the corner of the house, were kind of soothing. I put on the Chicago Bears football jersey I always slept in, and got under the covers. I switched off the light and stared at the ceiling.

  It didn’t surprise me that I had trouble falling asleep that night.

  The bed in the green room was comfortable, of course, and the high-thread count Egyptian cotton sheets and velvet covers felt warm and soft. I’d forgotten, though, how cold it always seemed to be at Sea Oats. I don’t know if it was the high ceilings or the fact the building was so old, but when the temperature dropped I never could get warm inside the house. The wind and rain were still whipping around the house, rattling the big windows, and I lay there for what seemed like hours, waiting to fall asleep. I would have thought the three glasses of wine would have helped, but my mind didn’t want to shut down.

  Seeing Charlotte again, Angus being killed…either would have been enough to make me sleepless; the combination of the two was enough to keep me awake through the weekend, probably.

  Charlotte had looked…good. There had been that small part of me, the part I don’t like to admit to anyone is there, that hoped she would look a wreck, like losing me had been such a horrible thing that it would show on her face, in her figure.

  Terrible, I knew. Not one of the parts of my personality that I was proud of, but it was true.

  She not only looked good, she looked fantastic, even better than I remembered. The additional gray in her hair was sexy, and she looked like she was in even better physical condition than when we’d been together. So many memories flashed through my head, like a crazy kaleidoscope. Her climbing out of the pool at the villa we’d rented in Panzano, Italy, for our honeymoon, the water droplets scattered over her trim, strong muscles, the rising of gooseflesh in the cool wind as she shook water from her hair. Her coming out of the shower in the hotel room in Venice where we’d gone next, standing in the window looking at the fireworks celebrating the Festival of the Redeemer, her arm around my waist, my head nestled into the space between her shoulder and her neck, smelling her clean skin, feeling her body heat. The way it felt having her warmth beside me in our bed every night, and how much I hated sleeping alone now…All of it making me realize I still loved her, I still wanted her, that I had made a horrible mistake in walking out of her life two years ago, that I had spent the last two years convincing myself I was happy and could get on with my life.

  I’d been lying to myself the entire time.

  And seeing her looking so good, so sexy, so beautiful, like she not only wasn’t upset I’d left but had also thrived without me, was just another twist of the knife in my heart. Which also meant I was a terrible person. She looked like she hadn’t even lost a night’s sleep about me, and my biggest fear—that she was glad I was gone, had washed her hands of the whole mess, and moved on—was, apparently, the truth.

  It wasn’t the most mature attitude, and I wasn’t sure I liked what it said about me as a person, but it was how I felt.

  I shouldn’t have run away. I should have stayed and fought for my marriage.

  Now it was too late.

  So, why was I staying? Why didn’t I just take my suitcase and have Joseph drive me to the LIRR station, head back into the city to my life and my career, and forget about Sea Oats and Charlotte Swann?

  Because…because I wasn’t going to leave until and unless Charlotte asked me to.

  The fact she hadn’t filed for divorce had to count for something, right? No matter how angry she’d been two years ago, she still had to have some feelings for me, didn’t she?

  You always throw away happiness with both hands, my mother had said to me once, when I was a teenager, exasperated with whatever drama was going on in my life at the time. I couldn’t even remember what it was, but I’d never forgotten my mother saying that to me. Sometimes I heard it in my sleep. Sometimes, when I was feeling emotional and needed to make a decision, I stopped and ask myself, Are you throwing happiness away? Is that logical? Are you being irrational? Are you going to regret this?

  If I had stopped and asked myself that the night I ran away from Sea Oats, I might have stayed. And had I stayed, how differently would things have worked out?

  God, what a fool I’d been.

  I’d never stopped loving Charlotte. Sure, I pretended like I didn’t care, that I was over it, but now that I’d seen her again? I couldn’t pretend even to myself anymore.

  I loved her. I still wanted her, desired her, wanted to feel her body next to mine in bed at night, wanted to feel her lips against mine, her firm breasts in my hands, our mouths on each other’s bodies. I wanted to make up, I wanted her to tell me she loved me and wanted me back, I wanted everything the way it had once been.

  I didn’t want a divorce.

  I didn’t want to leave.

  But it was too late now.

  I sat up in the bed and brooded, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them. Running away had made me look guilty, hadn’t it? Of course Bast wasn’t going to be honest about what happened, and Peggy was going to believe anything Bast said the way she always did, but Charlotte…that was what had hurt me the most. Sure, we hadn’t been getting along. Sure, I was being childish about how busy she was with her work and that she wasn’t spending enough time with me. If I’d been a little more mature, a little more adult, I would have seen that her job required a lot of her time and it wasn’t personal. I should have gone back to work myself. I shouldn’t have quit my job in the first place. Hollis herself had warned me, when I gave her my notice after our whirlwind three-month courtship and marriage. “You’re going to need more than just being a wife,” she’d said, but I’d not taken her words seriously. Hollis was devoted to her work to the exclusion of everything else; she was on her fourth husband and the rumor around the office was this marriage, barely two years old, was already in trouble, and she was talking to her lawyers. But she had been right. Part of the problem was I was bored, and instead of going back to work or finding something useful to do with my time…

  No, there was no sense in rehashing all that again. The past couldn’t be changed, only the future. And I needed to sit down and talk to Charlotte about everything, and put an end to the marriage.

