The Ruby Locket (10 page)

Chapter Eighteen

Anne

G
lancing into Mom’s doorway, I caught her gazing into her vanity mirror, her eyes wide and unblinking, seeing something I couldn’t see. I knocked softly on the door frame, not wanting to startle her. The wedding was tomorrow and for the past few days Mom had acted jumpy and strange. And it seemed to be more than just cold feet. It was time for some “straight talk” with her, as my dad would have said.

              Mom met my eyes in the mirror. It took a moment for her gaze to focus and shake whatever reverie had held it. “Hello, darling.” A faint smile lifted a corner of her mouth.

              I entered the room and, seeing how dim it was, clicked on a floor lamp. “Hey Mom.” I plopped down on the bed. “How are you doing?”

              She swung around on the padded floral vanity bench to face me and tittered a laugh. “Why the same as I was at breakfast this morning, dear.”

              I gestured for her to elaborate. “Which is…happy or scared or numb or burdened with regret?”

              Reaching over and placing a clammy hand over my own, she said, “You have nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

              As anyone who has had experience with women knows, “fine” can mean any number of things. “But is this what you really want? To marry Ivan and be mistress of this gargantuan estate?” She’d told me that Ivan signed over the abbey to her as a pre-wedding gift. It was unbelievably generous. And a little strange.

              Mom plastered a look of certainty on her face. “Yes, it’s what I want. Although I have to admit I am intimidated by it all.” She squeezed my hand, earnestness sparking in her eyes. “But just imagine the education you’ll receive here, the opportunities you’ll have.”

              Cold realization rushed through me. “Mom, you aren’t just marrying Ivan for me are you?”

              She moved to the bed to wrap a thin arm around my shoulders. “No, no. Not
just
for you. But I’m your mother. You are a part of every single decision I make. It’s just the way it is.”

              I sighed, feeling both touched and afraid. “I get that. But I need to know if this is something you truly want.” I looked her in the eyes, searching for hesitation.

              She touched the emerald engagement ring on her finger. “Yes. I’m sure.”

              I firmed my lips. She hadn’t completely convinced me. But then again, she was a grown woman and ultimately, she had to make the decision for herself. “Okay,” I said and I patted her on the back, right between the shoulder blades. Dad used to do the same thing for me when I needed comfort. A sudden ache for my dad settled in the pit of my stomach like a brick, and tears pooled in the corners of my eyes. I usually never let Mom see my sadness so I turned my head and tried to blink the wetness away. But it was no use. The tears spilled onto my cheeks and down my chin, a steady stream.

              Mom held me closer and one of my teardrops splashed onto her thumb. “Oh honey. I miss him too.”

              For a while, we held each other and cried, rocking a little back and forth, like we were riding out the waves of grief together. Finally, when our tears had dried, we leaned against each other and just sat, quiet and still.

              Memories of my latest stint in the catacombs with Wyatt sprang to my mind. I had been debating whether I should tell Mom about the creepy room with all the etchings, where I’d found Ivan’s toy sailboat. I would have told her about our wild adventure right after it happened, but when I’d met up with Mom for lunch later that same day, she’d seemed so shaken that I didn’t want to burden her with more. She’d told me Miss Easton had been fired, although she never gave me a straight answer as to why. It must have been something pretty bad for Ivan to let go of the woman who’d run the abbey since his infancy, as well as help raise him.

              For some reason, after learning that Miss Easton had been dismissed, the disturbing discoveries I’d made—and Wyatt’s vague suspicions—didn’t seem as pressing. And after a couple of days had passed, the dark run through the tunnels beneath the abbey with Wyatt began to seem more and more like a strange dream, better left alone.

              Mom brought a hand to her temple, grimacing. “I’ve got a little headache. If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a nap. Wake me if you need anything.” She lay back on the downy pillows and I grabbed a light blanket to throw over her.

              As I tucked it around her shoulders, I decided to give her one warning and then wash my hands of it. “Mom, before you marry Ivan, promise me you’ll ask him about the catacombs.”

