Matthew pulled a cigarette from the silver case on his nightstand, lit it, and took in a slow, deep breath. He used to smoke only occasionally, but his habit had picked up since he was put in charge of Lemont Medical. The leisurely way he held the match, the drawn-out inhaling and exhaling—it all seemed calculated to distance himself from the conversation.
“Why shouldn’t I think the worst of your mother?” I sniped. “She keeps her own daughter chained up in the basement!”
“Marjorie’s better,” he said. “Mum sent her off to the Kendricks’ in Palm Beach.”
“Oh really? Why should I believe you this time?”
“You don’t understand.” Matthew spoke slowly, as if lecturing a child. “You talk about my mother as if she’s some sort of villain, when she’s done everything she can to help Marjorie. And you.”
“Oh yes, it’s very clear she enjoys being in charge, which is why I don’t put anything past her. She controls your life, and now she’s trying to do the same to me!”
“You’d never manage here without her. Do you ever think how lucky you are? How many girls dream of living in a house like Lakecrest? You’d be serving drinks at the Pharaoh’s Club if I hadn’t married you!”
It stung. Exactly as Matthew had intended.
“I wish you’d stop smoking in the bedroom,” I said, brushing the white puffs away from my face. “You know it makes me queasy.”
Flopping down on the bed, Matthew sucked in another mouthful of smoke and blew it upward. I was losing his attention, losing him. He was retreating into the poised, detached shell that had become his second skin.
“I know I’m being ungrateful,” I said. Not quite ready to touch him, I sat on the side of the bed, close enough for him to reach me, if he wanted. “I’m doing my best to get along with your mother. Honestly.”
Matthew sat up, stubbed out his cigarette, and slid toward me. “Look at things from her side. I know she can be chilly, but she’s kept this family and the company together. Without her, I don’t know where we’d be.”
“I wonder if Marjorie would agree.”
“Marjorie’s sick.”
“Then she should have been sent to a hospital, not a cell in the basement.”
Matthew sighed. “It’s not that bad.”
“How would you know? You weren’t the one locked up there.”
“I was. When I came back from France.”
When Matthew had talked about being invalided out, I’d pictured him recovering at an expensive rest home, the kind of country place with a wraparound porch and views of nature. But, no. Matthew had been here, imprisoned in the basement of Lakecrest.
“It wasn’t so terrible,” Matthew said, seeing my stricken face. “I don’t remember most of it, to tell you the truth. I came out all right, without making a public spectacle of myself.”
“It didn’t cure you, did it?”
“The doctor said I might never be cured. I’m better than I was. Perhaps that’s the most I can hope for.”
“I know about the clinic,” I told him. Might as well get it out in the open; if I expected the truth from Matthew, I had to do the same for him. “Your visits to Dr. McNally.”
“Who told you?”
I didn’t want to make trouble for Hank. “I hired an investigator,” I said. “He’s the one who told me about the clinic.”
“An investigator?” Matthew demanded. “Why in the world would you do that?”
“For your sake!” I shot back. “Because I was desperate to help you.”
“You don’t understand,” Matthew said brusquely. “It’s a business matter.”
“Business?” I’d have been less surprised if he admitted Cecily was locked in the hospital’s attic.
“We’re testing out a formula,” Matthew explained. “A treatment for nervous hysteria. It’s made one woman’s mania vanish almost entirely. Others carry on conversations, perfectly calm, when before they’d just babble . . . I’ve tried it, Kate. It works.”
I realized with a start that it had been weeks since Matthew woke me in the middle of the night. I’d been so caught up in my own unhappiness that I’d entirely overlooked the fact that Matthew was sleeping peacefully for the first time in our married life.
“This medicine could be the making of Lemont Medical,” Matthew said. “That’s my terrible secret, Kate.”
“I had no idea.”
“No, you didn’t, because this kind of thing must be kept completely confidential until we release our results. We can’t risk our competitors finding out about it, and that means we’re all bound to silence, even with our own families. I was going to tell you, as soon as I could, but instead you chose to snoop and spy. What did you do, go through my papers? Follow me to the clinic?”
“Of course not,” I said. “It was my idea to go there to learn more about Dr. Rieger’s work.”
If I’d been less flustered, I might have come up with a better lie. Matthew stared at me, uncomprehending.
“Grandfather Rieger? Why are you interested in him?”
I didn’t have an answer. Not one I wanted Matthew to hear.
“What happened, Kate?” he asked. Defeated. “Don’t you trust me anymore?”
“What happened? I’m living in a house I hate with a mother-in-law who will never think I’m good enough for her son. I barely see my husband, who spends all his time at work but tells me nothing about it. I am constantly terrified of not living up to my new family’s expectations. And I can’t stop wondering what the Lemonts have done to make everyone talk about them so much!”
I could hear my voice, shrill and accusing, and I hated the sound of it. But I couldn’t stop. “I’ll tell you the real reason I went to the clinic. I thought I might find your aunt Cecily there.”
The name struck Matthew like a curse. He stared at me, horrified.
“Isn’t it possible your mother packed Cecily off to an institution? You said yourself she’d do whatever it took to save the Lemonts from scandal.” The words were like a poison, my body expelling them against my will. “Hannah could have killed Cecily for all I know!”
“Kate!” Furious. “That’s crazy!”
I remembered Marjorie’s words: We’re all crazy. You’ll go crazy, too.
Ever since I’d gotten pregnant, emotions had bubbled up unpredictably, almost against my will. The self-control I’d spent years perfecting crumbled against the force of my anger. “Whatever happened to Cecily, she’s lucky!” I shouted. “She made it out of this miserable house!”
“Stop it!”
Matthew lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders and squeezing until I winced. He leaned down, and his face came within inches of mine. His skin was taut with suppressed fury.
“You want honesty, Kate? I’ll tell you something I’ve never told another living soul. Sometimes, in my dreams, I watch Aunt Cecily bleed to death in front of me, and I look down and see my hands dripping red, and I know that I killed her. I feel the guilt of it, ripping me apart.”
His hands twisted into my hair and jerked my head back.
“If my mother’s capable of murder, what about me?”
I whimpered, and Matthew let go. He stumbled backward and sunk into an armchair. I could almost see the ferocity leave his body as his shoulders slumped and his face fell into an expression of appalled misery. I felt dizzy, bewildered.
“Kate . . . ,” he began, weakly.