Storm at Marshbay (8 page)

“No,” she replied. “I went straight back to my room. Why?”

“No reason,” he said. “When you were in the kitchen preparing the tray— was there anyone else there?”

“Why yes,” she said. “Morning Cook was there and two girls were helping her. They were starting the fires and preparing everything for breakfast.”

“Did she…or anyone else help you with the chocolate?”

“Cook heated the chocolate and poured it into the pot while I got the cups and put them on the tray. Why?” she asked. “What is this all about?”

“Are you accusing my wife of something, Ian?” James asked. I was surprised at the resentment in his voice. He always seemed so passive and distant that this seemed out of character.

“Not at all,” Ian said. “I’m sorry if I gave that impression.” He turned to me, dismissing James’ concern.  “I’m starving. How about you, Mrs. Fitzgerald?” He smiled, and I knew he was trying to lighten the mood at the table.

I smiled back at him, though I was not feeling well at all.

“Maybe just tea and toast.” A sudden pang made me place a hand on my stomach.

Ian’s lips tightened and I knew he was still angry that someone had played such an ugly trick on us. I couldn’t imagine who would do such a thing but I certainly didn’t think it was Edna.

After we’d eaten, I felt a bit better when Edna turned to me and said, “Isabella, would you like to take a stroll around the courtyard and maybe outside if it isn’t raining?”

 “Yes, I’d love some fresh air.” I turned and looked questioningly at Ian.

He put his hand on my arm. “Don’t go far. Not out of sight of the house.”

“Why, Ian,” Edna teased. “I’ve never known you to be so protective or so attentive. Isabella, I do believe you have completely charmed my dear brother- in-law.”

Ian laughed, but I knew he was not appeased.

“Be careful,” he said quietly to me.

Later after Edna and I had walked around the outside of the square Moorish-type house, we went inside the courtyard. It always seemed cooler there with the palms swaying and the sound of splashing water from the various fountains.

My eyes went automatically to the area of the house where Marguerite’s studio had once been. Mrs. Fitzgerald had covered the door for the wedding with a lattice panel and various plants.

“One would hardly know the door to the studio was there,” I commented.

“Would you like to go in?” Edna asked. “You know Marguerite made those sculptures you’ve seen the courtyard. She was a talented artist.”

“She must have been,” I said. “But it looks impossible to enter the studio.”

She smiled. “There’s another entrance. This way.”

I followed Edna through an archway at the back of the courtyard that led outside. Then we went around to the left of the house, pushing our way through some brush and vines growing up against the stucco walls.

“It’s rather like a secret passage with all that’s been allowed to grow up along here,” she called over her shoulder. “But I know the way. They say this door is the one her lovers used.”

“You really think she had lovers?” I asked.

“Oh, I know she did.” Edna glanced back at me with a sly smile. “My husband for one.”

I stopped and stared at her.

She halted as well, saying, “Oh, dear, I’ve shocked you. But James and I weren’t married at the time, so it’s really of no consequence. Don’t be such a prude, Isabella. Come on, we’re almost there.”

Moments later, she brushed aside a large flowery shrub and behind it was a door with a round brass circle that she pulled. The door opened with a creak. A coolness emanated from the room along with the pungent smell of straw and dust.

“James told you this?” I asked.

“Of course, he did,” she said. “We have no secrets from one another.”

“Does Ian know?”

“I’m sure he’s heard the rumor. But of course that isn’t something James is going to confess to his brother. Nor would I. That would make for a rather messy living situation, don’t you think?”

I must say I was stunned by her blasé attitude about the entire matter. I tried not to think about it as she held the door open for me to come inside.

Edna left the door ajar and then found a lantern and lit it. There were rows of windows on both of the outside walls, dusty now and obscuring the light. I imagined if the door to the courtyard were open, the area would be flooded with light. Edna made it obvious she’d been here before as she strode to the middle of the room and pulled a long, looped chain. Two large skylights above us opened with much creaking and clanging. 

A large area was revealed, with part of the floor covered in Spanish tile and the other part dirt and straw. That part contained a large stall where Marguerite must have brought in horses to use as models for her work.

