Beautiful Whispers (Ausmor Plantation Book 1 - Romance/Suspense) (7 page)

I closed Alexander’s door and leaned against it. Who just said that? What the hell? Did I just say that? I don’t talk like that. I don’t think like that. Did I channel my sister? Is this what’s buried deep inside? Some entitled bitchy little twit who thinks the world is there to serve? “What an asshole.”

Mrs. Kiness walked up. “I beg your pardon, child.”

“Sorry, just talking to myself.”

“Did Alexander do something or say something to deserve such wrath?”

I looked at her and tried to figure out what she was talking about. “No.” I shook my head. “I wasn’t talking about him. Just wondering why I’m becoming such a useless piece of shit.”

Mrs. Kiness grabbed her crucifix. “Why would you say such a thing? Why even think it? And please refrain from that language.”

“Can you tell him…” I thought about what I wanted her to say. I had no idea. “Tell him whatever you want.” Maybe it was better I didn’t remember him. Better for him. He deserves someone who’s… I couldn’t think. Someone else. Someone who’s not me. Not so much drama and not so damaged and pointless.

The tears streamed down my face. Why did it bother me so much to think of Alexander with anyone else?

I stayed in bed for awhile and thought about what I’d said to Jane. She wasn’t acting like herself. “What am I doing to her?” Jumping up, I had to catch the end of the desk as the room spun.

“I should leave. I should go again and not come back.” The pit in my stomach churned. I called it the Jane pit.
I couldn’t leave.

“Why?”
The question echoed throughout the room. She’ll choose him again. Always does. As the Jane pit intensified, I wanted to run. It was what I did when she rejected me. I ran and threw myself into work. Building, sawing, anything so I wouldn’t think of her. With him. Thinking of her made me ache. Thinking of her with him made me sick. Not after what he’d done.

We never talked about it. Never brought it up. I had to be careful.
Fragile Jane. I used to call her a burned marshmallow. Tough on the outside, but she’d melt if touched. And we’d have to start all over. Most would have told me to give her up. She’s too difficult. Too high maintenance. Whatever that meant. I didn’t mind difficult. I never had it easy. Not once in my entire life. My mother didn’t love my father. Every time, she looked at me, she saw him. She always wished I wasn’t.

“Don’t want easy. I want Jane.”

She saw beyond the son of a gardener and the son of a maid. She didn’t see my past. She saw the man I wanted to be. The Jane pit returned. What if it’s still the same? What if she chooses him again? I didn’t know if I could take it. Not another rejection. Not another, “It’s always been Byron.”

Maybe
it’s her routine. Byron’s easy. He’s in her class. With him, she doesn’t have to think. I push her. No one else challenges her. That’s what sets me apart. It’s more difficult with me. Her family protects her. Their protection smothers. It’s like the most beautiful orchid kept under a tarp so no one can see. It can’t grow. It can’t be what it’s meant to be. I won’t blindly accept the status quo.

“What is it Jane?” Mrs. Kiness asked.
“You barely said anything at breakfast, refused to partake in lunch and now...”

I heard her. Barely. Or maybe I heard her more than I admitted. Sometimes I just had to think things through. Mrs. Kiness wanted everything in its place. No fuss. No mess. I was defined as a mess. Look up Jane in
any dictionary: mess. Or maybe it would say, ‘shitty mess.’

“
Everything’s jumbled like I’ve been in a funhouse ride that flipped me sideways, upside down, inside out. I feel and think, but I can’t grasp anything too long.” Something’s there but all blurry like rain drops sliding down a window. “Why am I like this? Why can’t I be normal. Other people are normal. I’ve seen them.”

Mrs. Kiness stopped me from my hundred
th loop around my room. “Dear, have some tea to soothe your nerves. Normal is something you have never been.”

The words stung as they seeped slowly in my skin like
an enormous puddle of elephant pee on packed dirt.

“No, child.” Mrs. Kiness shook her head and grabbed the cross around her neck. “Saints be stymied. I did not mean to
indicate you are somehow abnormal.” She hesitated and studied my room.

I wasn’t sure if she
scanned for something to dust or an escape pod to leap to another dimension so she wouldn’t have to deal with me.

“I meant to say that you have never been ordinary. Normal. You are extraordinary.”

I rolled my eyes. Which was worse: an outright verbal throw down or the sickly stench of bullshitty compliments? I didn’t trust either. Another thing to muck me about. I threw myself down on the bed and then looked around for Fanny.

“She is under the bed, dear.”

I lifted my comforter up just a bit and peered into Fanny’s lair strewn with gardener’s gloves, bits of strewn dead stuffed animals and some crumbled up pieces of paper I recognized as part of the book Karenda had given me. I smiled. “Hey, Miss Dingo. Enjoying your new collection?”

