Annie's Song (36 page)

It wasn’t the haphazard rattling about that one would expect from a servant. It was more a stealthy sound, as if someone were searching for something and desperately afraid of being heard. Alex followed the noise to the dining room.

Pushing open the door, he stepped inside. Enough moonlight came in through the partially draped French windows to illuminate the room, which made lighting a lamp unnecessary. A man hunkered before the sideboard. Beside him on the floor rested a white bag, into which he was stuffing objects he withdrew from the cabinets. Recognizing him instantly by the tawny cast of his hair, Alex wasn’t certain which emotion was stronger within him, anger or sadness. After loving his brother so long and so well, it was no easy task to completely despise him, no matter what he had done.

“Douglas,” he finally said, “what the hell are you doing?”

His brother withdrew from the cupboard so abruptly he cracked his head. Swearing under his breath, he clamped a hand over the smarting spot. “Alex?”

“Who do you suppose?’’ Alex folded his arms over his bare chest. “You should probably wrap the crystal in something. The good linen, perhaps? Clattering around in that bag, some of the pieces may get chipped.”

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“What crystal? A few pieces, and that’s it. And hardly any silver. I swear Alex, for a man of means, you spare pitifully few coins for finery.”

“I apologize. How shortsighted and inconsiderate of me.”

Douglas pushed to his feet. After standing there for a second, looking defiant, he rubbed his nose with his sleeve. “As you have probably guessed, I’ve met with financial difficulties.”

An ache filled Alex’s chest. If only his brother would beg for forgiveness and promise to straighten up. If he’d just reveal some sign of guilt or—Alex cut the thought short. It was a path he had walked a thousand times, and he knew where it would end. The heartbreak of it was that, regardless, he wanted and needed to forgive him. This was his brother, not some stranger. He had told him bedtime stories when he was small, taught him to ride his first horse, watched him grow to manhood. To forget all that, to pretend it had never happened, was impossible.

“If you need some money, Douglas, I have some loose cash in the safe,” he offered gruffly.

“You’d give it to me? When I saw that you’d changed the safe—well, I figured it was because—”

“I might be afraid you’d sneak in and steal me blind?” Alex finished for him.

Douglas had the good grace to look a little shamefaced. “I would’ve taken only enough to get by.”

Alex was tempted to say that he also believed pigs could fly. But his brother’s lack of compunction was beside the point. Not that he was entirely sure what the point was. Aside from the fact that he was a fool, of course. Where Douglas was concerned, it seemed he always would be. Since the day of their father’s death, Alex had been trying to atone for the loss, never able to forget, even for a moment, that he was responsible. Guilt had a way of grabbing hold of a man and never letting go.

He sighed and thought fleetingly of Annie. Loving her as he did, it was wrong to give Douglas anything.

Wrong. If she saw his brother in this house, Alex doubted she would ever forgive him, and he wouldn’t blame her. Douglas had raped her, cruelly, consciencelessly. To help him in any way was a betrayal of the worst kind, and Alex knew it. On the other hand, he couldn’t hate his own brother so much that he would see him beggared and starving.

“Come to the study. I’ll give you some cash and a bank draft. Then I want you out of here, Douglas.”

Hearing a slight clatter, Alex turned back from the doors in amazement. “Leave the silver, for Christ’s sake. I said I’d give you some money.”

Praying that Annie, with her uncanny ability to detect vibrations in the floor, wouldn’t awaken and wander out to the landing to see who was there, Alex hustled his brother through the hall and into his study. Closing the doors, he wasted no time in approaching the safe. As he turned the dial, taking care to conceal its face, he heard Douglas’s weight settle onto one of the leather chairs.

“Don’t get comfortable.”

Douglas laughed. “Oh, yes. I don’t suppose your little wife would like it too well if she found me here. I understand, Alex. All men have their priorities. It’s obvious what yours are.”

The door to the safe swung open at just that moment. His body suddenly rigid, Alex turned and asked in a deceptively calm voice, “Just what the hell does that mean?”