  I lay back down and closed my eyes, and drifted off into an odd half sleep, where I was kind of asleep and dreaming but also partially awake and aware. It wasn’t restful, but my mind, my dreams, seemed particularly vivid.

  I was outside the hedge maze, afraid to go inside but somehow, for some reason, I knew I had to, whether I wanted to or not. Old Angus was there suddenly, at my side, repeating those words over and over again in his hoarse whiskey-raw voice. The answer’s in the maze, the answer’s in the maze, and then a shadow fell over both of us. I was afraid and I ran to the entrance into the maze, and behind me I heard Angus cry out and there was a bone-crushing thud and I knew he’d just been murdered, and the killer was coming for me next. I ran into the maze and around a corner. The maze was tall enough to block out the sun and it was cold in there. Everything was in shadows so I could barely see. I moved quickly, because I could hear him coming, looking for me, calling my name.

  Ariel…where are you, Ariel? You can’t hide from me forever.

  I was terrified, absolutely terrified, and I went around a corner and then—

  A loud crash in the hallway woke me from the dream and I sat up straight in the bed, reaching for the switch on the lamp next to the bed.

  I grabbed my robe and hurried to the door. I opened it, and the hallway was empty. But I could hear noise from downstairs. The grandfather clock in the hallway showed it was just after two.

&
nbsp; Who was up at this hour downstairs?

  And then I caught the faint smell of smoke.

  I grabbed my tennis shoes and my jacket and headed for the back staircase. The smoke smell wasn’t strong so I doubted the house was on fire, but it was still best to get down from the third floor just in case. As I reached the landing at the second floor I could hear more voices coming from downstairs—people were in the kitchen. I hurried down as fast as I could go and burst through the kitchen door. Peggy was pouring herself a cup of coffee, and a young woman I didn’t know was sitting at the kitchen table.

  “You just missed Charlotte,” Peggy said, glancing at me as she sat down at the table. “Help yourself to coffee.”

  “I’m good. What’s going on?” I sat down at the table.

  “The shed is on fire,” the other woman replied. She was in her nightgown, which left very little to the imagination, and she didn’t look like she’d been asleep. “I’m Kayla.” She narrowed her eyes curiously. “You must be Ariel.”

  “I am,” I replied. Her frank way of staring at me was making me uncomfortable. She was beautiful in a strangely waifish way, with enormous eyes and a head that seemed almost too large for her slender body. She had long reddish-blond hair sloppily parted in the center, and she wasn’t wearing any makeup. Her skin was incredible. Even in the late night kitchen lighting, it glowed. “Your Vogue cover was gorgeous.”

  “Thanks,” she replied in her childish voice. She seemed younger than she must have been—but then she could have started as a young teen.

  “What shed is on fire?”

  “Charlotte’s office,” Peggy clarified tiredly. “The fire department is on their way, but I think it’s under control.”

  “Arson,” Kayla said.

  “We don’t know that, Kayla,” Peggy said, her voice sharp. “Coffee, Ariel?”

  I shook my head. “No, thanks. I just heard some commotion—but if it’s under control, maybe I’ll just try to go back to sleep.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Kayla said. She got up and tucked her arm through mine. “There’s nothing going on around here.”

  She was taller than I was, but not by much. “Is Bast here?”

  “No, he got hung up in the city and he’ll be out tomorrow in the morning.” She yawned. Her teeth were glistening white and as perfect as the rest of her. “I know all about what happened with you and Bast, you know.”

  We’d reached the first landing and my heart sank. “I—”

  “I’ve heard his story, is what I mean.” She cut me off with a wink and a smile. “Bast tells his own lies so often he starts believing they’re true. He’s convinced himself you threw yourself at him.” When I started to splutter she cut me off again. “I’m sure it was all Bast, it almost always is, but he had to tell that lie to Charlotte and now he’s told it so many times he believes it.” She laughed. “I think part of the reason he loves me is because I see through his bullshit.”

  I didn’t trust myself to answer. I was still angry with him—it wasn’t entirely his fault, but I’d been stupid to trust him.

  We reached the third floor and walked down the hallway to my door. “I’m on the other end.” She impulsively hugged me. “I hope we’re going to be friends.”

  “That would be nice,” I replied and escaped into my room. I walked over to the window and looked out. Of course, I couldn’t see anything.

  I sat back down on the bed.

  Charlotte thought someone had been searching through her office. Someone had killed Angus, and now her office had been set on fire.

  What on earth was going on at Sea Oats?

  Chapter Five

  I fell back into that awful, restless half-sleep.