              Her brow creased. “What do you mean? Why?”

              I shook my head, not wanting to delve into it. “Just promise me.”

              Her eyes already half-lidded with sleep, Mom mumbled, “Okay, I promise, dear.”

              Squeezing her shoulder, I left and headed to my room through the spacious living room of the guest house, grabbing a chocolate from the crystal jar on the way. I could have been more specific with what I told Mom about the catacombs, but I didn’t want Ivan to figure out I’d been down there—just in case there was a chance he didn’t already know.

              I paused outside my open doorway. Did I just hear something? Like a door creaking shut inside my room? I stepped a quiet foot through the doorway. Beside the bed, there were curtained French doors leading out to the garden. They were both firmly closed and the room was empty.

              Weird. Must have been my imagination. Out of curiosity, I crept up to one of the doors and drew back the curtain to see a sliver of the garden outside.

              Vacant. Just a bubbling fountain.

              I shivered and sat on the bed, picking up my Ann Radcliffe book from the nightstand. Opening it up to where I’d left off, I read one word and then my eyes flicked back to the nightstand. Something was missing, something that usually sat near the bedside lamp. But what was it?
              Then it clicked in my mind. I’d put Ivan’s sailboat there, within the pool of light cast by the lamp. But it was gone.

              And in its place was the faintest odor of overripe fruit.

Chapter Nineteen

Anne

I
slipped my green dress over my head and straightened it. Sighing, I examined myself in the full-length mirror.

              Not bad, I guess. I hadn’t fully grown into myself yet. My legs and arms still held some of the knobbiness of youth. At least the color looked good on me. I spent a few fruitless minutes trying to artfully pin up my long hair, but I eventually gave up and let it fall loose and wavy around my shoulders.

              Part of me couldn’t believe today was the wedding. It was actually happening. I hadn’t realized until now, but I had partly suspected deep down that things wouldn’t work out—that Ivan would see how unsophisticated we were or Mom would change her mind. Being here had seemed so surreal. But it was now going to be my reality.

              I crossed the guest house, heading toward Mom’s room. I hadn’t told her about the possibility that Miss Easton had snuck into my room yesterday—after being fired—and stolen Ivan’s sailboat. It would open too many cans of worms. Like how did I get the sailboat in the first place? Besides, Miss Easton was rude but she was harmless. Right?

              Slipping into Mom’s room, my first glimpse of her caused a laugh to splutter from my lips, but I immediately slapped my hand over my mouth. Her wedding dress looked like a tacky white ball gown, with puffed shoulders and long sleeves that narrowed to a point at her wrists. And the skirt spilled out from her waist like a tulle waterfall.

              Hearing me, Mom swirled around, the skirt following like a clingy white cloud. A maid from the main house that I hadn’t met yet emerged from the bathroom, holding a curling iron and bobby pins. I greeted her with a smile and then said to Mom, “Um, you look….frothy.”

              Mom sighed and placed her face on her palm, her expression something between a crying cringe and a giggle. The maid reached over to gently pull away Mom’s hand. “Madam, please, your makeup.”

              “Oh sorry, Sylvia.” Picking at the fabric of her skirt, Mom told me, “Ivan designed it for me.”

              “Oh, Mom. Why wouldn’t he let you pick your own dress?”

              She lifted a shoulder, the puffed fabric brushing her cheek. “He just wants what’s best. I think he just has much older tastes than we do.”

              “I’ll say. But your makeup looks nice.”

              “All thanks to Sylvia. Do you need help getting ready?”

              “No, I just came to see if you needed anything.”

              Mom sat on the vanity bench at Sylvia’s bidding. “Oh, that’s sweet. Actually, you
can
do something for me. Would you mind taking these toiletries to my new bedroom in the main house?” She handed me a small blue bag.

              “Oh, you mean…you and Ivan’s—I mean Mr. Helsburg’s—bedroom?”

