She reached out and gave her sister’s hair a gentle tug. ‘Thank you.’
‘You can pay me later.’ Rachel winked.
‘You may lick the spoon if you come and help me bake the currant cake. It was your idea after all.’ Serena put the folded sheet down and gave Rachel a friendly shove toward the kitchen.
Mid-morning the next day, Serena stood at the door to Aleron House. At first, her knocks went unanswered, but just as Serena was ready to give up, the door opened a crack. A shadow peeked through the gap and then slowly opened the door. Mr Xavier stood there in silence, face grave, then turned and walked back into the house leaving the door wide. Was that an invitation to enter? Serena could only assume it was, but Mr Xavier’s attitude only doubled her fears. Something was very wrong.
She followed the sound of retreating footsteps to the parlour—that room where Edward had left her on that fateful night. The flash of memory of him catching her prostrate on the floor almost made her smile. Instead, she cleared her throat. A gravity that allowed no humour filled the room. The entire family sat, silent and solemn. All of them, except Edward.
As Serena glanced from one to the other—their bereft faces, lack of eye contact or greeting—the weight of their grief descended upon her. She sank onto the nearest chair and let the wicker basket slide from her hand. Her worst fear must have come true. There could be no other explanation. A fist-like grip clenched around her heart as dread reached a peak.
‘Is he ... Is he ...?’ Serena couldn’t say it, that word that brought finality to everything.
Mrs Jones came to life then, with a deep gasp, as though she’d been holding her breath for a long while. ‘No. He isn’t. We caught him in time.’
‘Caught him? I don’t understand.’
Mr Jones shook his head and sighed. None of the others spoke.
‘May I see Edward?’ she ventured.
Another deep sigh from across the room. Serena looked over at Mr Simon.
‘He’s not here.’
‘Not ...?’ Not here, as in absent from the house, or not here, as in they’d locked him in the cellar again?
Mr Xavier must have read her mind. ‘We are not hiding the truth from you this time, Miss Bellingham. Uncle Ed... He is ...’
At the shake of his mother’s head, Mr Xavier halted, though he swallowed hard. Whatever he intended to say must have been dreadful.
‘I’m not sure it’s right for you to know more than he’s alive and looked after.’
Serena’s gaze swerved to Mrs Jones, who studied her fingernails. Her lips trembled although she pressed them together to hide it. What was so terrible that they appeared so stricken?
‘Once perhaps, we thought you might be of use. To help Ed recover.’ Mr Jones spoke this time, his voice hoarse, face ashen. ‘It’s too late now.’ His focus shifted to the floor as though weighed down with shame.
‘Too late?’ Serena’s voice hollowed as their unanimous grief infected her. The room suddenly felt airless, as though she might suffocate. And she could barely draw two thoughts together as loud buzzing filled her head. A black cloud seeped in from all sides.
‘Breathe, Miss Bellingham.’
A warm hand on her back brought Serena back to her senses, and she gasped for air. She looked into the face of Mr Simon kneeling before her, compassion in his eyes, a welcome change from him.
‘That’s better. Can you stand? I think you need a walk in the garden.’
What was this strange treatment? Certainly, they had called a truce and been on better terms, but this was downright caring. Serena found her feet though her legs wobbled. Mr Simon poured a glass of water from a jug on the sideboard and she drank it with a grateful nod.
‘Yes, do take her out for air, Simon.’ Mrs Jones agreed, her face a weary mask. ‘I will have tea made for when you return.’
Serena glanced at the basket on the floor and gestured with her hand. ‘I brought something for tea.’ Although the timing for baked goods was not appropriate. She shrugged haplessly as Mr Simon led her from the room and outdoors.
They walked in silence for a few minutes and Serena tried to quiet the thousand questions in her mind. She breathed deeply of the eucalypt and grassy aromas.
It was Mr Simon who spoke first.
‘I have learnt enough respect for you, Miss Bellingham, to know you deserve the full truth. But, please bear in mind this tale is an ugly one. If you do not wish to hear, tell me now.’
Serena stopped walking at the gravity in his voice and studied his face. Pain lined his features, and perhaps regret. Mr Simon did not exaggerate. She drew in a deep breath. Did she really want to know? She might regret hearing the truth. But then again, what if she could help? Releasing her breath, she nodded. ‘Tell me.’
Even with permission, he took several moments to begin. Mr Simon turned and continued walking, but then stopped again, staring at the enormous Moreton Bay Fig tree, hands deep in his pockets. ‘This is where we found Uncle Ed.’ He shuddered. With a thrust of his chin he indicated the tree. ‘He ... he tried ... to hang himself.’
Her premonition had been correct, but it still came as a shock to Serena. Her legs lost strength, and she sank onto the damp grass. If only the blackness would overtake her and leave her in blissful ignorance. She covered her face with her hands and groaned. ‘I knew it.’
Mr Simon was quiet and still for a while but then sat beside her. ‘What do you mean, you knew?’
Serena lifted her gaze to his, although his face was blurry through the tears pooling in her eyes. ‘For days, I’ve had a sense
