Page 10 of Alive (Shadows of a Forgotten Past #2)

CHAPTER 10

~ DEADLY COMPLICATIONS ~

The morning stroll lasted longer than I had anticipated. This early in the day, my mind was clearer, my thoughts more focused and precise. Nevertheless, I had no idea how to solve my problem. Since my visit to Dr. Jones, I’d seriously considered exhuming my child. There had to be a way to do it, preferably without running afoul of the law. Despite my determination, the numerous calls I made confirmed the legal course would lead to a dead end. Worse still, each time I hung up, I was tempted to falsify Alex’s signature giving me permission to unearth the truth. But I wouldn’t cross that line.

“Flor! Flor!” Eldad dashed down the path, my heart warming at the sight of him. Our lives were like tree roots—twisting and turning through the soil, finding ways around the obstacles in our path. And our relationship—like shoots breaking free into the light, it steadily grew stronger. Day after day, I found joy in our late-night snacks and newly established reading routine in the library. He was an enthusiastic learner, and I, an eager teacher.

I knelt on the ground, reaching out to embrace him. “Hey, little fellow. How are you today?”

“Good. We playing on rose garden.”

His English improved by the day, but he still had much to learn. “We are playing in the rose garden,” I corrected.

His lips curled into a smile. “We are playing in the rose garden. Friends and me.”

“ My friends and I .”

“That’s right, Flor.”

“Let’s practice saying my name. Flor-ence. Try it.”

“Florr . . . ce.”

“Try again. Flor-en-ce.”

“Florr . . . ence.”

“Perfect, Eldad. Perfect.”

We strolled to the house, his small hand in mine.

“Go back with my friends,” he said at the door.

I checked my watch. “Remind them to come inside soon for math time.” Finding a tutor proved a challenge. The remote location didn’t help, and most candidates preferred not to stay overnight. For now, Zaira and I took turns teaching the children the basic subjects—a rewarding endeavor we embraced wholeheartedly. “The lessons must be fun,” Zaira had said. “Otherwise, they’ll grow tired of us.”

“I will.” Eldad skipped away, humming a happy tune. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d had siblings and how much he remembered of them. Perhaps, once the wounds healed, he would share more.

I stepped into the foyer and peeled off my scarf and hat.

Mrs. Haywood popped out of the drawing room. “Mrs. Sterling, may I have a word?”

One glance told me she was in a cloudy mood. “Well, of course.”

We moved into the room, and I paused in front of the French window that overlooked the garden, where the children played.

“You’ve grown fond of them,” Mrs. Haywood remarked, “especially of the little lad.”

“I’m afraid I have. He is a wonderful child. They all are.”

“It will be difficult to let them go,” she noted.

“Let them go?”

“Yes, when the government relocates them.”

“I hope that doesn’t happen anytime soon.” Even though I knew it was inevitable, I preferred not to dwell on it. “What was it you wanted to speak to me about?”

“There isn’t a comfortable way to say this . . . Please don’t think poorly of me.” She fidgeted with a button on her cardigan.

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“I . . . I need another advance. Two months’ worth, to be exact. Some urgent bills have come up, and I must settle them immediately.”

In her eyes, I detected a distress deeper than I’d ever seen before, and an uneasy feeling crept over me. Her troubles seemed to reach beyond the farm’s finances. What could she possibly be entangled in?

“Is there anything else I should be aware of?” I finally asked.

“No. I’m not asking for a gift,” she answered, her tone growing defensive, “just an advance.”

“I’ll do it this one last time.” My tone was definitive, as I feared she wasn’t being truthful.

“Much obliged, Mrs. Sterling.”

“Please remember that our solicitor is at your disposal. He might identify solutions we haven’t considered. Perhaps cutting back on spending or even renting out part of your land?” I reiterated the proposal I’d made when she first mentioned her financial struggles.

“You must think us utterly incompetent,” she snapped. “Rest assured, we have considered every possible solution.”

“Right, then.” I could see her resolve was unyielding, and my curiosity only deepened. “I’ll have the bank prepare the note for you.”

“I thank you again, Mrs. Sterling. I’d better see to the dinner menu.” With that, she withdrew.