“What does she have this time?” Mrs. Kiness asked in between fluffing pillows and checking the water level of the red roses she had placed in the corner.

“The books Karenda gave me.”

Mrs. Kiness stopped, smothered a laugh with a cough and pretended she didn’t have any idea what I just said.

“Alexander and I ever do the deed?”

Mrs. Kiness blanched and then blanched again. I’d only seen that kind of
washed out paleness on movie vampires. “Child, the things you blurt.” She glanced around to make sure no one else had heard.

“Who else would be here?” Then I remembered something about Johnston, and my skin clammed. If that little rat bastard hid in my room
...where would he be? I imagine he’d be able to slither in around crevices and hide in slits.

Mrs. Kiness brought out a dust rag and vigorously dusted the side tables which were already so shiny I used them as mirrors. “Why in all of creation, wou
ld you inquire to me about...that...particular...”

“Cause you know everything that goes on around here.”

“Well, dear child, I do not know about any sort of physical interactions between you and Mr. Ravenswirth.”

“But he’s hot, right?
Those muscles and those hands. Couldn’t you just imagine his tongue—”

Mrs. Kiness closed
her eyes and opened her mouth.

I thought she’d had a stroke, but she didn’t drop the dust rag.

“Did your sister make those cookies I like?” I had to let her off the hook.

Mrs. Kiness smiled
, and some pink peeked back into her face. “I believe she did. Would you like me to fetch some?”

I nodded and watched Mrs. Kiness leave. I didn’t know why I enjoyed torturing her. She was old school. Prim and proper. Any hint of anything from the twenty-first century or even the nineteenth or twentieth would leave her soul scarred. Why was I like that? Sadistic little thing. I never thought of Mrs. Kiness as anything less than my own mother, grandmother, aunt, best friend, guardian. She didn’t work for me or my family. She was family.

“Why does he bring out the worst in me?” That jarred me. Déjà vu? I remembered saying those words. When? Maybe when he was here before? I quickly knelt down and raised the comforter to see my cat. “Fanny, did I say those same words before?”

Fanny Dingo
sighed. I guess she was as sick of me as I was of myself.

“Sorry.”
I let Miss Dingo be and paced again. Byron never moved me like this. I didn’t get all weird around him. But Alexander listened to me. He questioned me as if interested in what I thought and said and did. Believe me, I was an expert at deciphering disinterest.

Others
patted me on the head and hinted that I bother someone else. Alexander didn’t. I saw depth in his eyes. He saw me. He heard me. So, what happened between us? If we were together before…why would I choose Byron?

I ran down the stairs and started down the hallway to the door that connected the New Wing with the main house, but
I stopped. I quickly glanced at my watch. 3:30. “Tourists would still be about.” I’d have to go out the side door, down the long walkway and over to the other side of the house.

I
lost energy just thinking about it. It would take about fifteen minutes to get to him. And only if I avoided tourists and potholes and The Bitty and bees and...I turned around and someone grabbed me. Before I knew it, I was in Bitty’s storage room.

“This is our special place.”
That voice: Johnston.

He
spun me to face him and backed me up until I slammed into some metal shelves. A shelf jabbed into my lower back, and the pain took my breath away. Only inches from Johnston, I tried to be brave, but he tasted my fear. I tried to scream, but nothing emerged.

His predatory smile. That vinegar stench.

I was in trouble.
If anyone heard a noise from the storage room they would have thought it was Bitty and avoid like a herpes rug. “What do you want?”

Shouldn’t have asked that.
I knew what he wanted and didn’t need him to spell it out for me.

He looked me over - s
pecifically staring at my breasts.

“My sisters’ are bigger. Why don’t you stare at hers for awhile.”

He gripped my arms even tighter until I thought my bones would snap. I wished I’d never said anything. He moved his hand to cover my mouth, and he pushed me further until the shelves pinched at my kidneys.

The pain jolted, and I struggled to stay conscious. I couldn’t lose it. I didn’t know what he’d do.
I had to say something. “Byron.”

Johnston stopped.

I knew he was afraid of Byron. “He’s waiting for me. You know how he gets. If I’m not there...”

Johnston
’s beady eyes soaked me in. He tried to determine if I was lying. He released me and stepped back. “Maybe I’m not afraid of Byron.”

“What about Alexander
?”

Johnston giggled. It was disturbing. “I’m definitely not afraid of him. Besides, doesn’t he have a boo
boo on his head. That should have killed him.”

My blood ran cold. “He knows you did it.”

Johnston paled but recovered quickly. “Doesn’t matter. He won’t tell. Not with what I know about him. He should be in prison.”

I frowned. No matter how hard I tried, I could
n’t keep one step ahead of Johnston. “What does that mean?”

“You don’t know, do you?” Johnston giggled. “Can’t wait for you to find out.” He
grinned and left.

