“It’s late, Grace,” I said. “You’re soaked through. I want to look at your scalp and make sure –”
“I’m fine. My head is fine, thanks to you. Please, Nick. I want to go into the beautiful library and just be there for a moment. The sound of the rain against the windows is peaceful in there.”
I carried her down the hall to the room she wanted most. I was glad that she had a favourite room; that she felt at home here, with me. It was a dangerous feeling, and one I tried so hard not to nurture. I had hoped that if I paid it so little mind, it might fade away.
I laid Grace down on the couch, the rain hammering at the windows as a storm churned its way into being. She sat up, her eyes falling on the wall behind me, on the deep mahogany shutters concealing a painting.
“I’ve looked everywhere for a picture of her,” she said, her voice small and shaking. “She’s behind there, isn’t she? She’s behind those shutters.”
I tried to keep emotion from my face, but I couldn’t hide it. I hadn’t realised she was so pre-occupied with Louisa.
“I closed her away when I found...when I found it too painful to look at her,” I said solemnly. “The painting staysbehind those shutters, Grace.”
“I need to see her,” she said, in no pleading manner.
I ran a hand through my mop of wet hair. “We really ought to get ourselves dried.”
“I want to see her painting or else I’ll leave tonight,” she said.
Her words sent a stabbing pain through my chest, as if she’d flung a knife.
She wasn’t asking much. It was an easy decision to make, although I didn’t take kindly to her threat of leaving. I winced as she said it. I slowly made my way to the shutters, found the key hidden beneath the ledge, and unlocked it. Grace turned on the lamp beside the couch. As I drew the shutters open, Louisa’s face and hair were illuminated by the soft glow of the lamp.
Grace nodded slowly as she took in her portrait. Louisa watched faithfully back with her black obsidian eyes and impossibly-pale hair, so much like Grace’s.
“This was her library,” she said in a sad, low, defeated voice. “This was her favourite place.”
“It’s yours now,” I said, a little too quickly. My desperation was showing. Grace seemed to understand that, her eyes widening just a little in hope.
“You can close her up now,” she said, and I did so.
The burning inside me, the yearning to know who that man was, defeated me. She’d made a request of me and I’d obeyed her. Now it was time for her to answer to me.
“Who was that man, and what did he want with you?” I asked, meeting Grace by the couch. “I demand you tell me.”
Grace bowed her head and held her arm, stroking it as if to self-soothe.
“I ran from him the night I came here,” she said, her voice strained with emotion. “I didn’t know he’d come and find me. I rejected him, and he...he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’ve known him all my life. He’s turned into a monster.”
“Has he ever...have you, ever...”
“No,” said Grace firmly. “Never.”
I crouched down beside her.
“If he ever comes here again, Grace, he won’t be leaving,” I said. I was alarmed at my own bitterness, my own hostility at the idea of that man, any man, laying a finger on her. But I meant every word.
She looked up at me curiously, then. Her hand lifted to touch my face, and I caught it, holding it in mine.
“He called me a whore,” she said, the pain evident in her broken voice. “He said I looked dirty and disgusting.”
“Put him from your mind immediately. Don’t gift him with any more space inside your head,” I said.
Tears pooled in her eyes and fell in such a way that I found it unbearable.
“We need to set a new rule,” I said, moving a few strands of wet hair from her crestfallen face. I let go of her hand and let her arm fall back into her lap.“That you never, ever keep secrets from me. I can’t take care of you if I don’t know about the dangers you’re facing. I can’t keep them at bay if you won’t let me. Do you promise me, Grace?”
“Yes,” she said, almost in a whisper. “Thank you, sir.”