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“Nothing! Don’t be so touchy.” In the moonlight, Douglas’s face seemed featureless from across the room. He finger combed his hair and stood up. Strolling casually to the mantel, he lit a lamp, then turned to survey his surroundings. “Lord, how I’ve missed this study. I’ll bet I’ve imagined being here a dozen times. When did you get the organ?”

“Only recently.”

Taking in the other instruments, he said, “Developing an interest in music, are you?”

“You might say that.”

Douglas trailed his fingertips over the small table that sat between the two chairs before the hearth. “Do you remember all the times I beat you at chess, sitting right here before this fireplace?”

“I remember how often you cheated.”

Douglas chuckled. “That, too. Moving the pieces when your head was turned was the only way I could win.” A moment of silence ensued. Then he added, “Those were good days.”

“Those days are over, and it’s entirely your own fault that they are.” Alex took the small packet of money from the safe. Crossing to his desk, he said, “I’m going to write you a sizable bank draft. Handle it wisely. Once this is gone, you’ll get nothing more. I never want to see you here again. Is that clear?”

There was an echo in those words. With relentless clarity, Alex could recall saying them to Douglas once before and believing with all his heart that he meant them. Now here he stood, handing over more funds.

It made no sense, not even to him, and yet he felt powerless to do otherwise. He pictured himself, a dozen years from now, reenacting this same scene for the dozenth time, mocking himself for repeating the same meaningless words.

Douglas leaned a shoulder against the rock face of the fireplace. “Jesus, Alex, I am your brother. I realize I committed a grave sin by raping the girl. If I had it to do over again, I wouldn’t. But I can’t undo the past. Haven’t you got it in your heart to forgive me?”

Alex looked up from the draft he was signing. “Unfortunately, yes. But I’ve always been a fool where you’re concerned, haven’t I? Do you know that I sometimes lie awake until nearly dawn, asking myself what I did wrong in raising you? Blaming myself. If I had been sterner, stricter, if I had kicked your ass from here to hell and back a few times, would you have turned out differently?”

“You did a fine job of raising me,” Douglas assured him. “I just did something stupid, that’s all. It wasn’t your fault. Maybe it wasn’t even mine. I was drunk. Not thinking straight. It just happened, Alex. Before I knew what I was doing. You know how I get when I drink. Mean as a snake. I admit it.”

Knowing where his brother was headed, Alex said, “Douglas, don’t. A pretty speech can’t make everything better between us, not this time. You’ll only succeed in making it worse.”

“Worse?” His brother moved a step away from the hearth, his hands uplifted imploringly. “At least listen to me. I’ve lain awake at night, too. Feeling bad. Not just over what I did to the girl, but for disappointing you. Please, give me one more chance. Just one more. I’ve sworn off drinking. I haven’t touched a drop since I left.”

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“Oh? And what was that I smelled on your breath in the dining room? Tea?”

“It’s freezing out tonight. I took one little nip to stay warm, that’s all. One little nip.”

Alex shook his head. “Was I really such a fool that you can stand there now and actually expect me to believe this horseshit?” He raked a hand through his hair. “You’re right, you know. I think liquor is three-fourths of your problem, that when you drink, you do things you’d never do otherwise.

Unfortunately, the other fourth of your problem is that you will always be able to justify taking just one little nip. And then another. And then another. Lie to yourself if you must, but not to me.”

“Alex, please. Give me another chance. Just one, and I’ll never ask again. I swear, this time I won’t mess it up. I won’t so much as touch the whiskey. I won’t. Not for any reason, not ever!”

With grim determination, Alex resumed writing the draft. “I can’t do that, Douglas, and you know it. It isn’t just myself I have to think about now. I have a wife. I owe her my loyalty, first and foremost. Quit drinking, if you can. Straighten out your life, if you can. But do it away from Montgomery Hall.”

Douglas straightened his jacket, a heavy wool garment that had seen better days. “Ah, yes. Your wife.

Abbie, isn’t that her name?”

“Annie.”

“Right. Annie. How could I forget? Although I must admit, the most memorable thing about her was her legs.”

“Don’t,” Alex warned him softly. “I have very few fond memories left of you. Don’t destroy them by lashing out.”

“Lashing out?” Douglas said bitterly. “You’re turning your back on me. I’m your brother, for Christ’s sake.”

