The Blackstone Chronicles - By John Saul Page 0,54

a hint of violence in him. I don’t think he’s going to start now.” She started toward the door.

“I’m coming with you,” Celeste told her.

Madeline was tempted to argue, but as she remembered the look she’d seen in Jules’s eyes as he glared at her from the foot of the stairs, she changed her mind. Opening the door to Celeste’s bedroom, she stepped out into the hall.

The house was as silent as a tomb.

Unconsciously taking her daughter’s hand in her own, Madeline moved to the head of the stairs. She was just about to peer over the banister to the entry hall below when the silence was shattered by the gong of the grandfather clock striking the half hour. As both Madeline and Celeste jumped at the noise, all the other clocks in the house began sounding as well, the rooms resonating with a cacophony of chimes and bells.

Then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over, and once more a shroud of silence dropped over them.

“Where is he?” Celeste whispered. “What’s he doing?”

Before Madeline could answer, Jules appeared at the bottom of the stairs. His hands behind his back, he glowered up at them.

“Stay here,” Madeline instructed Celeste firmly. “I’m going to try to talk to him. If anything happens, lock yourself in your room. You’ll be safe in there.”

“Mother, don’t,” Celeste pleaded, but Madeline was already starting slowly down the long flight of stairs, her eyes fixed on her husband.

Do not be afraid of him, she told herself. He won’t hurt you.

From her room in the house next door, Rebecca Morrison watched curiously as every window on the main floor of the Hartwicks’ house blossomed into light.

Were the Hartwicks going to have another party?

Surely not—no catering truck had arrived, nor had she seen any of the waiters Madeline always hired when she was having a big party. And it was already seven-thirty, long after the time the parties next door invariably began.

Yet she was certain that something unusual was happening, for except when the Hartwicks were having a party, the lights in the rooms they weren’t using were never left burning, any more than they were in her own house.

“Rebecca? What are you doing, child?”

Rebecca jumped at her aunt’s words and instantly dropped the curtain she’d been peeping through. As she turned to face her aunt, Martha Ward’s eyes narrowed and her lips pursed in disapproval.

“Are you spying on the neighbors again, Rebecca?” Martha demanded.

“I was just looking,” Rebecca said. “And the oddest thing is happening, Aunt Martha. All the—”

“I do not wish to hear,” Martha interjected, her own words neatly cutting her niece’s short. “Nor do you need to watch. We shall go to the chapel and pray for your forgiveness.”

“But Aunt Martha,” Rebecca began again, “I think maybe—”

“Silence!” Martha Ward commanded. “I shall not be tainted with your sins, Rebecca. Come with me.”

Rebecca, with one last glance toward the curtained windows that looked out at the house next door, silently, obediently, followed her aunt to the chapel. As the Gregorian chants began to play, she knelt before the altar and the glowing candles whose heat and smoke seemed to draw the very air from the room. Her aunt began mumbling the prayers, and Rebecca tried to close her mind to whatever might be happening next door.

It’s none of my business, she told herself. I must remember that it is none of my business.

Madeline Hartwick came to the bottom of the stairs. Her husband’s eyes were still fixed on her, and in the brilliant light of the chandelier suspended from the ceiling of the great entry hall, she could see clearly the hatred emanating from them.

“Go back to your room, Celeste,” she said, once again steeling herself to betray none of the fear that was suddenly coursing through her. Whatever had happened to Jules—whatever madness had seized him—had worsened in just the few minutes she’d been away from him, and though she refused to betray her terror to him or to their daughter, she had to protect Celeste. “Lock your door. You’ll be safe there.”

For the smallest instant she was afraid Celeste was going to ignore her words, and when she saw Jules’s gaze flicker toward the stairs, she uttered a silent prayer.

Leave her alone! If your madness demands a victim, take me!

As if he’d heard her unspoken words, Jules’s eyes fixed once more on her. In the silence that followed, she heard Celeste’s door thud shut and, a second later, the hard click of the