  It was a horrible night of tossing and turning and waking up, it seemed, every half hour from this horrific nightmare that somehow managed to start over again each time I fell back into sleep, like the DVR in my brain hit pause every time I woke up and play every time my mind lapsed into the right stage of sleep. In the dream, I was inside the maze—that horrible, horrible green monstrosity—and someone was after me, trying to kill me, and I couldn’t find my way out. The hedge seemed alive, the branches and leaves reaching for me, trying to twist around my wrists and ankles and drag me down, and magically I seemed to sometimes have a machete to cut myself free, but I had to be quiet and careful so the person who was after me wouldn’t find me, but I could hear him, his heavy breathing, calling for me, Ariel…Ariel…why are you hiding from me Ariel come out come out from wherever you are Ariel you can’t hide from me forever come out Ariel…

  I sat up in bed with a start, my heart racing and my hands shaking, in a cold sweat. At first I didn’t know where I was, lost and disoriented, just aware that I wasn’t in my bed, my apartment, panting as the adrenaline from the nightmare faded away, leaving me shaking slightly.

  I shook my head, trying to shake the cobwebs and the last vestiges of the horror from my mind.

  Someone knocked on the door, and I remembered finally that I was at Sea Oats.

  “Just a moment,” I called, reaching for my robe as I slid out of bed. My hair was slightly damp, and I glanced at the time on my phone. It was just before nine, and I ran fingers through my hair in a desperate attempt to look, if not presentable, then human at least.

  “Miss Ariel, it’s Maeve. Miss Peggy thought you might prefer having breakfast in your room this morning, rather than coming down.”

  Peggy was still, apparently, very thoughtful. It was part of the reason I’d believed she was my friend back when I lived here.

  I opened the door. “Thank you, Maeve—be sure to thank Peggy for me.”

  Maeve’s eyes were red and swollen, and her hair was loose and down, rather than pulled back into the sensible bun she usually sported. I started to take the silver serving tray from her but she shifted slightly with a shake of her head. “If you want to get back into bed, I can set it up for you.”

  Defeated, I stepped aside so she could enter. “You can just put it on the desk,” I said. “I haven’t even had time to wash my face so…” I watched as she set the tray down. The coffee smelled heavenly, and my stomach growled. Maeve was an amazing cook. I’d have to be careful or I’d regain the ten pounds I’d finally lost after leaving Sea Oats. “Are you all right? Shouldn’t you have stayed home from work today?”

  She shook her head. “Work is the best thing for me, Miss Ariel,” she replied. “If I stayed home all I would do is wallow, and that never comes to a good end, I find.” She nodded. “Keeping busy—that way I don’t have time to stop and feel bad.” She hesitated, and her eyes filled with tears. “I just…I just don’t know who would want to do such a thing. Angus was difficult, sure, but not so that someone would kill him. It just doesn’t make any sense to me.” She wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “My apologies, Miss Ariel. My troubles aren’t yours.”

  “If there’s anything I can do—”

  She shook her head and slipped out the door.

  I felt useless.

  I’d never understood, or liked, or been comfortable with, the separation between the servers and the served at Sea Oats. I hadn’t grown up with servants, obviously, and I thought I hadn’t gotten used to it. But now, with Maeve clearly grieving for her cousin, I wasn’t sure what was the right thing to do. Should I have hugged her, or would that have been crossing some line I didn’t know or understand? I couldn’t believe Peggy had allowed her to come to work.

  On the other hand, Peggy had known her for years, so she probably knew better than I did. Still, it seemed almost inhuman in a way.

  Marrying Charlotte, I reflected as I walked into the bathroom, had been an enormous mistake. I didn’t belong at a place like Sea Oats. I had more in common with the staff than I did with the family. I’d grown up in the Midwest, in suburban Kansas. My mother would have laughed at the idea of anyone else cleaning her house or cooking for her family. My first job had been waiting tables when I was sixteen, and I’d waited
tables all the way through college. I’d never gotten used to the idea of having staff, of acting like they didn’t exist, talking about personal things like they weren’t there. Maeve didn’t work weekends, but she was always at the house from early in the morning on Monday till late, every night. She oversaw the cleaning crew from the service that came in three days a week, she cooked all the meals, did all the shopping, and the house ran like a clock.

  For twelve months, the woman had cooked my meals, made sure my clothes were laundered, had picked up after me and never complained, never had a cross expression on her face—and I didn’t know if she was married, had children, anything personal about her.

  I didn’t even know how old she was.

  The only personal things I knew about her—like she was related to Angus and some of the other groundskeepers—I’d picked up from things members of the family had said or conversations I’d overheard between her and them.

  Was this the kind of person I wanted to be, spoiled and unconcerned about the staff, thinking of them only in terms of how they could make my life easier, how well they waited on me?

  No, it wasn’t.

  I’d been uncomfortable with the staff when I’d come here to live, not sure how to talk to them or how to address them, and I’d disliked giving them orders. Peggy had a natural gift for dealing with the staff, effortlessly giving orders in a light, pleasant way that made them seem like suggestions more than anything else. Charlotte was the same—even Bast managed to make orders sound like a request. Even after a year, I’d not quite managed to get past my discomfort. I’d been raised to clean up after myself, and it was strange to leave dirty dishes on the table or to not make my own bed or do my own laundry. I’d always liked doing those things, once I got past my resentment about my mother making me do them. I’d used to think how lovely it would be to have people to do that for me. But the reality wasn’t quite what I’d expected.