Hidden in a Whisper (33 page)

“I'm quite myself now,” she told Esmeralda. “Although my head hurts and there are other parts of my body that feel rather misused. But I'm ready to discuss this matter, if that is what you desire.” She'd play the part with sweetness and consideration, especially since she knew it would take her aunt's power in the community to force Braeden Parker to marry her.

“I'd like an explanation, Ivy.” The words were matter-of-fact and issued without emotion.

“An explanation for last night?” Ivy questioned. “Don't you think that would better be asked of Mr. Parker?”

“No, I do not. Mr. Parker hardly seems the one to question when you were the one to plan the entire event.”

“I don't understand. A man comes into our home, tries to—no, succeeds at molesting me, and you want my explanation?” Ivy questioned indignantly. She reached for the ties of her pale pink robe and tightened them for lack of something else to turn her attention to. She was going to have to play this very carefully. Apparently her aunt had reason to doubt the scene she'd witnessed. “I think you are being very hard on me,” Ivy continued. “But then again, you always have been. You've always treated me poorly.”

“That's not true, but neither is it relevant to this discussion,” Esmeralda replied calmly. “I know that you wrote the note that brought Mr. Parker to this house.”

Ivy's head snapped up at this declaration. “What in the world are you talking about? I wrote no such note.”

“Oh no?” Esmeralda said, pulling the piece of paper from her pocket. “Then suppose you explain this. The writing is clearly yours, not mine as the note implies.”

Ivy knew what the piece of paper was without having to look at it.

But for the sake of her story, she took the offering and looked it over.

“I didn't write this.”

“Well, neither did I, and whoever did has a remarkable ability to forge your handwriting to perfection,” Esmeralda said rather sarcastically. Ivy shrugged and handed her back the note. “I'm not responsible for this.”

“Say what you will,” Esmeralda replied, shaking her head. “We both know the truth. What I don't understand is why you were so desperate for a husband that you felt you had to stoop to such levels. Why, there isn't a decent man in Morita who would have you now, and you certainly cannot believe that Mr. Parker will marry you simply because of that little charade.”

“Charade!” Ivy said angrily. “The man completely destroys my reputation and you call it a charade? There were witnesses—or have you forgotten?”

“I haven't forgotten anything.” Esmeralda carved out a pattern in the floor as she paced, appearing to consider what she might say next.

“I haven't forgotten the request you had for me to seek you out after the ball. I haven't forgotten that you expected me to return home at precisely nine o'clock, and I haven't forgotten your hatred of Miss Rachel Taylor. And because of this,” she said, halting in front of Ivy, “I believe I am absolutely correct in saying that you planned the entire ordeal in order to take your revenge on Miss Taylor and force the issue of marriage with Mr. Parker.”

Ivy regained her composure and bowed her head to appear devastated. “Then you are wrong. I may have been angry with Miss Taylor, but I do not hate her. I would never plan my own ruin in order to get back at her. You may accuse me of many things, Auntie, but pettiness has never been one of my flaws. Nor is stupidity. I wouldn't risk my future in order to have my own way for now.”

Esmeralda sighed and began to pace again. “At fifteen, you came to me with no one else in the world to see you through. You had lost your mother and father and the only home you had ever known. You were a child then, your actions and attitudes excusable. However, I had hoped you would outgrow this selfishness. I had hoped that you had learned the painful cost of your conniving and would have chosen a better way.”

“I don't understand you,” Ivy said, looking up to meet her aunt's mournful expression. What was the old woman talking about now? Ivy could hardly stand to listen to her aunt's useless blather. There were plans to be laid. She needed to find Braeden and declare the need for an immediate wedding. Instead, she had to sit here and listen to her aunt go on and on about something Ivy had no understanding of. “What conniving and painful cost are you speaking of?” she finally asked in complete exasperation.

Esmeralda held a look of immense pain. “You know very well where your conniving has brought you. After all, it brought you here to live with me.”

