“Your mum and dad had their affair here?” I reach forward to take his hand.
“She used to tuck me into bed at night and tell me stories about what a wonderful, kind man he was. I find it all so conflicting.” He scrubs his hand over his face in frustration. “She loved him, Gracie; right up to the day she died, she loved him. How could a man, who did all the things you said he did, earn the love of a person like her? ” He looks up at me with tears in his eyes, and I slide onto the floor to sit beside him.
“I can’t answer that; no one can.” I hate that’s all I can offer him.
“I don’t know if the stories she told me were made up for my benefit or for hers. Who knows, they might have even been true. Maybe for her, he managed to be a better person.” He looks so hopeful as he stares back at me.
“When I first moved in here, I thought of this garden as tainted. I hated the idea of seeing where he deceived her into falling in love.”
“Maybe what you said was right, maybe he was different with her?” I may hate Bernard Ravenshaw, but Jack deserves to believe he was created from something special.
“I sometimes saw glimpses of the man she claimed he was on the rare times he visited. I noticed the way he looked at her like she was holding his whole fucking world in the palm of her hand. It was easy to believe he’d been the man who laid out a blanket on that patch of lawn out there and stargazed with her. A man who read stories to me while I was still inside her and told her how much he wanted me to be a boy. I saw it as I got older, everytime he called me to fix something, and would ask me how she was. He promised her so much; he kept her hanging on a thread, waiting for him for fuckingyears.” I can see his anger building. “Fuck! I’m sorry, this wasn’t supposed to be like this. I wanted to give you something?—”
“Youhavegiven me something.” I drag him back down when he tries to stand up. “What happened to her, Jack?” I ask, hoping he’s not going to shut me out again.
“Whatever he felt for her killed her,” he tells me, clenching his jaw as his eyes burn with rage. “I’ve always known my father involved himself in trouble. I was usually one of the people who helped get him out of it. I was in the States when she died. Dad paid for me to spend the whole of my summer out there. There was never any expense spared in getting rid of me when I started to attract too much attention.” He laughs sadly. “She was murdered, in her own home, while I was partying in L.A. Someone came to her house and fucking slaughtered her, and I should have been there to protect her.” He slams a fist into his palm and growls. “I have no evidence, but I know what happened had something to do with him.”
“You think he killed her?” None of this makes sense; if Jack thought that, why would he continue to do the man’s dirty work?
“No, like I said, in his own fucked-up way, I believe he loved her, and that’s what got her killed.” I see how heavy the burden of knowing that is for him to carry. “There had been plenty of threats made towards Cecelia and Thomas from the people he’d pissed off over the years. Half the time, I was the one who eliminated those threats.” I want to ask him how. I want to know what lengths this man went to to protect a family that refused to accept him, but I don’t want to interrupt him while we’re getting somewhere. “I guess there was someone out there who knew the real way to hurt him.”
“I don’t know what to say.” I do, but now isn’t the time. Surely, he should be looking at Cecelia as a suspect? I can’t imagine anyone would have wanted revenge on Bernard more than she did. I need to keep a closer eye on her, as well as be more cautious. Once again, my hand instinctively strokes my tummy.
“I told him my theory. I wanted to find out who he’d pissed off so I could make them pay, but he refused to even consider that it might be the reason Mum was killed. He was fucking wrong, Gracie; Mum had no enemies. There was no reason for her to be killed in such a vicious way.”
“Why did you continue to help him?” I ask, starting to feel confused myself. It’s clear how much Jack loved his mother; why would he continue working for a man who refused to accept that he was to blame for him losing her?
“You're going to like this one, Gracie.” He looks up at the ceiling and laughs at himself. “I felt sorry for him.”
“Youwhat?” I can hardly believe what I’m hearing.
“Since I was a kid, I’d been hearing Mum’s stories of the time they spent together. I convinced myself that my father was trapped in a loveless marriage, chained by his title and reputation. He acknowledged me as his son on paper; he made sure I had everything I needed, and more, growing up, but all I ever really wanted was to be loved by him, too.”
“Jack.” I stroke his cheek when I see his tears start to form again. “I had no idea about the club he ran or the girls he hurt. I’ve learnt a lot since he died. He had her fooled, and he had me fooled, too.”
“Well, he can’t fool anyone anymore.” I don’t know if my words will comfort him, but they sure as hell comfort me.
“Come here.” Jack drags me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me and placing his hand on his favourite part of my body.
“I don’t want this place, where all her favorite memories were, to feel tainted. She may have been loved by a monster, but shewasloved. She treasured every moment they spent together.” He strokes his hand over my round belly and smiles to himself.
“They had an affair right underneath Cecelia’s nose?” I check, still unable to believe it.
“From what I’ve heard, Cecelia spent most of her time at their house in the Cotswolds before she had Thomas. I don’t think they were ever fond of each other's company.”
“Then why marry the woman?” I ask, feeling the baby shift under his palm and pressing his hand a little tighter against it, in the hope he might feel it too.
“I was told, my whole childhood, that I was created out of love, not out of duty. I guess Mum saw it as some kind of compensation for the fact that my father didn’t want to be seen with me in public.”
“He was forced to marry Cecelia.” I answer my own question when I realise what he’s telling me.”
“Up until now, it’s been a Ravenshaw tradition. Keep the blood line strong and, above all else, decent.”
“Well, you’ll have stomped your size eleven’s all over that one when the child of a bastard and a thief arrives.” I laugh.
“He’ll be perfect,” Jack promises, looking up at me sincerely.
“Did you never ask your father if the stories your mum told about him and her were true?” I ask, needing to simmer the intensity. Pregnancy hormones are not to be underestimated.
