I think so.”
“Ah, the infamous tower.” Agatha smiled. “A very intriguing matter, all in all. I confess I tried to sneak in once but that damn door refused to budge.”
“Yes, I’m afraid it won’t open for anyone but me.”
“Oh well, some mysteries remain unsolved.” Agatha sat back in her chair. “Another decade of books, then? That does lift my heart a little. So, tell me, how are you enjoying life as a landlady? It’s surely a lot of responsibility for someone so young.”
“Well, I’ve already been here ten years,” Peggy said, “so I’m quite used to it, and I’ll be here until I die, so—”
“A lifetime without marriage or motherhood?” Agatha sighed. “Well, if you want my advice, ditch your duty and find yourself that archaeologist. You’re not the queen, you can abdicate without anyone kicking up a fuss.”
“It’s not like that.” Peggy stuck her finger in the cream again. “I want to do this, it’s not only a duty, it’s an honor. And it’s not without its compensations.”
“Oh, well.” Agatha sipped her coffee and shrugged. “I see good advice is always certain to be ignored, but that’s still no reason not to give it.”
Peggy returns to her black roses. She hadn’t met Harry then, when Agatha had come to visit. So what could she know of love and marriage? What does she know now?
—
When Charles Ashby found out about his wife’s affair and her love child, he wanted to rip out her heart. He was hurt, though he’d never admit it. Also, Charles was certain he’d never been cheated on before, and the humiliation threatened to overwhelm him, to push him beyond rationality. But deciding he’d rather spend the rest of his days living a privileged life than rotting in jail, he came up with a plan that would instead drive his wife to rip out her own heart.
That Elizabeth had never stopped loving Albert was clear enough. Now that Charles looked back over the last eight years he could see the signs: the way she sometimes gazed at Alba as though remembering something else, how she spent endless hours staring at nothing with a secret, sorrowful smile on her face. The fact that she’d named the damned girl after him. It was hardly the child’s fault, of course, but that didn’t stop Charles hating her with the same passion with which he now hated his wife. Her bright blue eyes weren’t his, nor her black hair. Indeed, her coloring was so opposite to her blond, brown-eyed siblings he couldn’t believe it hadn’t made him wonder before. Pure ego and pride, probably; he simply never thought Elizabeth would stray, though he’d given her every reason to.
Charles planned his disappearance with precision. He thought about all the possible consequences and accounted for them. The first thing he felt certain of was that, once he was gone, Elizabeth would reply to Albert’s letter. She would call him back and they would spend the rest of their days in unadulterated bliss. Unless, of course, he never received her letters, and so never replied. Then, not only would they be separated, but Elizabeth would believe Albert no longer loved her. And that, Charles guessed, would go halfway to breaking her already fragile heart.
Being several miles from the village, Ashby Hall had its own post box and Elizabeth would use it, just as she’d always done, of that he was certain. And so, one morning, Charles went out to meet their postman, a middle-aged Scot who’d worked the same route for the last twenty years and would no doubt continue doing so until he died. With a check for ten thousand pounds, Charles bought assurance that no letters going to, or coming from, Inverie would ever reach their destination.
Then he just had to take care of the children.
Since she’d given up her lover for their sakes, to ensure their clueless father would continue to clothe and feed them and subsidize their overpriced educations, Charles imagined that, were he to turn them against her, it might be enough to finish her off. In her depressive episodes, Elizabeth would cry for hours if she ran over a rabbit on the road, so just think how she’d react if three of her four children suddenly stopped loving her.
One evening he took Charles Jr., Edward and Charlotte into his office and told them that their mother had betrayed the family, that she loved another man—that Alba wasn’t really their sister. He told them that for those reasons he