Necessary Evil (33 page)

Randall stood totally still for a minute.
I couldn’t read his eyes, because the light was reflecting off of his
ever-present glasses - but for once, I didn’t need to. The red stain blossoming
across his face told me that my message had gotten through.

With visible effort, he maintained his
calm. “Madeleine,” he said slowly, “about last night…”

I cut him off.

“I don’t owe you a
word
about last
night,” I hissed. “Since when have I given you permission to pry into my
personal life? You have no right to it and no right to judge. Who I date and
who I fall in love with is
none of your concern
. Joe Tremonti was part
of my life long before you
blackmailed
your way into it.”

He looked shocked. I stepped in and pushed
the point.

“That’s right. You’re here because you’re
a blackmailer, a manipulator. Joe is here because I
want
him here. I may
be a ‘silly little fool’, but I’m smart enough to know what I want and how to
get it. I’m just smart enough to know which man is on my side and which one is
here to just make a name for himself.” I jabbed my finger at his chest.
“Whatever you and my aunt might think, I know where to put my trust, and it’s
not with the man who uses extortion to get ahead.”

His hands were flexing and clenching as
his jaw worked, and I thought,
He’s going to punch a wall and break his
hand.

But he didn’t. Instead, he reined himself
in, and the tone he used when he spoke was so flat it was terrifying.

“So you’ve decided that Tremonti is the
man you can trust?” he asked.

I refused to flinch. “I know he is. When I
needed someone to lean on, Joe was always there for me. Like he is now. Like
he’ll be permanently, once this whole matter is finished and I’ve sent
you
packing
back to Hadley College.”

I turned on my heel, intending to stomp
out, but his quiet voice stopped me in my tracks.

“Always there for you?” he asked.

I turned and found him glowering at me,
his jaw so rigid the words could hardly get out.

“After all that we’ve gone through these
past weeks, you still think of
Joe Tremonti
as your rock? Your knight in
shining armor? Do you even know the man?”

“I know him enough to know that he’s a
real man,” I said. “That’s enough for me.”

Although I didn’t think it was possible,
the color on his face went a shade darker.

“Before you go make this proclamation public,”
he said, “let me ask you this: what kind of ‘real’ man convinces the woman he
loves to lie?”

The question hit me like a blow to the
chest. Before I could recover, he was pushing on.

“What kind of a man has her put her
integrity on the line? Convinces her that she is too weak to face the truth
head on, and then helps her to risk her reputation and livelihood by forging
documents?” He took another step forward. “What kind of a man helps the woman
he loves to construct the lie, and then
leaves
her to bear it alone?
What man leaves the woman he cares about alone in her hour of need? What is
your definition of a
real
man, Madeleine? Who lies, then walks, and only
comes back when it’s convenient for him to do so? Is that what you want? A
pretty boy who encourages you to avoid what you ought to face? The man who
thinks that you are a…”

“A silly little fool?” I interrupted,
cutting him off. “I heard you this morning. Discussing my personal life, as
though you had a share in it. You don’t. You never have. And before you get all
high and mighty, do I have to remind you exactly
why
I allowed you to
stay here? Do you want to talk about manipulation? Do you want to talk about
leaving someone high and dry?”

“I
haven’t
left!”

He practically roared at me, with a force
that made me take a step back.

“I wouldn’t leave you, Madeleine. I
haven’t and I won’t, not until this is finished, not until you’re safe. If I
haven’t proven that by now, then...”

The words strangled in his throat. His
hands dropped to his sides helplessly as he slowly shook his head at me.

“Oh, God, Maddie,” he finally said. “What
else can I
do
?”

In the sudden silence, I stared at him,
stunned. He must have seen something in my face, though what it was, I have no
idea. Whatever he saw, it brought that mask down again and the cynical twist
back into his lips.

“You don’t love him, you know,” he said.
“But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it?”

I wavered. For one brief moment, I
wondered if I was as sure about my decision as I claimed. But the moment passed
and I squashed the thought.

The burning dark eyes, no longer veiled by
the reflection, caught mine and held them.

“After all of this,” Gregory said simply.
“It’s still Joe Tremonti, isn’t it?”

I raised my chin defiantly.

“It’s always been Joe Tremonti,” I said.
“Always.”

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I turned on
my heel and fled up the back steps.

I stormed up the stairs and slammed the
door shut behind me. My breath was coming in shallow gasps, and the feeling
that I had just stepped off a cliff into empty space had my knees shaking. I
couldn’t stay where I was – either Aunt Susanna would come in and demand an
explanation or Greg would appear and the whole argument would start again. But
where to go?

I heard Darlene in the hall, so I darted
through the kitchen and outside into the misty, warm air. If anyone asked, I
was checking on the horses. It was what I had to do anyway.

The stables did not hold their usual charm
for me that night. I checked bedding, rubbed noses, and spoke soothing words to
the boarders – while in my head, ragged shreds of the argument chased each
other.

What kind of a ‘real’ man convinces the
woman he loves to lie?

