Chapter 3 - Arthur’s Missing Years
Arthur arrived home after midnight.
Clara was waiting in their bedroom with the brass key on the table between them.
He removed his suit jacket and loosened his tie.
“What is that?”
“I found it beneath my pillow.”
Arthur did not touch it.
“Did you ask the staff?”
“No one entered the room except your mother.”
His face tightened.
“Clara.”
“I found a photograph in the nursery.”
She retrieved it from the diaper bag and placed it beside the key.
Arthur looked down.
All color left his face.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was hidden under a drawer.”
He picked it up with both hands.
The moment his thumb touched the corner, his expression changed.
Not recognition.
Fear.
“Who is she?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know.”
“She looks like me.”
“I can see that.”
“Your mother knew I had been searching in the drawer. She also knew I went into the north wing.”
Arthur turned the photograph over.
His lips moved silently as he read the words.
She came back.
“What does it mean?” Clara asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Who is Margaret?”
Arthur closed his eyes.
“Don’t.”
“You said her name in the hospital.”
“I told you, I was dreaming.”
“You’ve said it before.”
His eyes opened.
“When?”
“Three nights after Leo was born. And again last week.”
Arthur walked to the window.
Rainwater ran down the glass, dividing his reflection into narrow pieces.
“My mother doesn’t like talking about the past.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“No.”
“It’s what you always say when I ask about your childhood.”
Arthur looked toward the nursery door.
They kept it open at night so they could hear Leo.
“He’s sleeping?”
“Yes.”
Arthur lowered his voice.
“I don’t remember much before I was nine.”
Clara waited.
He had never told her that.
“What do you mean?”
“I remember pieces. A red bicycle. A dog named Oliver. My father shouting at someone in the kitchen. I remember hiding under the staircase.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Arthur.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“When I was nine, I was sent to a boarding school in Switzerland. My mother said I had become difficult after an illness. She said I needed structure.”
“What illness?”
“She never explained.”
“And before that?”
“I was educated at home.”
“By Margaret?”
Arthur’s breathing stopped for a moment.
“I don’t know.”
Clara stood and approached him.
“Look at the photograph.”
He did.
“Does anything feel familiar?”
“I remember the crib.”
Clara turned toward him.
“You said you didn’t.”
“I said I didn’t know the woman.”
“The crib was replaced.”
Arthur stared at the image.
“I used to dream about it.”
“What happened in the dream?”
“There was a baby crying. Someone was trying to open the nursery door. I was hiding inside a wardrobe.”
“Was the baby you?”
“No.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I was watching.”
Clara felt a chill move through her.
“Arthur, were you an only child?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain?”
He did not answer.
A soft knock came from the bedroom door.
Evelyn entered before either of them responded.
She wore a long burgundy robe. Her silver hair was loose around her shoulders, making her look older and more fragile.
Then she saw the photograph.
Her fragility vanished.
“Where did you find that?”
Clara stepped in front of the table.
“In the nursery.”
Evelyn looked at Arthur.
“You were told never to search through your father’s things.”
“I didn’t find it,” Arthur said.
Evelyn’s gaze moved to Clara.
“Of course.”
“Who is the woman?” Clara asked.
“No one.”
“She has a name.”
“Many people have names.”
“Is she Margaret?”
Evelyn crossed the room and reached for the photograph.
Arthur pulled it away.
His mother froze.
“No,” he said.
It was a simple word.
But Clara saw its effect.
Evelyn looked at her son as if he had struck her.
“Give it to me.”
“Tell us who she is.”
“She was a nurse.”
“Mine?” Arthur asked.
“No.”
“Then whose?”
Evelyn’s eyes flicked toward the open nursery door.
Clara noticed.
So did Arthur.
“Whose nurse?” he repeated.
Evelyn straightened.
“The child of a family friend.”
“Why was she in this house?”
“She stayed here briefly.”
“With a baby?”
“Arthur, this is pointless.”
“Was there another child in the nursery?”
Evelyn’s face hardened.
“You are allowing your wife’s exhaustion to infect you.”
Clara moved forward.
“Do not call me unstable again.”
“I didn’t use that word.”
“You’ve used every word around it.”
Evelyn turned to Arthur.
“Your wife entered the north wing tonight.”
Arthur looked at Clara.
“You went upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“I told you it’s unsafe.”
“Your mother said the same thing.”
“Because it is.”
“There’s a locked room.”
Arthur looked toward the brass key.
Evelyn followed his gaze.
Her hand moved suddenly.
Clara reached the key first.
Evelyn stopped.
The three of them stood around the small table.
Arthur looked at his mother.
“What does it open?”
Evelyn’s voice dropped.
“You do not want to know.”
“That’s not your decision.”
“I spent my life protecting you.”
“From whom?”
Evelyn looked at Clara.
Then she said, “From women who know how to make a frightened boy believe anything.”
Arthur’s expression broke.
Clara had never seen him look so young.
Evelyn turned and walked out.
The door closed softly behind her.
Arthur stared at the photograph.
“She knows,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“She knows who Margaret was.”
“Yes.”
He picked up the brass key.
“Then tomorrow, we open the room.”
May you like
At dawn, the white door in the north wing was already standing open.
Everything inside had been removed.
