“I daresay you might. And then again, you might not. Everything’s gone into trust for Evelyn, hasn’t it? So it’s going to take weeks to get it back out again. Weeks! When there’s a much simpler way.”
She says those words so cheerfully, you wouldn’t believe their meaning. And I suppose until that moment I didn’t quite believe what Simon wrote. I didn’t quite believe that she could possibly be such a monster, that she could so thoroughly lack any human empathy. When you think of such monsters, you think of men. You think of mad criminals, shackled and menacing, the kind you read about in newspapers. You don’t imagine they could dance among you like fairies, charming and exquisite, laughing secretly at your credulousness. How could a voice so sweet convey such evil? It isn’t possible.
I turn to Samuel. “You can’t let her do this.”
He responds by heaving his large body out of the driver’s seat and into the open air. The engine’s still running, the headlights lit. He opens the back door—not ungently—and takes hold of my arm. “Come along.”
“No. I won’t.”
Before I can do more than tighten my hold on Evelyn, Samuel bends inside and grasps my daughter by the waist and shoulder. I cry out and fight him, kicking out my legs and twisting away, but he’s too big and bound in muscle, and I’m sick and exhausted, wedged inside the back of a Ford. No leverage at all. He’ll tear her in two if I don’t release her. My arms give way, and Evelyn, awake now, starts to cry. Samuel hands her swiftly to Lydia and yanks me out of the Ford and into a firm hold, the kind you put on prisoners. I flail for my daughter, without effect. Lydia smiles and cuddles Evelyn close.
“There, there,” she says. “Auntie Clara’s got you, darling.”
“Mama!” cries Evelyn.
“Mama’s just fine, darling. She’s with Uncle Samuel. They’re going into the house now, and we’re going to sit outside and play.”
Evelyn points to the sky. “Night night.”
“That’s right. Night night. Such a long night for you, little angel. It’s almost done now.” Lydia looks up at Samuel. “Go on. What are you waiting for? You can see it’s upsetting her.”
She must know, I think. She must know what anguish it is, to watch your child burrow into the arms of another woman, a dangerous woman, and you helpless. I can see this knowledge in the smile she gives me. The way she turns her shoulder and bends her face to Evelyn’s face and murmurs in my daughter’s ear. Aren’t children supposed to recognize evil? But Evelyn doesn’t. Like me, she submits without question to Lydia’s charm.
“Off you go,” Lydia says again, over that shoulder, carrying Evelyn away, and at last Samuel moves forward, dragging me in the opposite direction, and I can’t beg and sob, I can’t plea and struggle, because Evelyn will hear me and be afraid.
So I stumble behind him and choke on my terror.
Stay calm, I tell myself. Mounting the steps of the front portico, Samuel’s hand a vise around mine.
You must stay calm. You must find a way out of this.
This cannot be the end of the road.
As soon as Evelyn’s out of earshot, as soon as Samuel has forced open the door and dragged me across the front hall, I start to talk. Low, steady voice. A cool customer, Mr. Burns called Simon. Well, I can be cool, too. I can be as cool as you please.
“You can’t do this, Samuel. You won’t kill me, even for her.”
He doesn’t reply.
“Let go of me. You know you can’t live with yourself. She’s killing you, bit by bit. Every word she’s told you is a lie, can’t you see? Let go of me. Let’s save Evelyn together, let’s save what Simon left behind.”
Samuel growls, Damn Simon!
“All right! Damn Simon, then. But don’t damn me.” We’re staggering down the length of the parlor now, past the closed door to Simon’s study, rooms I hardly remember. In back lies the kitchen, beneath the children’s wing. Miss Bertram. Where does she sleep? In the house? In her mother’s cottage, near the orchard? I call out. “Portia! Miss Bertram!”
Samuel wheels around and raises his fist. Stops just short. “Be quiet!” he hisses.
“Portia!” Louder. “Portia!”
The hand comes down to clamp across my mouth, and I keep calling her name through his fingers, while he scoops me up and carries me the rest of the way, limbs flailing, into the kitchen. Plants me down on the table. Says to me in a fierce voice, still pressing his hand over my mouth, “Just listen to me, for God’s sake. Will you shut the devil up and listen!”
I still myself and nod. Samuel lifts his hand from my mouth and curls it around my shoulder. Firm, unshakable grip.
“There’s going to be a fire—”
I gasp and start upward. He pushes me down again.
“Listen! You’re going to wait, you’re going to wait until the smoke’s going and you’re going to flee, out the back, flee and find somewhere to hide.”
“But Evelyn!”
“You’ll get her back, I swear it. As soon as you sign over the damned inheritance, I’ll get her back for you. Do you hear me? I’ll get her back.”
He’s bending over me, staring at me with those hazel eyes that are so exactly like Simon’s, so perfectly recalling the eyes of my husband, I have the strangest feeling, for just an instant, that Simon is actually speaking to me.
“How much?” I whisper.
“Everything. The company. The plantation. The bank accounts. Then you disappear. Move somewhere else, the other side of the country.”
“How do I know you’ll do it? If she realizes, if she makes you go back and finish the job—do her bidding as you’ve always done—”
“I’m not doing her bidding now.”
“Yes, you are. You’re still giving her what she wants. You think that this way, you can still square it with your conscience, but you can’t, Samuel, you’re her stooge, it’s going to tear you apart, the way she’s always torn you apart—”
The hand clamps back down on my mouth. “Enough. You don’t know anything. You can’t possibly imagine—”
“Samuel?”
A sweet voice carries from the doorway. Samuel closes his eyes and sags forward, and I spring against his hold, trying to slip free in this instant of his inattention, but his reflexes are too sharp. He grabs me back and turns to face Lydia, who’s standing by the kitchen door, smiling a little, holding my sleeping daughter against her shoulder.
“I was wondering what was going on in here. Haven’t you finished yet? The sun’s going to start rising any minute.” She meets my gaze and leans her cheek into Evelyn’s soft hair. “She’s such a dear. Goes right to sleep. Poor little mite.”
I launch myself forward. She turns away, and Samuel gathers me back against his chest, arms bound like iron across my ribs.
“Tie her to the range,” Lydia says over her shoulder. “That should hold her.”
Samuel hesitates.
“Now, darling. Or else someone will spot the car. The light rises so quickly out here.”
I can feel the thud of Samuel’s heart between my shoulders. The heave of his lungs.