As her footsteps faded into the distance, another set approached.

Zaira soon entered, her arms laden with books. She deposited them on the game table, ready for her lesson. “What’s gotten into Mrs. Haywood? I passed her in the corridor. She’s in quite a sour mood.”

“She’s probably overstressed about Will and keeping up with their farm,” I said, offering a half-truth. It wasn’t my place to disclose the housekeeper’s personal challenges.

“Hmm.” Zaira studied me for a moment. “And how about you? Anything out of the ordinary happening?”

“I don’t think so. Why?”

“You know you can trust me.” She smiled broadly, almost conspiratorially.

“What has gotten into you?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Well, these days . . . you know, with the guests . . . the children running around . . .” She floundered in a sea of nonsensical words, trying to articulate her point.

“For goodness’ sake, Zaira—what are you alluding to?”

“Since we are friends, I assumed you would tell me the news.”

“What news?”

“That you’re in the family way.”

My jaw dropped.

“Aren’t you?” She looked baffled.

“No! What on earth possessed you to think that?”

“Isn’t that why you visited the doctor?”

“Oh, my. I can’t believe how quickly gossip travels.” I settled on the settee, disappointed her suspicions weren’t correct. “No, that’s not why I visited him. Besides, he doesn’t practice anymore.” Before she could ask, I related the story. “Doctor Jones attended the late Mrs. Sterling. I wanted to speak to him about Alex’s son.”

She perched herself on the edge of the table. “Why?”

“This might sound deranged, but after all Mrs. White has done, I’ve started to wonder if there was foul play surrounding the baby’s death.”

“Goodness gracious, Florence! Are you saying she may have dispatched the child?”

“Either that, or she hid him somewhere.” I explained what I’d learned from Dr. Jones—the peculiarities involving Mrs. White, the nurse, the constable, and the unsettling fact that Alex never saw the baby’s body.

“Wait, if they offered for Mr. Sterling to see the body,” Zaira reflected, “it must have been there. It must have. The constable would have checked. Don’t you agree?”

“It could be either way. There are too many unknowns. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly off, and I want to know what that is. Of course, complicating matters, both the nurse and the constable are dead.”

“Regardless of what’s been said, the idea that the boy survived is farfetched. Mrs. White is insane. I’m not disputing that. But why would she make the baby disappear? That’s beyond evil, even for her. On the other hand, if she had a hand in his death, after all these years, there is no way to find out.” Zaira sat down beside me. “You know, Mrs. White’s escape from justice and Mr. Sterling’s departure might be playing with your emotions. And,” she looked at me sideways, “maybe even your attachment to little Eldad. You are too invested.”

It was interesting that both she and Mrs. Haywood had mentioned him. Indeed, I was invested. I loved the child. However, Zaira’s assessment of my emotions missed the mark. After all, she knew nothing of Mrs. White’s culpability in harming a pregnant woman—or in my death. If Mrs. White hadn’t cared for the child before he was born, why would she afterward? My truth was both a blessing and a burden—too extraordinary to believe.

The sound of the front door bursting open reached our ears, followed by the children’s laughter ringing through the halls. In that moment, like a star piercing the night sky, clarity struck. I knew exactly what to do.

“Zaira.” I seized her hand. “I must do something, and I’d like your help.”

“You know you can count on me.”

I pray you’ll feel the same after you hear me out. “There’s one way to know if Alex’s son is alive. We need to look inside his casket.”

Zaira went as white as a sheet, her mouth opening as if to speak, only to close it again.

“And since I don’t have Alex’s permission,” I went on, “I’m going to persuade someone to help me.”

“And if that doesn’t work?” she stuttered.

“Well then, I’ll bribe him.”

“And . . . who might that be?”

“Mr. Morris, the cemetery keeper.”

* * *

All day, I stressed about things I could and couldn’t control, the latter most exhausting. I missed Alex more than usual. I wondered where he was and if he was safe. Simultaneously, I fretted over the Haywoods’ financial ordeal. These hardworking people had spent their lives planning for their future, and now that it had arrived, they deserved the retirement they had worked so hard to achieve.

