The Blackstone Chronicles

Chapter 6

As the symphony of chimes signifying the dinner hour echoed through the Hartwicks’ vast house, Madeline carried the last plate into the breakfast room, where she, Jules, and Celeste invariably ate when they were alone. Tonight, in a special effort to please her troubled husband, Madeline had covered the table with one of her best lace cloths, set out the sterling candelabra that had belonged to Jules’s mother—the same candelabra that could be seen in the portrait of her that they’d found in the attic, and which now hung in the library—and gotten out the Limoges china with the hunting pattern that had always been his favorite. Celeste had even found a dozen roses at the florist that perfectly matched the red of the burgundy Madeline had opened half an hour ago.
Madeline turned the outside lights on, transforming the dark landscape beyond the windows into a brilliantly sparkling winterscape. As she waited for her husband and daughter to join her, she decided that no matter how bad Jules’s mood had been today, the dinner she’d prepared, and the setting she created in which to serve it, couldn’t possibly fail to cheer him up. But when Celeste came into the room as the last of the clocks’ chimes died away, her father was not with her.
“Do you think he’ll come at all?” Celeste asked as she took her seat while her mother poured the wine.
“I don’t know,” Madeline replied, sounding far more calm than she felt.
“But—”
“But nothing,” Madeline cut in, perfectly matching the level of wine in the third Waterford goblet to that in the other two. “If he won’t tell us what’s wrong …” Her voice died away as she heard Jules’s footsteps coming through the dining room.
When he appeared in the doorway, she forced a smile that managed to mask the many emotions that had been churning through her all day. “I’ve fixed all your favorites,” she said, moving toward Jules to take his arm and draw him into the room. When he pulled away from her, she chose to ignore it, and pulled his chair out for him. “Filet mignon, just on the medium side of medium rare, a baked potato with all the things that are bad for you, green beans with almonds, and a Caesar salad. And I broke out a Pauillac, one of the ’eighty-fives.”
Jules eyed the table carefully, as if searching for something that might be ready to strike out at him, and for a moment Madeline was afraid he was going to bolt from the room. But then he moved away from his chair and seated himself in her own. He looked up at her, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Suppose I sit in your chair tonight?” he asked, a strange smile twisting his lips—one that seemed to Madeline to be oddly triumphant, as if he’d just won some kind of victory over her. “Would that be all right with you?”
“Of course,” she replied, immediately settling herself into what was ordinarily Jules’s place at the table. It felt distinctly odd, but if this was what it would take to soothe her husband, so be it. She picked up her knife and fork, cut off a small portion of the steak, and put it in her mouth.
Jules abruptly stood up. “I’ve changed my mind. I’ll sit there after all.”
Her jaw tightening, but saying nothing, Madeline stood and picked up the plate in front of her.
“Leave it there,” Jules commanded.
Celeste, who until now had said nothing at all, finally broke her silence. “For heaven’s sake, Daddy, what are you doing? Did you think Mother poisoned your food or something? It’s as if …” Celeste’s words died away as her father’s eyes bored into her, glowing with a feverish light she’d never seen in them before. She quickly shifted her own gaze to her mother, who shook her head just enough for Celeste to understand that she would do well to change the subject. “Maybe we could talk about the wedding,” she began, realizing the moment the words were out of her mouth that she’d made a mistake.
“And what wedding would that be?” her father demanded, his voice ice cold.
“M-mine and Andrew’s,” Celeste stammered, her words barely audible.
Jules’s gaze pierced her. “Really, Celeste, how stupid do you think I am?” Once again Celeste glanced at her mother, but this time her father saw the movement of her eyes. “Don’t look at her, Celeste. She can’t help you this time. I’m on to her, and I’m on to Andrew. I’m even on to you.”
Celeste set down her fork. She had begun to tremble. “Why are you doing this, Daddy? Why are you talking like everyone’s out to get you? Why are—”
“Aren’t they?” Jules suddenly bellowed, slamming his fist down on the table so hard his wineglass fell over. A dark stain spread like blood from a wound. “There won’t be a wedding, Celeste! Not to that bastard Andrew Sterling, anyway. And as of tomorrow morning, he’ll be out of the Bank. Do you understand? How dare he think he can take over my own Bank! And how dare you even think of marrying him! Don’t you understand? He wants everything I have. My Bank, my wife, my daughter— everything! Well, he won’t get it! None of it! None of it, goddamn it!”
Bursting into tears, Celeste fled from the table. Madeline rose as if to follow her daughter, but as she heard Celeste’s feet pounding up the stairs, she turned back to face her husband, her own eyes now almost as angry as his. “Have you gone out of your mind, Jules?” she demanded. “I called Dr. Margolis earlier, and I’m going to call him again in the morning. In the meantime, I suggest—”
“You’ll suggest nothing!” Jules stood, plunging his right hand deep into the pocket of his pants. “What are you planning to do, put me in the Asylum? Well, you won’t get away with it, Madeline! When I tell people what you’ve been up to—you and Andrew, and Celeste too—you’ll all be in jail! Or have you got everyone else in the plot too?” His eyes narrowed to tiny, suspicious slits. “You’d better tell me what you’re planning, Madeline. I’ll find out, you know. One way or another, I’ll find out everything.”
He edged toward her, but Madeline turned and strode from the breakfast room. By the time he’d moved through the dining room and the small parlor, she had reached the foot of the broad staircase.
“I’m going upstairs, Jules,” she told him, her eyes fixed steadily on him, her voice calm. “I’m not having an affair with anyone, and I’m not out to ruin your life, and neither are Celeste and Andrew. We all love you, and we all want to help you.” She paused, then spoke again, using the soothing tones that had always calmed Celeste when she was a child. “It’s going to be all right, Jules. Whatever is wrong, I’m going to fix. Right now, I’m going to go up and take care of our daughter. Then, in a few minutes, I’ll be back downstairs, and you and I can figure it all out.” When he made no reply, she turned and hurried up the stairs.
Jules, clutching the locket tightly in his right hand, watched her disappear onto the second floor. Take care of Celeste, indeed! He could almost hear them, whispering together in Celeste’s room, scheming against him.
Scheming what?
Would Madeline really call Margolis and have him locked away in the Asylum?
Of course she would! She’d do anything to get rid of him, so she and Andrew could take over the Bank.
And Celeste was part of it too, of course!
How stupid he’d been not to have seen it coming months ago! But of course that had been the genius of their plot—Celeste would pretend to be in love with Andrew so he’d never suspect what Andrew and Madeline were up to! But he’d figured it out in time.
And he’d stop it too.
He was at the foot of the stairs; suddenly, one of the lights on the telephone went on.
They were trying to call someone! One of their coconspirators, no doubt!
He started up the stairs, intent on stopping them, then realized they’d have locked Celeste’s door against him.
The phones!
He could tear out the phones!
Instead of going up, he dashed back through the dining room and into the kitchen, then down the back stairs to the basement. Groping in the dark, he found the light switch. The bright glare of a naked bulb pierced the darkness around him.
The laundry room.
That’s where the main electrical box was, and he was almost sure that’s where they’d put the box for the new phone system he’d had installed last year.
He darted into the laundry room, felt for the light switch, and a moment later found the telephone’s control box right where he remembered it.
Dozens of wires sprouted from the connector boards that were mounted on the wall next to the controller, and Jules, after staring at them for a split second, began indiscriminately jerking them loose.
Through nothing more than pure chance, the very first wires he tore free from the boards were the lines coming in from the outside. Though he kept tearing at the wires, the phones throughout the house had already gone dead.