Edna seemed very familiar with the room and not at all ill at ease that we had more or less forced our way in.

I was not so comfortable; remembering here was where Marguerite died. But, of course, this was also where she spent so much of her time creating. I’d seen some of her sculptures in the gardens and courtyard and her passion and talent were obvious in her work. Her pieces, some finished some not, lined the walls and her tools lay on a large table. This made me see her as a real, live person. Her presence was definitely still in this studio. For me it was a powerful and moving moment.

Suddenly I smelled a beautiful, exotic perfume that made chills race over my skin. “Do you smell perfume?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “Yes, I often smell her perfume when I come here.”

“Her? You mean Marguerite?”

“Of course.” She frowned at me. “Who else would I mean? Marguerite hardly allowed anyone in here when she was working. Not even Ian. But perhaps that had more to do with her secrets than with her privacy about her work.”

I don’t know why her words bothered me so much. She was so casual about it. There was a tone to her voice when she spoke of Marguerite that I couldn’t quite figure out. Dislike? Jealousy? A shiver ran down my spine.

“She was murdered right over there,” Edna pointed. “Near the horse’s stall.”

“Murdered?”

“Oh, do forgive me. The appropriate Fitzgerald story is that it was an unfortunate accident.  Beautiful sculptress killed by the magnificent horse she adored. Tragic, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I whispered. “It is.”

Edna paced back and forth, almost dancing. She seemed so different here—  hard and cold. And something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

“I think we should go,” I said. “It’s cold in here.”

“Did Ian tell you he was a suspect?” she asked, making no move to leave.

“Yes, he did.”

She smiled. “Ah.” Placing he hands on her hips, she smirked at me. “Warned you did he?”

“Really, Edna…”

“He has a violent temper you know. Runs in the family. That quick, violent Irish temper. His father had it too they say. In fact he’s just like his father. Aggressive and masculine— not at all like my sweet, sensitive James.”

I turned to go. “I don’t care to hear any more of this.”

She grabbed my arm, pulling me around to face her, blue eyes sparkling with anger. 

“Of course, you don’t want to hear it. No one wants to hear anything bad about the handsome, charming Ian Fitzgerald. They’d rather believe that I did it, or that, heaven forbid, my own husband did it.”

I pulled away from her, wondering if I had heard correctly. “Are you saying you and James were also suspects?”

“Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous? They say the child she was carrying belonged to James. Well, if that were true, why would he murder his own child? It’s far more reasonable that her insanely jealous husband would.”

I stared at her, unable to believe her vicious, spiteful words. The way her eyes blazed at me gave me chills. She must really hate Ian. I thought Edna, with her frilly blonde curls and dimpled cheeks was as sweet and innocent as anyone I’d ever known. Now I saw an angry and vindictive spitfire

“I don’t believe that,” I snapped.

“Isabella, you shouldn’t be here. And neither should you, Edna.”

I turned to see Ian standing in the doorway. With the light behind him, he appeared as a dark shadow, looming and dangerous. And though his voice was soft and quiet there was a frightening quality in it I had not heard before.

I felt as if I were in a nightmare. After this, plus the events of last night, I didn’t know who to trust or who to believe. Had I made a terrible mistake by coming to Marshbay?

I pushed past Ian. He let me go, not reaching to stop me, but called after me.

“Isabella, wait.”

I ran back around the house and through the opening into the courtyard. I hurried as fast as I could to my room and closed the door, locking it behind me. My hands trembled and I felt weak and dizzy.

I stood for a moment, catching my breath before I remembered Ian’s room also had a door to the hallway.  I turned to go into his room, but it was too late. Ian was already through the connecting door, staring at me, his eyes blazing, and lips tight with anger.

“No,” I cried.

“Isabella, listen to me.” He took my wrists in his hands, shaking me slightly. “I am not the enemy, Bella,” he said softly. “I’m not.”

Before I could make a sound he pulled me against him and kissed me. At first his kiss was hard and punishing, then just as suddenly as he’d caught me to him, his mouth turned soft and warm and tender.

His tenderness stopped me cold as always. I wanted to pull away. I knew I should, but I couldn’t. I wanted more of him, more of his kisses. I wanted to feel his hands on my body, his chest pressing against me, his arms holding me tight. I never wanted this to end, though in the back of my mind I tried to summon all the reasons why I should.