              Mom knotted her hands together. “Oh dear, is that strange for you? I’m sorry. Don’t worry about it then.”

              “No, it’s okay.” But it did feel strange being invited into the room when before it felt like high treason to even pass through it. “Is there a key in case it’s locked?”

              “I don’t know why it would be but yes, here’s one just in case.” She plucked up a key from her vanity.

              Mom apparently didn’t know how many doors Ivan kept locked. I took the heavy brass key from her. “Thanks. I’ll get on it.”

              “Thank you, Anne. And if I don’t see you again, remember to be at the chapel in thirty minutes.”

              “All right.” I shot her a smile and then left the guest house, crossing the path leading to the main house. But once I entered, I realized I had completely forgotten where Ivan’s bedroom was. And all of the servants were busy preparing the chapel for the wedding, so no one was around to ask.
              I power-walked around a corner and then smacked into Wyatt, my face planting itself into the starchiness of his tuxedo shirt. He righted me by the shoulders and stepped back.

              “Sorry about that,” I said. Was I blushing? In his tux, he looked almost…dashing. “You clean up nice. I guess.”

              He smirked. “You too. You look like a forest fairy or something.”

              I giggled. And then felt annoyed that I’d just giggled. Wyatt was going to be my stepbrother in less than an hour for goodness’ sake. I needed to cool it. “You should see my mom.”

              A hint of a shadow passed over his face. “Did Ivan design your mom’s dress too?”

              “Uh, yeah. He did for your mom?”

              “Yep. It was pounds of fabric. And a veil the length of the aisle.”

              I tried to smile, but I suddenly found it difficult. The repetition of circumstances was unsettling in a way. Then I remembered the task at hand. “I’m actually glad I ran into you. Can you point me in the direction of Ivan’s bedroom?” I held up the key and the bag.

              “How did you get the key?” Awe brightened his features.

              I shrugged. “My mom gave it to me.”

              He touched the key with his finger. “Seems too easy.” He pointed the way he had come. “It’s this way. I’ll take you.”

              I smiled as he led me around the corner. “You just want to poke around his bedroom.”

              “Maybe.”

              After a few turns, we came to the door I now recognized as the master bedroom. I inserted the key into the lock and opened the door. As I entered, I sucked in my breath, realizing I’d forgotten to knock. Thankfully, the room was empty.

              I held up the little blue bag. “I’ve just gotta put this in the bathroom. Don’t mess with anything.”

              Wyatt held up his hands. “Of course not.”

              I placed the bag on the long white marble countertop of the bathroom, checked my hair in the mirror, and then reentered the bedroom to find Wyatt pulling drawers open and rummaging roughly through them.

              “Wyatt, what did I just say?”

              He kept sifting. “I can’t deny who I am.” At first I thought he was joking around, but then he looked at me with serious eyes. “Listen, are you sure your mom wants to go through with marrying Ivan? I have a bad feeling.”

              Man, Wyatt sure
feels
a lot for being so insensitive. I sighed and started closing the drawers he’d opened. “Trust me, I asked her. But I can’t very well tell her not to marry Ivan because his stepson has a bad feeling about the wedding. It’s not a very convincing argument.”

              “I’m not an idiot. I realize that. I just wouldn’t feel right not saying something.” He jerked open another drawer in a bureau.

              A thought prodded at my mind, insistent. I had to ask. “Are you sure your bad feeling doesn’t have something to do with you no longer being the heir of Belrose Abbey?” I winced, waiting for a verbal backlash.

              But he continued pulling up stacks of clothes and knocking on the bottoms of the drawers, searching for false bottoms. “Since you don’t know me very well, I’m not going to yell at you for that comment.” He paused and looked at me. “Ivan told me that he’s already signed the abbey over to your mother. And the funny thing is, I’m not even that disappointed. This place has never been my home and it never will be. And besides, I’ve always suspected that Ivan would want an heir of his own.”

