House of Glass (9 page)

He was tense, as if he were holding back. I lifted my one free hand to his face and ran my fingers over his chin, feeling the stubble, rough against my skin. I touched his lips, felt his warm breath, and then I brought my lips to his.

A passion within me was uncapped, and I went wild, kissing him, mad for the taste of him, the feel of him against my skin. We kissed at the top of the world, a fortress beneath us, the stars above, and only my thin cotton gown between us.

He stood still as stone and allowed me to come at him, kissing him, again and again. When I was spent, when his stubble had rubbed me raw, and all I could do was pant, only then did he move. When he did, it was with a roar and an explosion of strength. He was a force like a tidal wave, crushing us backward until I collided with the stone wall.

He dragged his lips across the skin of my neck. I felt every sensation magnified a thousand times over and I cried out.

He stopped. “Did I harm you?” he asked.

“No.”

He lifted our hands, still joined together by diamonds, and held them right in front of us. “The moment I first saw you,” he said. “I knew you would be full of passion, I knew it in my bones.” He kissed me again. “But I didn’t know you would be such a mystery. Shy and wild, understanding.” He took a deep breath, and raised the diamonds up. “I’d give you anything you desire. Just name it.”

I pulled away from him and the necklace strained between us. “Is that what you think? That I can be bought with diamonds? With diamonds?”

“No. Not at all.”

I moved away from him sharply, forgetting about the necklace. It broke apart, and diamonds arced through the sky in all directions, a thousand falling stars that rained down all around us. I put my hand to my neck and lifted the worn leather strap. The shell dangled between my fingers, more precious to me than any diamond. “This is the only necklace I wear,” I said.

“A shell?” He laughed. It was a cynical sound. “Ah. So you are saying that I can’t reach your heart through diamonds, only a simple shell?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” I stared at him, willing him to remember, and feeling foolish because he didn’t. Of course he didn’t remember.

Chapter Six

I saw Annie later the next afternoon, crossing the lawn with the torch in her hand, the other shielding the fire from the wind. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was the last time I would see her alive.

Annie did not appear for dinner, and though I thought nothing of it, Mrs. Amber was bothered by her absence.

“Have you seen Annie?” she asked me.

“I saw her crossing the lawn with a torch, just before dinner,” I replied.

“Yes, that was what I thought.” She pushed absently at her food. “You don’t think she would go to the glass house? Inside?” But she quickly answered her own question. “No, not her.”

“I’m certain she’s okay, most likely Mr. St. Claire had a job for her.” To hear those words aloud pricked me with jealousy. I was ashamed for it, and rushed on speaking. “She’ll show up any moment.”

“Probably,” said Mrs. Amber, distractedly.

If only at that moment I had the foresight to know the complex web that was enveloping me. Perhaps at that very moment I would have risen and instinctively known that her life was at risk. Perhaps it might not have been too late; we could have found her in time. But I shall never know, because in my naiveté, my childish, self-absorbed ignorance, I could not see what was right before me.

We finished dinner and I put away the dishes while Mrs. Amber went to search the house for Annie. I went to my room, set aside the meat for Maxie and lay on the bed, hoping that Annie would return and that I could sneak out again later. But that was not to be.

Mrs. Amber knocked on my door a short time later. “Mr. St. Claire is organizing a party to search for Annie. We have checked the glass house. She was not there. Mr. St. Claire does not want you along. He told me specifically to lock you in your room.” There was a note of accusation hanging in her voice, but she was too concerned about Annie to pursue it. “I’m going to join him. You might hear us calling out.”

I lay there in my bed as my room darkened and went to black. Strange, panicked voices carried on the wind and for the first time, a real fear for Annie crossed my mind. Where had she gone?

Poor Lucas, forced to relive yet again the search for a missing woman.

I heard Maxie at my window, but she was restless, and spooked by the yells and shouts. She would not come to the window, so I tossed my food onto the ground, and she grabbed it and slinked off into the shadows.

Time stilled, and I counted the passing moments from shout to shout, knowing with each call of their voices that she had not yet been found. Finally, sometime long after I lay down, I slept, but my dreams were furtive. I dreamed of Celeste, that I was searching the island for her, but I could not locate her.