In the end it was he who finally pulled away from me. My arms were trapped against his chest, and he still held me. He gazed down at me with such tenderness it took my breath away.

“Does that kiss tell you anything?” he asked. “I love you, Isabella and I would never hurt you. Don’t you know that by now? Can’t you see? Don’t you know that what happened between us earlier was real? Remember how I told you that love is a natural thing? That’s what you’re feeling sweetheart, I promise you. Love.”

Was I insane? After all the rumors, after all that Edna told me, was I completely insane to believe this man? I wanted him to love me more than anything. I began to cry, as much from frustration as anything

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing the hair from my forehead. “Don’t cry.” He kissed my cheeks and my eyes. “I would never hurt you— don’t you know that?”

I wept, unable to stop. But I was defeated. I knew it and so did he.

 Instead of pulling away from him I leaned weakly into him, letting him hold me and soothe me, letting his warm hands touch me. Let him whisper soft words against my hair.

“I think I fell in love with you that first day, when you stormed out of the library.” He put his finger under my chin, lifting my face toward his.

I shook my head, unable to speak. I knew he meant it. I think I had always known it, because every time we were together, I’d felt those emotions he spoke of.  But I was so confused. All the craziness in this house, the rumors, the accusations. The death of Ian’s wife. What was I to believe and how could I fall in love with him so quickly? I hardly knew who he was or what he might have done.

“Bella,” he said, his voice husky. “Let me talk to you. Please. We’ll unlock the door— you can go any time you wish. Just let me try and explain everything to you.”

Someone banged on the door. With a sigh, Ian stood up and went to open it. His mother stood there, gazing past him to me. She tried to push her way into the room, but he held her back.

“Ian, what is going on? I thought I heard voices.”

“I’m perfectly all right, Mrs. Fitzgerald. Really, everything’s fine.”

“Mother, will you find James and Edna and the three of you wait for us in the study? As soon as Isabella and I are done talking we’ll join you there. All right?”

“Well…I — ”

“I’ll explain everything then.” He turned her around as if she were a child and gently nudged her.

He was smiling slightly when he came back to me.

“Sit down, sweetheart.” He pointed to two chairs separated by a round reading table. “Would you like a glass of wine? Tea? Anything?”

“No, nothing. I just want to know what’s going on.”

“I intend to tell you everything. I should have told you in the beginning.”

I sat in one of the chairs and he in the other. He reached across the table and took both my hands in his.

“I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have you go through any of this. I thought I could keep everything quiet and I never dreamed that you would be the target or that Edna— ”

“Ian.” I leaned toward him. “This is not making any sense to me.”

“I know.” He released my hands and for a moment covered his face with his own. He took a deep breath and moved back in the chair, making no effort to touch me again.

“Edna has had some problems in the past.”

“What kind of problems?”

“With her mind…with the way she thinks. She’s a very fragile girl and she goes from depression to gleeful mania. She’d been doing well until your arrival here. Then our wedding, I think, put her back in that dark, frightening place where she imagines things.”

“Ian, what are you saying? That Edna is insane?”

“I don’t like to use that word, but she is definitely troubled. I never thought she was dangerous, though, none of us did. I’m sure now she was the one in your room last night. And the one who drugged the cocoa. Cook told me today that Edna prepared everything herself. Insisted on it. That’s when I came to find you. I was so afraid for you.”

“This is hard to believe. I realized her behavior today was odd, but I never dreamed…” I stopped as a dreadful thought struck me. “You don’t think she killed Marguerite, do you?”

“No, I don’t, but there’s more.”

“Tell me.”

“There’s so much. This family, my father… I’ll tell you all that later. Let me start with Marguerite’s death.”

He seemed so sad and vulnerable. I could see how hard the words were for him. I wanted to go to him, to fall on my knees and hold him and tell him everything would be all right because I was here now to love him and to always be on his side. I loved
Ian and I knew he hadn’t murdered
his wife or anyone, knew that he could never do such a thing. So I sat back in my chair and nodded for him to continue.