I crawled under the covers, hoping to stave off the headache pressing behind my temples, but my mind refused to settle. Inevitably, it turned to my plans to disturb my son’s grave.

“ Don’t let your hopes run rampant. The cost of unfulfilled expectations is sorrow. I assure you I questioned the nurse extensively. I believe she was truthful. The baby died of natural causes before reaching the dispensary ,” Dr. Jones’s advice looped through my head.

What if I was wrong? Disturbing the grave would haunt me forever, a shadow of shame darkening every glance I shared with Alex. Doubt chipped away at my convictions. All this thanks to that woman . Mrs. White’s evil seeds continued to bear their bitter fruit. And precisely because of that, I had to put an end to the speculations. Tomorrow, I would visit the cemetery.

I fumbled for the aspirin and water on the night table, gulped them down, and redirected my thoughts to happier times. As my body relaxed into the mattress, the tension eased, and I drifted into sleep.

I peer out the window into the woods. The sky fades into darkness, and shadows stretch and twist through the trees, transforming the familiar landscape into something eerie. From within the gloom, a man emerges. I recognize his brown eyes and confident posture—yet his gaze carries an intense warning. A sense of wrongness grips me, a primal alarm whispering that something terrible has happened—or is about to.

“Lucca . . .”

“Florence, wake up!” his voice roared in my head. “Wake up!”

Lucca ! I gasped for air but found none.

“Fight, Florence, fight!”

Fight what? What is this pressure ? I came to, a scream lodged in my throat. Someone was pressing a pillow over my face. Panic surged as I flailed, clawing desperately for anything to push it away. My hands found the attacker’s arms, nails scraping against unyielding fabric that rendered my efforts futile. The pressure intensified, cutting off my air. My chest burned, my head spun, and the world around me began to dissolve. Darkness crept in as consciousness slipped further away.

“Don’t give up!” Lucca’s voice cut through the haze, infusing me with a burst of energy. “Fight!”

As if yanked upward by unseen hands, I shot upright, shoving the assailant off me. I rolled off the bed, hitting the floor with a heavy thud. Instinctively, I flipped on the lamp. Light poured into the room, revealing my deadly enemy. She stood at the foot of the bed, the only barrier between us. Her gray hair was thinner than I remembered, but her catlike eyes were unchanged—still burning with murderous intent. Momentarily, I stood dumbfounded—here was the woman who held the answers to the questions that tormented my soul. Yet I knew with utter certainty that the truth would never escape her lips.

“I see you are thrilled to see me again,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

How in the world had she gotten in the house? Once again, she had taken me by surprise, exploiting my vulnerability. I had no weapon to defend myself. Not even screaming would help. My bedroom lay out of earshot of the others. “How dare you come in here?” I sputtered, struggling to mask how shaken I was.

“I could say the same to you—admirable how you’ve managed to worm your way into Mr. Sterling’s life. You are a parasite I intend to remove. Never again will you stand in my way, you rotten creature.” She inched closer.

“What else do you want from us? You have already taken enough.” My hands fisted, readying for impact.

“It’s not what I have taken, but what I have not taken, that will hurt you most.”

“What are you talking about?” Was it my child?

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She chuckled darkly. “You have meddled in Mr. Sterling’s life long enough. You—the usurper—a mere imposter, lucky enough to resemble the deceased. I must admit, you’ve masterfully exploited the circumstances to your advantage. Credit where it’s due.”

“I look like the deceased because I am the deceased!” I sputtered, my only weapon was the truth and the belief that I could win this fight.

Her confident demeanor faltered—her eyes widened, and her lips parted in surprise. She took a step back, as if distance could shield her from the implication in my words.

“I am the Florence Contini you trapped in Sunny’s stall with the snake, the same woman you laughed at when I screamed in terror for my baby’s life.” Gaining confidence, I stepped forward. “You have much to account for.”

“Enough nonsense! Enough!” She pulled out a pocketknife, its blade catching bits of light.

“How many times do you plan to kill me?” I yelled, uselessly trying to delay the inevitable.

“As many as necessary.” She lunged at me like a jaguar out of a tree.