Greybeard whickered at me, nosing around
the pocket of my flannel shirt for a carrot, but I barely noticed. I absently
noted that all seemed in order, that Lindsay and Jacob had done their usual
thorough job of cleaning up after the daily events.

I checked the supply cabinet. It was
locked and there was a sticky note on it - in code - from Jacob to Lindsay, and
I smiled in spite of myself.

Jacob had grown on me in the previous few
weeks. He’d proven himself to be hard working, able, cheerful even when tired,
and not too proud to do any of the jobs put before him. He had greatly eased
the burden of my chores, and was a hit not only with the girls, but with the
adult riders as well. He was a real find – and Gregory had been the one who’d
found him.

What man leaves the woman he cares about
alone in her hour of need?

Joe Tremonti was part of my existence long
before you blackmailed your way into it.

Stop this, Maddie. Stop this.

It’s easy to tell yourself to let
something go. It’s hard to actually do it when fury surges within, swaying your
emotions from one extreme to another. It was only through great effort that I
kept myself from breaking down, either in sobs or in another argument with my
former partner. I had no idea which extreme would be worse.

I checked everything in the stables twice,
bid goodnight to the boarders, and now had no reason to stay outside. Yet I did
not
want to go back inside the house. I did not want to face Greg or
Aunt Susanna or anywhere near that office. With restless energy surging through
me, I felt an intense longing to disappear. To run.

I grabbed the battery-operated lantern we
kept in the barn for emergencies, and headed for the riding trails.

I never let my riders or guests do the
trails at night. Even without the trespassers, the winding paths, low branches,
and root-pocked terrain are not safe for nightly strolls.

But I wasn’t in a reasonable mood. The
moon was full, shining strongly through the overhead canopy of branches, and
walking the lonely trails was a good deal better than facing the reality
waiting for me back at the house.

It took only a few steps into the trail
before I started feeling isolated. I took deep breaths and long steps with
great care. The moonlight was strong enough that I didn’t need my lantern -
which suited me well, because I didn’t care to signal my location to anyone at
this point. I walked firmly, battling fears and memories, too busy being angry
to turn back.

Around and around in my head, I read off
the list of Gregory’s crimes, starting from when he first appeared in my house
and threatened to expose my secret about the letter. The way he insinuated
himself into my home, got out of doing the chores by hiring Jacob, and
complained about Aunt Susanna’s fussing, how he constantly bothered me for information,
keeping us up late at night to pump us for information, and - worst of all -
ruining my moment with Joe. I remembered the arrogance, the intrusions, and the
insinuations, until my blood began to boil.

The sooner Gregory Randall gets off my
property, the better
.

Then the path turned, the trees cleared a
little, and a shaft of moonlight shone down on an expertly filled hole.

I stopped short.

It was here, not that long ago, that
Gregory and Trusty were attacked by the trespasser. I remembered Trusty’s whimpers
and the blood running down Gregory’s face as he stopped me from charging after
Jacob. I remembered touching his face in the kitchen, and the look he gave me
when he said, “I knew I had to get out there before you did.”

Joe Tremonti was part of my existence long
before you blackmailed your way into it.

Maddie, what else can I do?

I had the sensation of cold water running
down my back as I stood there in the dark. The memories swarmed me again, same
memories but changed somehow, as though I was seeing them in person now, when
before they were reflections in a flawed mirror.

I remembered Gregory insisting that he
would pay Jacob’s salary, as it was part of the deal. I heard him cautioning me
against running outside the first time Trusty heard the digger. I saw his smile
when I cracked a snappy remark; but this time, I saw that he hardly ever
returned it. I felt his hands on mine on that morning I fell into the hole, and
his voice telling me that we would find the truth and end the siege. I had
believed him then.

Just like I believed him now.

I remembered the look on Joe’s face just
after he kissed me, the look of satisfaction.

A man could get addicted.

I shook my head, my fingers going to my
lips.

What man leaves the woman he cares about
alone in her hour of need?

I buried my head in my hands, the lantern
clunking down at my feet.

I wasn’t wrong about Joe. I couldn’t be.
Joe was the mainstay. Joe was the standby, my fallback and first choice, the
one who rode to my rescue the first time and promised, albeit tacitly, to be
there forever. Joe was the man most women only dream about, but the one I got
to know.

Joe was part of my future. That had been
decided. It had been decided long ago, back on that day when he found me
sobbing at Uncle Michael’s funeral.

What kind of a “real” man convinces the
woman he loves to lie?

Memories surged over me. I recalled Joe
explaining that the only thing I needed was proof that the treasure didn’t
exist. “A statement,” he’d said, “or a sale that proved that the treasure was
lost before Alexander ever got to the farm.”

I don’t honestly remember whose idea it
was to write the Beaumont letter. It may have been mine, it might have been
his, but Greg was right about one thing: I didn’t know a thing about forgery.
It was Joe that found the ink and paper, and arranged to buy it so that there
was no connection to me or the farm. His hand was the one that wrote the
words, that
aged the paper and arranged for Professor Maddox
to authenticate it – because Joe knew, as few did, that the good professor was
starting to show the first signs of dementia.

