Titus punched me in the shoulder and slid off the corner of my desk to head for the twins, who sat together in the window seat. A set of old scorebooks lay open between them, ignored. Elena had some bright new idea, for her face was luminous with joy as she talked a mile a minute at Ivan. I knew from that strained look on his face that even patient Ivan was reaching peak Elena overdose. He looked relieved when Titus inserted himself between them.
Satisfied I was alone again, I flipped up my laptop screen, where I’d opened a new file titled “Concerning the Fall of the House of Usher.” If anyone found it I could claim it was song inspiration. Underneath I’d written everything I knew, which wasn’t much – Madame Usher invited Faye to the school, but she told me it had been Master Radcliffe’s decision. He’d never corrected her lie. She blackmailed me into bullying Faye, and into pulling Titus and Ivan into it.
And then, there were these strange happenings – things done to Faye I couldn’t explain. The ruined violin. The face at the window. Faye saying something about music playing at night. All things we weren’t responsible for.
We weren’t the only ones haunting Faye. That knowledge chilled my blood like nothing else.
I added to the list Madame’s crazed reaction when Faye brought in that violin from the instrument room. At the time, I assumed Faye had picked up some particularly rare piece, but although it was a Carl Becker, it was on the low end of value for her collection. I’d never heard Madame screech like that – losing grip of her tightly bound control. For whatever reason, that violin waspersonal.
I just didn’t know why. The instrument room was locked, and I didn’t have a key. This would be easier if I could talk to Faye. But then if I was allowed to talk to her, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
One thing was clear – Faye was the center of this. I realized just how little I knew about her life since we stopped being friends. Curious, I switched to the browser and Googled her name. I expected to see the usual news stories about the disappearance of her father, the ones I’d scoured for months after I’d left the music school, desperate to see a glimpse of her in the images, to know she was okay.
Instead, what came up were stories from the last eighteen months. PR LEGEND STRUCK DOWN BY MYSTERY ILLNESS, one headline read. I clicked on it and pulled up the article.
“Marguerite de Winter, the East Village It girl who built a PR empire from the ground up, was struck down this week with a mysterious illness. Her company, De Winter PR, will continue to operate with executive assistant Natalie Baker keeping De Winter advised in her hospital room.
De Winter is familiar in certain classical music circles not as the PR giant but as the wife of famed virtuoso Donovan de Winter, who disappeared without a trace a decade ago. She has no family in America, apart from her daughter Faye, who has declined to comment to media on her mother’s condition. Ms. Baker has explained that de Winter’s condition is critical, with doctors having no clue as to the origin of her ailment—
I clicked on another link from six months ago: DE WINTER PR DECLARES BANKRUPTCY.
“De Winter PR announced its bankruptcy this week after the CEO’s daughter Faye de Winter drained its coffers to pay her mother’s medical bills. The firm will cease operations at the end of the week and vacate its trendy East Village office.
Faye declined to comment, but sources within the company explain how this tragedy came to pass. “We understand Faye’s position, of course. Marguerite’s health must take priority. But we’re shocked and saddened that everything Marguerite built has now been torn apart.”
How did such a successful businesswoman end up in this position? Of course, Marguerite de Winter couldn’t have predicted her illness, but she could have protected her business. Chief Operations Officer Natalie Baker explained, “Marguerite was a force of nature – she tore through life like a hurricane, and that was how she built such a successful business. She kept a big, beautiful vision in her head and relied on those around her to fill in the details. She was a total scatterbrain – constantly forgetting things, leaving her keys behind, dropping important documents at the cafe. I’m not surprised she struggled to remember to pay insurance bills.”
According to Baker, De Winter’s tragic story should be a warning to all business owners. “It’s a powerful message that even those who are successful should take care of the little things. If Marguerite had paid her bills on time, her insurance wouldn’t have lapsed and her legacy wouldn’t have been dismantled.”
Interesting that this Natalie was previously an assistant and was now promoted to COO. My heart pounding, I kept clicking. A short piece on an industry blog from a week before Faye arrived at Manderley noted that Marguerite De Winter had fallen into a coma.
Shit.
I knew Faye was visiting someone at the hospital because Harrison picked her up there, but I had no idea… Faye’s mom was on life-support, withno insurance. She had no money to her name.
She was alone.
I knew what that felt like.
Shit.
No wonder Faye was so determined to stay at Manderley no matter what I did to her. She needed the prize money just as much as I did.More. And that was saying something.
Madame Usher knew that. She dangled the Manderley Prize over Faye’s head, making Faye dance like a puppet for her own amusement. Surely, Faye could see Madame would never reward her the prize even though – and it burned in my throat to admit it – she probably deserved it for her composition talents alone.
Madame Usher pulls the strings, and we both dance.
But why?
My mind flashed back to the nightmare I relived every night as I lay down to sleep.
Clare lying at the bottom of the staircase, her neck bent at an impossible angle.
Her words, shouted at me seconds before she fell to her death.
Dorien, listen to me! I have to tell you something about Madame Usher. About the noises in the walls.
I squeezed my eyes shut. I told myself it was an accident. Clare was running after me, trying to get my attention, and she tripped on the stairs and fell. That was what I had to believe. For his sake.