* * *

They found Annie in the morning.

Another servant came and unlocked my door, telling me the gravity of the situation. I went straight to the cliffs, seeing the group of people gathered there. When I arrived and peered over the side, I turned aside, closing my eyes, but I could not push away the image that I had seen.

There was Annie’s body, petite and lifeless, facedown in the shallow waves. With each swell of the water, her arms and legs would move, and in a horrible comedy of sorts, she looked like she was trying to climb the rocks, to rescue herself, as if she did not yet realize that it was already far too late.

The torches were still lit all the way down the stairs, except for the last, the one closest to the house. I recalled the first time I met her, when she was carrying the torch and told me of her reluctance to light the bottom torch. I wondered if she had fallen before she lit it? Or had she refused, and fallen on her return to the manor? I suppose it didn’t matter, but somehow her fear, her aversion of the glass house weighed on my mind.

The glass house. It was brilliant that morning, in the soft light of the rising sun. Pinks and gold colors spun through its walls and blazed in an ecstasy of color. It was almost vulgar against the backdrop of human suffering. But still it blazed on, without regard to poor Annie’s plight. Indeed, I had never seen it lit by the morning light, and it was pristine, more beautiful than I had ever seen it before.

I hung there, suspended, transfixed, watching the men as they descended the stairs in a single file. The sheriff was at the lead, his uniform and hat a commanding sight. Two of the men waded into the knee-deep water, climbing over the rocks, and when they reached her body they hesitated before lifting her.

It was a relief to see how gentle they were when lifting her body. It was then that I looked away, overcome with emotion and grief, and a new memory, of my jealous thought when she and I had heated words. What was it that I had thought? I had wished she were out of my life. Out of his life. How awful.

It was a perfect morning, the sky a thin, high color of blue, only a few strands of clouds that would be brushed away by the wind. I felt a hand at my elbow, and I looked to see Mr. St. Claire beside me.

“It is an unthinkable tragedy,” he said. His face was impassive as stone, and yet I saw the lines between his brows were deepened by his sleepless night of worry.

“I did not know her very well,” I said in an almost apologetic tone. “Not yet, at least.”

“Now that opportunity is taken forever.”

“Just like that,” I continued. “It seems horrible how quickly a life can be snatched away.”

His lips drew together, his whole face tightened.

“I’m sorry,” I said quickly, realizing too late the error of my impulsive words. “How thoughtless of me.”

“Nonsense,” he replied coolly, dismissively. “One tragedy has nothing whatsoever to do with the other.” His words were so certain, said with complete authority, and yet I sensed doubt in his words.

One simple fact lay unspoken between us and it burned brighter than any torch. I had wished her gone. I choked back a sob, a confusing mixture of guilt and sorrow, and Lucas patted my back. I peered again at his face, searching for any signs of grief that pointed to something deeper than that of an employer. There was none, only his firm bearing and impassive gaze, staring straight ahead into the wind.

The sheriff and his men had strapped Annie’s body to a stretcher, and had begun the arduous task of carrying her lifeless form up the staircase. I noticed Mrs. Amber at the top of the staircase, standing resolutely with her hands folded over her waist.

When the men reached her, she moved aside, and reached out gently to touch a lock of Annie’s dark hair that had slipped out from beneath the sheet. Such a simple gesture, and yet it seemed so extreme to come from such a harsh woman. I warmed a bit to Mrs. Amber in that moment.

Lucas had left my side and gone to walk beside the sheriff. The sheriff handed Mr. St. Claire the torch, now darkened with seawater, and Lucas walked with his usual stiff gait, looking thoughtfully at the torch as he talked to the sheriff.

Mrs. Amber approached me. “Mr. St. Claire has given the staff the day off,” she said. “There will be an inquest, of course, though it seems to be a formality. It looks like a true accident.”

My heart felt black as night. “I prefer to work, Mrs. Amber. To keep busy.”

She nodded and said absently, “Idle hands.” She turned to the manor and began to walk away. “Well, if you’re going to get on with it, I have a list for you. I suppose that we’ll need someone new to light the torches.”

“I’ll do it,” I said quickly, no hesitation at all.