I sat down on the floor of the storage room not understanding what just happened. Was this a game? Johnston was lying. Had to be. Alexander wouldn’t have done anything to anyone. I knew that in my heart, but my gut told me something else. I didn’t want to admit it, but it sounded familiar. What girl?

The storage room opened, and I jumped expecting the worst.

Bitty
lumbered in and stopped when she saw me. “The hell are you doing in here? Just sitting on the floor like a filthy rat.”

I slowly got up. “
I needed a place to think.”

“
On the floor of my storage room?” She threw her hands in the air and sighed for a good five and a half minutes. “I mean, for green olive’s sake, the entire house is like fifty billion square feet, and I have to come in here and find my least favorite person on earth waiting for me like a freaking ambush.”

She glared at the shelves. “What did you take?” Bitty rushed over to various cans and hugged them close to her chest. “What did you try to steal?”

I left out the door without saying anything.

“I need to put a
friggin lock on this thing. Like hell I’m going to have you sneaking about and messing with my stuff…”

She continued on, but, luckily, I
walked fast. I guess the Austen curse had finally struck The Bitty. It was only a matter of time until she went full on rabid. We’d have to post warning signs for tourists.

I shook my head. I couldn’t avoid thinking about it. Alexander.
That girl. I had to piece everything together. I had to know for sure, but something told me I already knew. Was something buried so deep I couldn’t deal? Something about Alexander? Byron? Me? What was it? And who in this house would tell me the truth?

“I have to find Alexander.” I shuffled through the house, past tourists, around staff fiddling with a hundred Christmas trees, ornaments, whatnots and knickknacks. I could see a Christmas tree in each parlor with the color coordinated decorations matching the color of each room - huge twelve foot trees covered with red, green, blue and yellow ornaments to match each parlor.

I didn’t have the warm, fuzzy Chr
istmas memories some others had, but I didn’t hate the holiday like Karenda.

At Ausmor,
Christmas lasted from November 1 through January 15. Many of the staff sipped hot cocoa all day, wrapped themselves in mistletoe and got drunk on the Christmas fumes. Seeing presents under trees, listening to fires crackle and being warm inside when snow blanketed Virginia wasn’t the worst way to spend time.

The staff had everything prepared on November 1, but tourists liked to see holiday fiddling. So, trees would be moved a quarter of an inch, ornaments shifted and garland
reknotted for show.

Around Christmas day, barring any unforeseen
amuckments, Evan, Lillia, Mrs. Kiness and I exchanged gifts with staff who didn’t retreat home for the holidays. Karenda was always too busy. Byron normally went somewhere warm with someone else. I think the Stonstons crept back to hell for a sacrifice. Grand Maeve gifted herself a new male hostage she kept tethered in her room. And Aunt Bitty? What would she give? A box of chocolate covered phlegm?

I smiled and said my pleasantries to the staff
who juggled tiny peppermint sticks and mouthfuls of hot cocoa while balancing oversized red hats that looked as if they crawled from a Dr. Seuss story. “Merry Christmas...happy holidays…it looks great…you’ve outdone yourself…” They smiled back and waited until I’d left to continue.

Don’t know why the family made them so nervous. Probably thought we’d turn homicidal any minute, and they needed to eye the nearest escape.

I spotted Alexander trying to unravel very aggressive garland choking the hand carved banister on the Grand Stairs. I instantly felt at ease, and then not so much. Damn Johnston. I thought of what he said about Alexander deserving to be in prison. I couldn’t force my legs to move. Anchored to the ground, I tried to act natural and not get his attention.

He spotted me anyway, smiled and started over. My stomach clenched, and my heart was about to jump out of my chest and race around the room. I had to calm my breathing. My face flushed, and I hoped
I wouldn’t pass out or throw up. I couldn’t be another headliner in the Ausmor Staff Newsletter. It wasn’t made public, but I stole one issue a few years ago.

Karenda was featured prominently in the Knewsarenda column detailing who among the staff wished her dead and a contest about doing something vile to her without getting caught. Several ideas
: replacing her normal toothpaste with something sticky, adding extra laxatives to her coffee or replacing her contact lens solution with battery acid. Karenda: well liked she wasn’t.

I was never sure if I made the list. From the weak smiles, downcast eyes and whispers, I think I was more the object of pity than ridicule. I thought of
all this in the mere seconds it took for Alexander to saunter. My mind tended to flip and flop whenever I had to deal with something unpleasant. I wanted to flee as if I were about to choke on Aunt Bitty’s stink weed soup, but I still couldn’t move.

“Nice to see you,” Alexander said.

I nodded because I wasn’t sure if my voice would work.

He
stepped back. “You alright?”

I nodded again and told myself not to listen to Johnston. It was Johnston. The man was a walking, talking pile of corrosive goo. I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for how I acted.
I never meant...should you be working?”

He shook his head as if it was nothi
ng. “No worries. Been cleared by the doc.”