Alex’s stomach did a slow revolution. He quickly finished filling out the draft, ripped it from the book, and slid it across the desk. “There you are. Take it and get out.”

Douglas walked slowly to the desk. He picked up the draft, folded it precisely into thirds, and slipped it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Their gazes met, amber striking amber. Alex had seen that look in his brother’s eyes before and knew it portended some form of retaliation. No big surprise. When Douglas didn’t get his own way, when Alex denied him anything, he always retaliated.

Smiling slowly, Douglas said, “Annie ... Nice little ass, if I remember right. Are you enjoying your little idiot, Alex? When I plowed her, you called it rape. When you do, I suppose it’s a noble sacrifice. Good old Alex, cleaning up his brother’s messes. What a cross for you to bear.”

Alex braced his weight on his hands, which had suddenly formed fists. It always came to this, he realized. Staring at Douglas, trying to understand him, and running facefirst into a brick wall. Some things were beyond understanding. “Don’t,” he said again, knowing even as he spoke that Douglas would have his pound of flesh before he left. That was his way. It always had been.

“Don’t what? Confront you with the bald truth?” His eyes aglitter, Douglas said, “You’re pathetic, you know that?” He indicated the well-appointed study with a sweep of his hand. “What if the brat she whelps is a girl, Alex? Ever thought of that? Being half a man like you are, how will you sire a son? Or
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don’t you want a male heir?”

Alex couldn’t speak. And even if he had been able to, there were no words.

“At least with me around, you might get another brat or two out of her. Or maybe you’re just too selfish to share that sweet little honeypot of hers. I’ll bet you’ve been wetting your nose in it every night since you married her.”

Alex had started to shake. A horrible shaking.

Douglas smiled. “Or are you one of those men who prefers that particular service to be rendered? I can almost see you, a snifter of brandy in one hand, the other holding her by the hair of her head to show her how you like your—’’

Alex planted his fist squarely in his brother’s mouth. Just that quickly. Without forethought, without intent. He simply hit him, throwing all his weight into the blow. With a startled look on his face, Douglas staggered backward. Scarcely realizing he moved, Alex vaulted over the desk after him. In a flurry of motion, the two of them collided and hit the floor rolling. Gaining the advantage, Alex sprang to his feet, drew back a leg, and buried a boot in his brother’s midsection. Then he grabbed him by the hair of his head and jerked him to his feet.

While pummeling his face, he roared, “You miserable little sack of shit! You aren’t fit to kiss that girl’s feet, let alone speak her name!”

To Alex, time seemed to move as slowly as a fly crawling over tacky paper. Each time he drew back his fist, it seemed to him he moved a fraction of an inch at a time. He was out of control, and he knew it. His brother’s face was turning to a bloody pulp under the punishment of his knuckles. If he didn’t stop, he’d kill him. But his conscience seemed to have taken leave. The next thing he knew, he had Douglas pinned on his back to the floor and was strangling him. As if from a distance, he watched his hands squeezing, watched his brother’s face go from dull red to swollen scarlet.

Alex wasn’t sure what finally brought him to his senses. A fleeting thought of Annie? Of what might happen to her if he ended up swinging from the gallows? He didn’t know. He only knew that something, perhaps the Almighty Himself, made him jerk his hands from his brother’s throat.

Douglas rolled to his side, clawing at his larynx and making horrible gargling noises as he struggled for breath. Alex pushed to his feet and turned away, not caring if his brother lay there and suffocated. Not caring, and almost hoping he did. Bracing his hands on the desk, he hung his head and closed his eyes.

When the rasping noises began to subside, he said, “Get out. Get out before I kill you.”

He heard Douglas scramble to his feet. But he didn’t hear him running for the door.

“I mean it, Douglas. I’ll murder you with my bare hands.”

Staggering footsteps. The creak of hinges. The resounding slam of the doors. Alex expelled a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Then, feeling as though his lungs were being ripped from his chest, he sobbed. A dry, horrible sob. His knees buckled and he sank down to cradle his head on the desktop.

Death. Not of a man, but of love. The end did not come easily.