“Well that’s the quickest anyone has ever offered before. You’re a good girl to be quick to step up and fill Annie’s role.”

When we reached the mansion, Mrs. Amber was true to her word, and supplied me with a list of duties that kept me busy all day long.

Mr. St. Claire left the next day on a business trip, and it took many weeks for things to settle into a normal but somber pattern. I quickly took to lighting the torches each evening and did my best not to look down where Annie had fallen. I went to the glass house as often as I dared and Maxie was my only company. Her belly was growing and she was forced to waddle along beside me, her belly swaying from side to side.

The sheriff declared Annie’s death an accident, and the house seemed to return to life a little bit after that. It wasn’t until Mr. St. Claire returned that things began to slide from bad to worse.

Chapter Seven

At the end of the third week Lucas returned home. It was to little fanfare, and the first night I served him dinner along with the others, his eyes followed me around the room, but he said nothing. I went to the glass house that evening, hopefully, expectantly, but he didn’t show, and I was left feeling anxious and unsure of our status.

The next morning, I was pulling sheets from the linen closet when an arm slipped around my waist, strong and sure, and pulled me close to a warm body.

“Good morning, Reyna.”

“Lucas,” I whispered, completely shocked and breathless with the joy of relief. Whatever had caused his distance yesterday had disappeared. “You can’t,” I whispered, but I leaned into him, anyway, absorbing the feel of him, the familiar scent, before pulling away and returning my attentions to the linen closet.

He was in good spirits and I was happy to see it. “You look almost happy.”

“That’s because I am almost happy,” he said, before adding in mock seriousness, “almost.”

“Mr. St. Claire,” came a stern voice. I looked to see Mrs. Amber. Her face was a stony mask as she regarded him. “Can I help you, sir?”

“Yes you can, Mrs. Amber. You can give Reyna here the rest of the morning off. I have a plan for her.”

Mrs. Amber raised one eyebrow and shot me a brief, but very accusatory glance. “Of course, sir.” Her voice was respectful, solemn even, and after that her face didn’t betray one emotion.

“No, I can’t possibly,” I said, wringing my hands together.

“She does have a bit of work to do, Mr. St. Claire.”

“Certainly she could use an afternoon off.”

“Of course.” Her voice was still smooth.

“I’ll have her back by dinner, I promise. Don’t be so stodgy, Mrs. Amber, I can take her sailing with no ill effect, right?”

“Of course, sir.”

Lucas turned to me. “Reyna, go and grab some beach clothes. I’m taking you sailing.”

I looked from Lucas to her and back again, and in my mind I was already choosing the sarong I would wear. Finally, I said, “Yes, sir, of course.”

I rushed to my room, feeling the stare of Mrs. Amber at my back. I needed to move fast so that I wouldn’t lose my nerve.

I dug through my belongings and pulled out a bathing gown, putting it on and then wrapping my body in a sarong. I felt very alive and rebellious all of a sudden.

Lucas was waiting for me at the double doors. I had forgotten how tall and imposing he was. Standing before the doors, he made them look small. He wore a cotton shirt and knee pants, and in the light of day I could clearly see that his leg was misshapen, but it didn’t distract from his looks in any way. He had a satisfied look on his face when he saw me, and held up a basket that I could see was full of food and drinks.

We rode to the dock using the old cart and mare, and when we passed the switchback where I had fallen, I closed my eyes. There was no mist, only Lucas next to me, and fingers of sunlight that broke through the foliage. It was perfect.

When we arrived at the dock, I knew his sailboat immediately. It was the largest, topped with the flag of St. Claire, the blues and red colors snapping in the wind. On board, the vessel was perfection, with shining teak floorboards and a bright white cushioned seating area. It was a far cry from my father’s rowboat.

I have always thought of boats as necessary utilities, a way to earn a living, not a thing to enjoy, so I was a bit hesitant. I was nervous, too, about a boat that relied solely on the wind for power, but Lucas assured me that the wind was always strong around the island, and besides there was a motor for emergencies. The sailboat was a proud vessel, crisp white on the outside, a teak wood that shone like fresh honey, and ropes coiled waiting for use. The sails were furled up and strapped down, and looked to be waiting for the moment that they could open to the wind.