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Beautiful... She felt a sudden and startling pang of jealousy. ‘What happened to her?’
‘Honestly? I’m not sure. I was only fourteen at the time. Nobody told me then and nobody talks about it now. Only the evening it happened—’ he threw another swift look down the table ‘—there was some kind of argument.’
‘Between whom?’
‘Constance...’ His expression looked pained. ‘I shouldn’t be the one telling you this.’
‘But you’re the only one who will.’
She gave him a pointed look and he shook his head again, dragging in a deep breath before continuing.
‘That evening, I heard raised voices coming from Matthew’s room. It sounded like the pair of them were arguing, although I couldn’t tell what about. Then the door opened and there were footsteps. They were running. I looked out just in time to see Blanche charge up the stairwell to the roof, Matthew close behind. He was calling out to her to stop and come back. I suppose all the noise must have alerted our father because shortly afterwards he followed them, too.’
‘So the three of them went up to the roof together?’
‘Yes. A few minutes later I heard a scream.’
‘Blanche? You mean you think she...?’ Constance felt a cold sweat break out on her skin. ‘But Matthew said it was an accident.’
‘Maybe it was. I told you, I don’t know what happened, not exactly. All I know is that she was unhappy and that night she seemed desperate, too. You’ve seen the way our father treats Adelaide. He has a gift for making women miserable.’
‘The poor woman.’ She felt a rush of sympathy for the unknown Blanche. ‘But she was in Matthew’s room first?’
‘Yes. They spent a lot of time together. They were friends...close friends.’
‘Oh.’ Her whole body seemed to turn cold.
‘I’m not suggesting there was anything more between them.’ He looked as if he were struggling to find the right words. ‘Although if there was then you shouldn’t blame him. Or her. They were the same age, you see, and my father is a cold-hearted brute at the best of times.’ He swore under his breath. ‘I shouldn’t have told you any of this.’
Constance sat very still, as if not moving would somehow slow down the thoughts racing through her head, but there was so much to take in. The idea of a woman taking her own life was horrific enough, but the fact that Matthew had been close to his own stepmother made her feel sick inside, too. No wonder he didn’t want to talk about it... She stared out across the hall, realising how little she knew about him. Had he been in love with Blanche? Was he still in love with her?
She sucked the insides of her cheeks, trying to control her emotions, very aware of Alan watching her. ‘So that’s why he and your father...’
‘Act as if they want to rip each other’s throats out?’ Her brother-in-law’s tone was cynical again. ‘No. What happened with Blanche made it worse, but they’ve been that way for as long as I can remember. I told you, our father reserves his affection for cold stone walls. He loves Wintercott so much that he’s probably the only baron in England who never wanted an heir. It’s too much like a challenge, you see. Because all of this has to be his. It’s
all he cares about, except for himself of course. He would have been happier with daughters, but instead he got us, one son who looks so much like him that he’s a threat and the other who’s so different that he treats him with contempt. The irony is that he doesn’t know which of us he likes least.’
‘But that’s awful!’
‘Isn’t it? Sometimes I wonder whether he’s actually mad.’ Alan laughed as if he were making a joke, though the look in his eyes was deadly serious. ‘Matthew’s the only one who’s ever stood up to him. When we were boys, he would always defend me, even if it meant taking a beating for it.’ His voice cracked. ‘Fortunately by the time he left I was old enough to stand up for myself. I’m not as weak as everyone thinks.’
‘I don’t think you’re weak.’ Constance smiled sympathetically. ‘I know what it’s like to be judged by your appearance. It makes you feel as if your real self doesn’t matter. But I don’t understand why I’ve never heard any of this before. My uncle and aunt never told me about it.’
‘Because most people don’t know. Our father spread a rumour that Blanche died of a fever. His reputation’s never been good, but the truth would only have made it worse. Nobody would have married him again after that.’
‘You mean he likes being married?’
‘Perhaps.’ A shadow passed over Alan’s face. ‘That way he always has someone at hand to bully, but it’s the money that really matters to him. Rich wives mean that he can do what he wants to Wintercott. He can keep on building, making it bigger and better. You were lucky.’
‘Me?’ She started in surprise. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Just that when your parents died it was too soon after Blanche for him to wed you himself. That’s why he arranged your marriage to Matthew. Of course it wasn’t ideal, but he wanted the income from the estate and that was the only way he could get it.’
‘Oh.’ She felt as if pieces of a puzzle were slotting together in her head, the final implication hitting her hard like a slap in the face. It was too soon...
‘What?’ Alan sounded confused.
‘You said that you were fourteen when Blanche fell from the roof...and we’re the same age.’