“It’ll work, Maddie,” he’d said. “No one
will ever know. No one will ever care. Just trust me. It’ll all work out.”

Oh, it worked out, all right. Look at me
now, Joe, and tell me if this is what you consider, “working out.”

I felt a sudden revulsion for the man
who’d allowed and encouraged me to do this, giving me this burden of guilt that
was almost impossible to bear.

Not that any of this excused my part in
it. It was I who agreed, and then did the research on Beaumont, and I planted
the letter in the attic and made sure that Aunt Susanna found it. I planned and
schemed to ruin the family name and the reputation of the man who’d taken me
in, and treated me like a daughter.

But then Joe had taken an almost
incredible risk for the sake of friendship. If we’d been found out, I would
have been disgraced - but Joe would have been ruined. His professional
reputation and standing, his marriage… All were all put on the line for me.
Surely that said something about Joe, even though the debt I owed was enormous,
almost overwhelming. Not only did I have the burden of the lie that was meant
to protect my family while betraying them, I had been responsible for Joe’s
professional reputation as well.

I’d failed him in that. I hadn’t burnt the
letter as I’d promised, and now Greg knew. What was to prevent him from blowing
the whistle on all of us?

Even as I thought that, I knew better.
Gregory never once told me that he’d ruin me. He’d only ever said that the
truth would come out – after we’d found the truth to temper the news of the
fraud. Had he ever actually threatened me?

He hadn’t.

I felt sick. I felt beaten. It was for my
aunt’s sake that I had lied, for Joe’s sake that I’d taken full responsibility
for the forgery, and for a legacy’s sake that I’d betrayed Uncle Michael. Now I
was about to lose them all: Aunt Susanna, Joe, Greg…

Oh, Gregory…

Everything you touch you ruin, Maddie
Warwick. Everything you touch, you ruin.

I wished that I could find a place to bury
myself, to hide from the reality that was exploding around me. It was a
childish impulse, one I used to give in to when I was young. I was always
running. Running into the woods, hiding among the trees, lowering myself into
the ruins of the old foundation by the path. I’d wait until everyone had gone,
until no one was looking for me - until I was quite sure that there was no one
left. Hiding in that hollow in the ground, I learned to wait out the storms of
my early life. When I was a child, I hid.

As an adult, I ran.

But there are some things you can’t
outrun, and some things you can’t hide from. I could no longer hide from the
fact that if I was in love, it wasn’t with Joe Tremonti.

I am not a child. I’m too tired to run and
I can’t hide in the old foundation anymore.

The old foundation…

Realization poured over me, stripping my
thoughts away, leaving only one clear, bare idea:

INOLDFOUNDATION

I turned back, sprinting to the house before
the thought was complete. My head was pounding, my heart racing, my mind
focused on one thought.

I knew where the treasure was.

Gregory was outside, pacing around the
back yard with his hands in his pockets, kicking at pebbles and looking
absolutely miserable. Under any other circumstances, I would have hesitated;
but tonight, with the thrill of discovery pounding through my veins, I ran for
him full-tilt.

He turned, surprised.

“Madeleine, what is it?” he demanded, and
looked confused as I grabbed his arm.

“I’ve found it,” I gasped. “I’ve
found
it!”

His eyes were impossible to see in the
darkness.

“Found what? The treasure? Where?”

I gestured behind me.

“The old foundation. I know what he
meant!”

“Wait here,” he said, and dashed back into
the house. He emerged a moment later with a flashlight and his walking stick.
 

“Show me,” he said.

It wasn’t far, and the way was so familiar
to me I could have run there with my eyes closed. As Gregory easily kept pace
with me, I flashed back to the first night I met him, how quick he’d been to
run to the scene of the accident with me, and how then - as now – when he could
outrun me with so little effort, he stayed at my side.

We reached the bend in the road. Greg
hesitated. I plunged into the forest, following a tiny footpath that was so
little used that it was nearly grown over, and only someone who knew what they
were looking for would have found it. He was behind me, the beam from his
flashlight bouncing off the trees, lighting my way.

We turned on the lantern as we slowed our
pace, watching the ground carefully. The way was strewn with fallen branches
and new growth. Leaves slapped my face, thorns clawed at my shins, and
something skittered away from me in the undergrowth up ahead. But I was too driven
to be frightened. The foundation was only a short distance from the path, so
close that I nearly stumbled into it.

I stopped short and got my bearings,
letting my beating heart calm. The light of my lamp seemed a paltry defense
against the dark that pressed against us. Above my head, the trees whispered to
each other and under them, fire flies winked in and out.

Greg came up behind me, playing his
flashlight in the hole in front of us. It was all that remained of the Hill
family home. No one really knew when it had been built: some said in the 1820s,
but my uncle had maintained that it was earlier than that. One thing everyone
agreed upon was that it was built as the eldest son’s main living quarters.
They had lived in it until a fire consumed both the structure and the fledgling
family that lived in it. After, the remaining family let it fall to ruin,
focusing on other parts of the property, which included the piece that Darlene
Winters lived on now.