Ivy felt a chill run up her spine. Could her long-buried secrets be known? She shook her head in denial. “I came here to live with you because, as you pointed out, I had no one else.”

“No, not after your plans had gone awry.”

Ivy remained seated but her heart began a frantic pace and her chest grew tight. “My plans? I don't know what you're talking about.”

Esmeralda leaned against the cane and scowled. “I know you caused the fire, Ivy. I know it was your hand that took the lives of your parents—of my beloved brother, Carl. I've had reports from the insurance inspector and a statement from the one maid who survived a short time after the fire.”

Ivy felt her skin tingle. There was an almost unexplainable stimulation in having the truth be voiced aloud. “It was an accident,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

“No,” Esmeralda countered, this time her voice taking on an angry edge. “You planned that fire, just as meticulously as you planned to have us find Mr. Parker in this house last night.”

“How can you say that?” Ivy questioned in disbelief.

“You thought I would never find out about the fire. You thought it would be perceived as an innocent accident by a clumsy housemaid,” Esmeralda said evenly. “You spilled an oil lamp and let the parlor catch fire, and you did it in the middle of the night so that the fire would be well out of control by the time anyone noticed. The only thing I don't understand is why? Why, when you had everything an only child could possibly desire, did you burn down your own house and take the lives of your parents?”

“You're crazy! You've gone completely mad,” Ivy declared.

Esmeralda refused to back down. “Have I? There were times after the fire when I wondered if I might go mad. Times when, burdened with the memories of having lost Carl so shortly after losing Hezekiah, that I wanted to go mad.” She paused. “Madness would have been merciful. Instead, I was forced to live a lie with you.”

“You are crazy,” Ivy said quite seriously. That unwelcome feeling of her conscience was threatening to surface. She knew better than to admit to the truth, so she intended to force her aunt to question the facts she'd been given. “I loved my mother and father. I would never have done them harm. It sounds to me that the people in charge of investigating the fire simply didn't want to pay out on Papa's insurance. It was just an accident—nothing more.”

“That's not what the fire itself proved. The inspector and the witness explained the deliberate actions taken by you on that night. You may call them liars, especially since the maid is now dead from her burns, but I've spent a fortune—actually, your fortune—to ensure that the facts of those events remain forever hidden from the record.”

“What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that I had to buy the favor of the inspector. I couldn't see you put on trial for three murders. You are, after all … family.”

The word was said rather snidely, and Ivy knew her aunt's wrath was mounting. “Your housemaid saw what you had done. But she was too late to sound the alarm, and the fire spread much too quickly. The inspector found her dying words to be convincing enough, and he was set to prosecute you for your actions. That's when I interceded to convince him otherwise. When all was settled and the inheritance your father had left you had been established with me as your guardian and trust keeper, I found it necessary to use that money to ensure that you would never be blamed for the deaths and destruction.” Her aunt smiled as Ivy's mouth dropped open. “You had no idea, did you?”

“You took my money? All of it?” Ivy asked in disbelief.

210

“Yes. All of it. You have nothing, Ivy. Nothing but your life and that which I give you.”

Ivy could no longer contain her anger. She had always presumed upon a fortune that would add to that of her husband. In fact, the only reason she really pushed to marry early was because her own fortune was out of her hands until the age of twenty-one, and she had hated the idea of waiting.

“You've left me without anything?” she questioned, getting to her feet. She fixed her gaze on the elderly woman and felt her anger rise. She stalked toward Esmeralda while the old woman stood her ground.

“You left yourself without means,” said Esmeralda without feeling. “You took the lives of your parents and destroyed the future your father had built for you. You killed my only brother because of your senseless, childish ways.”

“All right, old woman,” Ivy said, realizing she had nothing left to lose. “I did start that fire, but it was an accident that they died. I would never have wanted them harmed. My father spoiled me and my mother doted upon me. Why would I set out to kill them?”

Esmeralda appeared to understand her rage and took a step backward. “Then why burn the house?”

