In the Shadow of Lakecrest(48)

No method was foolproof. I knew that. But my thoughts raced on anyway, as I imagined how easy it would be to swap one white pill with another—especially if you had access to a factory that manufactured medicine.

I didn’t have to fake my nausea when I called for Alice and said I wouldn’t be down for supper. I scrubbed the kohl off my face and collapsed on the bed. Once the thought had lodged in my brain, it was impossible to think of anything else. It wasn’t an accident. Someone wanted me to get pregnant.

There was a gentle knock at the door, and Matthew peeked inside.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Tired,” I said, which was true enough. I was tired of carrying around all this suspicion. All this fear.

“Can I bring you anything?”

I shook my head and turned away. Matthew slipped out and quietly closed the door behind him.

I was jumping to conclusions, presuming the worst. But I couldn’t stop picturing the tape, the wrapping, the pills scattered across the floor. Matthew and I had never really discussed the measures I took to avoid a pregnancy; he left what he called “the arrangements” to me. But he was the only one who knew where I kept my supplies. And hadn’t he been surprisingly happy about the baby? As if he’d wanted one all along.

By the time Matthew came back after supper, I was jittery with suspicion. When he asked how I was feeling, I threw the packaging toward him and demanded to know what he’d done. If he’d been so desperate for a child that he’d tricked me into getting pregnant.

“Do you really think I’d do that?” he asked. Wounded.

That was the problem. I wasn’t sure.

“Tell me the truth,” I said. “That’s all I want.”

Matthew hesitated, and I saw the two sides of my husband battle for control: gentle, kind Matthew, who wanted to protect me, and steely Mr. Lemont, who’d let me provoke him only so far.

“The truth,” he said at last. “All right, then. I’ve put on a happy face for your sake, but I don’t want this baby any more than you do. I was thrilled you agreed to put off having children. What’s done is done, and we have to make the best of it. But there are times I dread becoming a father. What kind of parent do you think I’ll be, when there are days I question my own sanity?”

Matthew looked at me warily. Bracing himself for my reaction. “There you have it,” he said. “The truth.”

I could have matched his honesty with my own, but I was more eager to place blame.

“Well, I can think of someone else who’s desperate for a baby. Your mother.”

“Every woman her age wants a grandchild! Honestly, Kate, you’re being ridiculous.”

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.