I reached for the nearest object—the jewelry box on the nightstand—and swung it wildly, deflecting the knife as it sliced through the air, its cold steel seeking the warmth of my blood. To my horror, she pressed closer, her resolve unwavering. Tightening my grip, I swung again with all my strength. The bronze lock connected with the side of her head with a sickening thud. The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the floor as she stumbled backward.

In a heartbeat, I kicked the knife under the bed, out of reach. A sharp sting drew my gaze to my forearm; blood trickled from where the blade had grazed the skin.

Recovering with unnerving speed, Mrs. White seized the footrest and charged like a trained assassin. With blind rage, she slammed into me, knocking me to the floor. I threw up my hands to shield my head, bracing for another blow. But to my relief, she abandoned the attack and bolted for the door. The jewelry box must have struck her harder than I’d realized.

Pressing a hand to my wound, I scrambled to my feet and chased after her, flipping on light switches as I went. On the fourth step of the staircase, I spotted a drop of blood—then another, and another. She was injured too.

The front door stood wide open, a cold breeze sweeping through the foyer. Plunging into the night after her would be reckless. Instead, I locked and bolted the door. Then, a thought hit me: What if she’s still inside ? What if she wants me to think she’s gone ?

The children.

I needed to make sure they were safe. I needed help.

Grabbing a five-arm candlestick for protection, I sprinted through the hallways, my eyes darting into every shadow for signs of danger. Urgency dripped from my voice as I roused the household. Together, we checked on the children. They were safe——peacefully asleep in their beds. Once reassured, we combed through every corner, leaving no closet unopened and no attic unsearched. By dawn, we were certain: she was gone.

Zaira and I convened in the kitchen as the adrenaline slowly ebbed from our veins. I sat at the table, unwrapping the makeshift bandage from my arm to replace it with something cleaner.

“That wretched woman!” Zaira rumbled from the stove, slamming the kettle onto the burner. “Thank heavens she didn’t do more harm.”

“How did she get in? The Haywoods are careful to lock up the house every night.” My voice shook with anger and exhaustion.

Had someone let her in? Did she know Alex was gone? She wouldn’t have come armed with just a knife otherwise. But how did she know? The staff understood the importance of keeping everything private for Alex’s safety. Martha crossed my mind. She was from Salisbury—the last place Mrs. White had been spotted. Could they know each other? Was Martha feeding her information? I dismissed the idea almost immediately. Martha came from a respected family, boasted impeccable references, and, aside from her occasional bouts of boredom, seemed entirely trustworthy.

I groaned inwardly. Because of Mrs. White, I was starting to see enemies where there were none.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if they missed a door. There are quite a few, you know,” Zaira reflected.

“And Mrs. White happened to find it? What are the odds?”

“It’s possible.”

“I’m not so sure. I don’t picture her hopping from door to door. She is not one to waste time.”

“Let’s not jump to conclusions,” Zaira said, rummaging through the cupboard. “Where is the coffee?”

“We might be out. Check the shelves.”

“For Pete’s sake—what in the world?” Zaira called out from the larder.

I hurried over, my breath catching as I took in the scene. Several floorboards had been removed, revealing the entrance to the old tunnel. I should have known .

“What is this?” Zaira leaned over to peer into the dark hole.

A spot full of memories. The recollection of the German attack came swiftly: Colonel Swinger’s arrival with news of their impending approach, the shattering of windows into a million pieces, the flight through the tunnel into the forest.

“Are you all right? You look flushed, as though you're about to explode.” Zaira placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “Do you need to sit down?”

“I’m fine.” Now that the danger—from the past and from the night’s events—had passed, I could feel again. And I was filled with smoldering anger at the abhorrent woman. “This is the entrance to a tunnel that exits on the south lawn. Alex told me about it,” a half-truth.

Of course, Mrs. White had lived in Forti Radici and was familiar with the escape route. It seemed no one had let her in after all. Even so, it didn’t explain how she had known that Alex was away.

“By the time the constable shows up, Mrs. White will be far away,” Zaira lamented.

“If she went this way, though, it might explain how she got in. We must seal it at once.”