Ivy laughed cynically. “Because I wanted a better house. Father wouldn't listen to me. He didn't listen to me that night, either. I told him not to go back inside. But mother had gone after some photographs. Father saw me safely outside and went after her.” Ivy remembered the scene as if it were yesterday: the three-story house ablaze, the sounds of the roaring fire greedily consuming the frame, people yelling and crying for help. The entire thing was permanently frozen in her mind like a bizarre, nightmarish costume party. The pain of the memory she had neatly buried within her now seared her deadened emotions, as if she herself were being consumed by flames.

Ivy looked at her aunt and shook her head. “He should never have gone back inside. Neither of them should have gone inside. We were safe. We could have gone on, moved to a better home. Papa had insurance on the house—I know because I saw the policy.”

“But the policy never paid out. Not for a deliberately set fire. Do you not yet understand, Ivy? They would have sent you to prison. It's just that simple.”

“I don't believe you. No one will believe you. I was just a little girl, and all I wanted was a better house.” She paused, feeling the weight of truth fall upon her shoulders. “I loved them.”

As Ivy continued to advance toward her, Esmeralda glanced over her shoulder, appearing more and more nervous. She obviously felt threatened, and for this Ivy knew a sense of power. She purposefully kept her voice low, refusing to allow any of the servants to overhear them argue. But she made certain her expression left little doubt in Esmeralda's mind that Ivy couldn't allow her to ruin her plans.

“You loved them? You risked losing everything for a better house, and you excuse your actions by saying you loved them. You don't know what love is, Ivy.”

Ivy paused, feeling momentarily confused in her memories. “Our neighborhood was becoming increasingly common,” she said softly. “I told Father we needed a bigger, more affluent estate, but he wouldn't hear of moving. Mother loved our little house and couldn't bear to think of going elsewhere. So I took matters into my own hands. I decided the house had to go.”

As Ivy focused on the form before her, she suddenly realized she would have to deal with her aunt, for the old woman would never understand her plight. She'd never see things her way, which meant she would never keep her mouth closed or cooperate with Ivy's plans.

She continued. “I know how to eliminate obstacles in my life. The house was an obstacle, and it had to go,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Just as I've decided that you have to go. You can't be allowed to stand in my way.” She watched the old woman pale and stumble back another few feet.

Advancing on her aunt, Ivy forced her backward again, smiling as the old woman teetered at the top of the staircase. “I will marry Braeden Parker, and you won't interfere. I may have forced his hand last night, but I didn't go to all that trouble just to let you expose me to ridicule.”

“Ivy, you're mad,” Esmeralda said softly.

“No, not really. Not when you consider that after you are dead, all of this and most of Morita will be mine. I know you arranged your will to leave it all to me. You told me so.”

Esmeralda shook her head. “I told you that I'd left you what you deserved.”

Ivy stopped in her tracks. “What are you saying?”

“I'm saying that I left everything to the support and promotion of Morita. And a moderate amount of money will be used to erect a monument to my dear husband.”

“You've left me nothing?” Ivy said, her eyes narrowing. “Me, your only living relation?” Confusion set in and she felt her ability to reason slip away. What was happening to her—to her plans?

“You, who killed my brother and his wife, and now plot the same demise for me,” Esmeralda said matter-of-factly. “You will have nothing. Not even this roof over your head. It all goes to the town.”

“Fool!” Ivy said under her breath. “You fool!” She reached out to strike the old woman, but Esmeralda moved backward once again. Only this time she stepped beyond the top of the stairs. As she fell, Ivy watched in stunned silence, her mind refusing to put the pieces together. “No!” she cried, reaching out at the thin air. “Don't go!” In her mind she saw her father dashing back into the burning house. She closed her eyes and tried to force the images out of her mind. When she opened them again, Esmeralda lay at the foot of the stairs.

Realizing the noise would draw the servants, Ivy screamed at the top of her lungs.