Chapter Ten: The Price of Silence

Margaret did not tell Adrian.

That was the first thing that frightened Seraphina. A mother-in-law who screams for her son is a mother-in-law who can be predicted. A mother-in-law who lowers the phone, ends the call with one calm press of her thumb, and says, "Go to bed, Seraphina. We'll discuss this in the morning," is something else entirely.

Seraphina did not sleep. Beneath her mattress, the black phone sat like a coal. Margaret had taken Damien's phone and the key to the guest room, and the lock had clicked on the outside.

At six, the key turned again.

Margaret's private sitting room smelled of lilies and old money. She sat in a high-backed chair by the window, perfectly dressed, a teacup balanced on her knee. On the table beside her lay Damien's phone, face up, like a trophy.

"Kneel."

Seraphina did not move.

"Kneel," Margaret repeated gently, "or I walk down the hall and wake my son."

Seraphina knelt.

"Good girl." Margaret sipped her tea. "Do you know what I find most remarkable? You've been so very careful. Three years of quiet, obedient service. And all along you've been meeting Damien Hale in secret, in a café." She said the word with delicate disgust. "Tell me, how long?"

"It isn't what you think."

"I think you are a married woman with a rival's number saved in a hidden phone. I think there is only one reason for that." The cup clinked against the saucer. "And I think that the whisper I heard last night makes a great deal more sense now."

"Mother—"

"A woman who is jealous of a pregnancy," Margaret said softly, "does not accuse her rival of carrying someone else's child. A woman who is hiding one does."

Seraphina's stomach dropped.

"You have been sick every morning for a week. You faint on the stairs. You flinch when I raise my hand toward your stomach." Margaret set the cup down. "I raised a son. I know the signs."

"The baby is Adrian's."

"Is it?"

"Yes."

"Then you won't mind a test." Margaret smiled. "Dr. Alder will see you tomorrow. Quietly. And until he does, you will say nothing to my son, nothing to Vanessa, and nothing to that man. If I learn that you've called him, written to him, or so much as looked at his photograph, I will walk into Adrian's study and play him the recording of last night's call."

"You recorded it?"

"I record everything, darling." Margaret rose and smoothed her skirt. "Obey me, and your little secret stays in this room. Disobey me, and you'll find out how quickly a man can turn on a wife he already despises."

She raised her hand, and Seraphina flinched.

Margaret slapped her anyway. Not hard. Almost tenderly, as one pats a dog that has finally learned its place.

"Now get up. The Whitlocks are coming to dinner."

Dinner was a performance, and Seraphina was the prop.

The long table glittered with silver and crystal. At its head sat Adrian, in his element, laughing with Mr. and Mrs. Whitlock, two of Cole Industries' oldest investors. Vanessa sat at his right hand in pale lavender, one hand resting on her stomach in a gesture so practiced it was almost a signature. Margaret presided from the foot.

Seraphina wore the grey uniform and carried the soup tureen.

"And who is this?" Mrs. Whitlock asked, peering at her through gold-rimmed glasses.

"A member of staff," said Margaret smoothly. "She's been with us a while."

Seraphina's hands did not shake. She ladled soup into each bowl in turn, and no one at the table met her eyes. When she reached Vanessa's, Vanessa leaned back with a soft sigh.

"A little hot, I think. Adrian, darling, would you mind? I'm so sensitive these days."

"Of course." Adrian touched her cheek. "Sera, take it back and cool it."

Seraphina did not look at him. "Yes, sir."

She bent to lift the bowl, and Vanessa's hand slid out and tipped it.

Scalding soup poured across the back of Seraphina's wrist.

She bit down hard on her lip. Not a sound. A bright, burning pain raced up her arm and tears sprang to her eyes, but she kept her face blank.

"Oh!" Vanessa gasped. "How clumsy!"

"Clumsy," Margaret said, rising, her voice ringing. "In front of our guests!" Her palm cracked across Seraphina's cheek. Mrs. Whitlock gasped. Mr. Whitlock stared at his plate.

Adrian sighed, the weary sigh of a man whose dinner was being delayed. "Mother, not in front of the Whitlocks."

"Then she shouldn't embarrass us in front of them."

Vanessa dabbed her lips with a napkin. The smile on her face was small and sweet and cruel, and it was directed at no one but Seraphina.

Nobody offered her ice.

Mrs. Holloway found her at midnight, wrapping her blistered wrist in a wet cloth at the kitchen sink.

"Oh, my girl." The old woman's eyes filled. She pressed a jar of cool aloe into Seraphina's hand. "I can't bear it. I can't bear to watch."

"You must," Seraphina whispered. "You must keep watching. And you must be careful." She hesitated. "Mrs. Holloway, if I ask you to do something for me, something that could cost you everything, would you?"

The old woman straightened her spine. "Thirty years in this house, madam. They've never once asked me what I wanted. Ask."

At two in the morning the black phone buzzed under the mattress.

Seraphina pulled it out with her good hand, her heart pounding. The Chairman had written nothing for two days, waiting for her signal. Now the screen glowed with a single message.

Madam, I apologize for the hour. Our man inside Alder Private Clinic has just reported something I think you must see.

Mrs. Cole called at midnight. She booked two paternity tests, under false names, to be run before the week is out. One for Miss Reeves.

One for you.

She asked that the results be sent to her alone.

Seraphina stared at the screen. The blister on her wrist throbbed in time with her pulse.

If Vanessa's baby was tested, the truth would come out, and it would come out in Margaret's hands, before Seraphina was ready. Before the debts were bought. Before the shares were secured. Before the trap had closed.

And if Seraphina's baby was tested...

She laid her trembling palm over her stomach.

Margaret thinks this child belongs to Damien Hale.

What will she do when the test says it belongs to her son?