              I felt dense for not thinking of that before—wouldn’t Ivan want a child with my mom so that a blood relation would inherit the abbey? But he probably should have married a younger woman for that. Although Mom was pretty, she was already approaching menopause.

              I shifted my feet. “We should go. I’m pretty sure my mom wasn’t supposed to give me the key.” Then my eyes fell on the intricate silver box inlaid with rubies that I’d seen before on the nightstand, with the two hollowed hearts, their curved sides touching. Now that I was closer to it, the swirling designs in the silver reminded me of something. “Hey, did your mother’s locket come with that jewelry box?”

              Wyatt shoved a drawer closed, and his gaze followed my pointing finger. “I don’t know. But they look like they could be a set.”

              An idea bloomed in my mind, far-fetched and exhilarating. “Do you have the locket with you?”

              “As a matter of fact, I do.” He pulled it from his pocket—a supple silver strand strung with a heart-shaped locket, which was encrusted with a large ruby.

              I held out my hand, and after a little hesitation, he placed it on my palm, as if he were trusting me with a piece of himself. I opened the locket, knelt in front of the nightstand, and placed the two halves of the locket into the hollowed hearts, like I was putting pieces into a Fisher Price toy.

              They fit perfectly.

              I pressed the locket into the hollows and there was a tiny click. The top of the box popped open half an inch.

              Behind me, Wyatt gaped. “First the drawer and now this? How do you keep doing it?”

              I stood and shrugged, my hands trembling with the excitement of discovery. “I don’t know. I guess I read all the right books.” I gestured for him to search the box. “Since this jewelry box was most likely your mom’s, you should do the honors.”

              Wyatt approached it, with an expression of such pain and anticipation on his face that I had to look away. This felt like a private moment, between him and the memory of his mom.

              He flipped open the lid and stared into the box.

              A moment passed, and I couldn’t contain myself. “What’s in it?”

              “No jewelry, but there’s this.” He pulled out a small diary, dwarfed by his hand.

              I rushed toward him. “That’s even better.” Everything in me wanted to rifle through its pages, but I glued my hands to my sides. Wyatt should be the one to read Celeste’s words.

              He sank onto the edge of the bed and with shaking hands, he opened the diary and thumbed through it until he found the last written page. “This entry is from the day she died.”

              “Wait, don’t you want to start from the beginning?”

              He swallowed hard. “I have to know what happened.”

              And then, to my surprise, he began to read aloud.

              “‘
July 12, 2009,

              I’m being watched. At first I thought it was my imagination, being in such a large, old house. But last night at dinner with Ivan, I looked up at my new portrait hanging high on the wall, and I saw someone else’s eyes instead of my own. And I could have sworn I saw them blink. But when I looked at it only moments later, I saw my own eyes again. Am I losing my mind?

              I have to remain calm for Wyatt. Right now, I am the only stable thing in my boy’s life. He needs me. Thankfully he seems pretty oblivious to my paranoia.

              Ivan has seemed distant and cool this past week—I only see him at dinner and bedtime. A horrible truth is beginning to dawn on me—one that I have avoided writing, since writing things down seems to make them more true: Ivan is not the same man that I married a mere three weeks ago. And sometimes when I catch him looking at me, I see an odd hunger shining in eyes. And not the kind of hunger that makes a woman blush. The kind of hunger that makes one’s blood freeze. But surely this feeling is only my newfound paranoia. I must tamp it down.

              On a lighter note, this morning Ivan invited me to join him for dinner this evening. It will be candlelit and intimate—with just Miss Easton serving—and he says the location is a surprise. Perhaps this dinner will quiet the paranoid whispers running through my head.’”

              Finished, Wyatt let his hands fall to his lap, losing his spot in the diary, his fingers curling around the pages.

              After a moment, I stated the obvious, in awe. “That is not the sort of diary entry I’d expect from a woman about to commit suicide. She couldn’t have killed herself.”

              Wyatt remained stone still, staring at nothing.