Byron walked in the front door and
walked up to us. “Jane.” He quickly kissed my cheek and glanced at Alexander. “Do you mind?”

“
Yes,” Alexander said but didn’t leave.

Byron waited and then sighed and turned his attention back to me. “
You’re not ready.”

I
frowned. Byron was suited in a tuxedo, but he was always suited in some expensive thing. “Oh! The party at Bashwells.” I couldn’t believe I had forgotten the Bashley’s annual pre-Christmas Christmas party. Most of Virginia, the southeast and many from England and Scotland spent all year planning what they’d wear, who they’d take, etc. It was like a high school reunion for the venomous narcissists intent on one upping each other.

“Yes,” Byron said, hastily. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

“Course not.” I lied. My heart didn’t lump, my throat wasn’t dry and scratchy, and I didn’t quease up. Did I dismiss Johnston’s words or did Byron make me forget? Why was it so much easier with Byron?

I looked at the staff whose work ethic suffered whenever Byron near
ed. What would normally take five minutes stretched into hours as glances and giggles merged. I wondered if Byron ever got used to it. Who was I kidding? Byron was born looking like that. Born into the money and the name.

He probably wouldn’t know how to react if it all stopped. He was blessed with superhuman looks and rich ancestors who didn’t squalor their fortunes
. This made him one of the wealthiest bachelors on the east coast. That, coincidentally, made him extremely eligible and very popular. Strange.

I g
lanced quickly at Alexander whose expression changed from disturbed to concerned. He and Byron hated each other. That much I knew, but I couldn’t remember why. “It was Johnston.”

Alexander looked at
me. “What?”

“He’s the one who attacked you.”

Alexander stared at Byron. “Are you sure?” His tone more than hinted he didn’t believe it.

“He told me when—”

“I’m sorry,” Byron interrupted. “He told you? You talked with him? With Johnston?” Byron could barely utter the name. “Why?”

I hesitated, but I was tired of hiding. Tired of secrets. “I was on my way downstairs because I was trying to find you…” I looked directly at Alexander and noticed Byron shift positions. “But someone grabbed me and threw me in Bitty’s storage room.”

“What?” Byron and Alexander asked in unison.

“Are you alright?” Alexander asked. “Did he hurt you?” He looked me over as if trying to decipher fresh wounds.

“I told him to stay away. I warned him.” Byron muttered.

I noticed Byron didn’t look directly at me. Wasn’t
too concerned about my welfare – more irritated with his misplaced warning. Alexander, on the other hand, wouldn’t take his eyes off me. His beautiful eyes hinted at his concern. He couldn’t hide that. He didn’t even try to hide it from Byron.

“He said he wasn’t afraid of you.” I told Byron.

Byron’s eyes widened. “Really?” He stepped away, yanked his phone from his pocket and made a call.

Alexander gently grabbed my hand. “What did he do? What did he want?”

I couldn’t look at Alexander.

He sensed what I couldn't articulate.

I pulled my hand away. “He said some things about you too.”

Alexander raised his eyebrows. “Do tell.”

I didn’t know if I should repeat it. It was Johnston, after all. But a confession, much like a squeaky door, had to be attacked quickly. “He said you should be in prison.”

Alexander laughed
and touched the back of his head. “Me?”

“Said something about what you did to some girl.”

Alexander’s crooked smile slowly dissipated, and he stared at me, through me. I’d never felt such coldness with anyone other than Johnston. Alexander instantly became a stranger.

Byron grabbed my arm and ushered me up the stairs. “I’ve taken care of it. He won’t be bothering you again.”

I peeked around and saw Alexander still studying me with that expression, and I was glad to be leaving. Sometimes, I wished I could turn my memory off on cue.

*      *      *      *

Byron sat on my sofa and played with Fanny Dingo as I dressed in the bathroom. Loyal to me, Miss Dingo purred at Byron who could charm the stink out of a septic spill.

I pulled on a dark blue
shiny, crinkly ballgown Mrs. Kiness had laid out for me. I looked at myself in the mirror and applied an extra layer of blush, lipstick and shiny, metallic eyeshadow. It was like playing a part. Dress up. Byron boosted my ego. The hanger-ons would dangle around him and hope and pray for just a glimpse in their direction as he smiled at me, danced with me, kissed me. It made me the envy and hatred of others.

I stepped out of the bathroom, and Byron jumped up.

“You look beautiful,” he said, but his eyes already found his watch. He played the part, but his heart wasn’t in it. He used to be the love of my life. I sensed jealousy when Alexander was around because all attention was supposed to be directed at Byron, but I didn’t sense genuine anxiety or worry.

I took a deep breath and told myself not to parse. Not to define or analyze. I was on the arm of
Byron Bashley - the envy of everyone. Then why did my thoughts retreat to Alexander?