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chapter twenty-three.
ㅤ ㅤ
𝕷𝖚𝖓𝖈𝖍. The family sits around the table in silence. Elspeth and Sir James eat. Lips stiffened. Shocked into total denial. Farleigh stares disbelievingly at his untouched shepherd's pie. Venetia, self-medicated into oblivion, stares at the wall. Oliver takes a sip of wine with a shaking hand.
Gabriette sat next to Venetia, her face flushed and stained with tears, reflecting the turmoil within as she relentlessly rips through a second pack of cigarettes, the acrid scent hanging heavy in the air.
Her trembling hands struggle to light another cigarette, the flame failing a couple of times before doing its job of lightning the cigarette. The amber liquid in her fourth glass of whiskey swirls in her trembling hand.
The once sharp lines of her features now softened by distress, Gabriette's eyes bear the traces of countless shed tears. Mascara streaks mark the paths where emotions have run unchecked, leaving behind a map of sorrow on her pale cheeks.
Her food sits completely untouched, much like Venetia and Farleigh's.
Duncan hesitantly enters the room, a palpable tension in the air, prompting Elspeth to inquire, "What is it, Duncan?"
"It's the police, Your Ladyship. They are... er... having trouble," Duncan cautiously discloses, choosing his words carefully.
Elspeth probes further, "What kind of trouble?" The room holds its breath as Duncan reluctantly responds, "They keep getting lost in the maze."
A moment of incredulous silence hangs in the air, broken only by a suppressed chuckle from Farleigh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. A stern glance from Sir James quickly silences him.
"And?" Sir James prompts, urging Duncan to continue.
"May I send one of the gardeners to assist them?" Duncan seeks permission, a mixture of uncertainty and determination evident in his demeanor.
"Fine," Sir James grants approval, and Duncan hastily exits the room.
Elspeth, in an attempt to divert attention, launches into conversation, an unsettling semblance of normalcy in her tone. "Oliver, darling, why don't you tell us about last night?"
"Last night?" Oliver questions quietly.
"Mmm. Did you have a lovely time?" Elspeth's inquiry prompts Oliver to muster a response "Yeah. It was wonderful. Thank you." Farleigh observes the interaction with a mix of amazement and horror.
"Oh, good!" Elspeth exclaims, turning to her husband, "I think it was a hit, don't you, darling?"
Gabriette drops her cigarette into the nearly full ashtray and lets her glass fall on the table, not being able to contain herself as a choked sob escapes, abruptly halting the sugar-coated conversation.
A moment of hushed silence ensues as all eyes shift towards her. Unperturbed, Sir James continues the conversation, but Gabriette, in an attempt to shield herself from the facade, subtly covers her ears with her hands, attempting to drown out the conversation and stifle her sobs.
Duncan's return snaps Gabriette back to reality. "What now?" Sir James asks tensely.
Approaching Sir James, Duncan leans down to whisper, "May I be permitted to close the curtains, sir? The coroner is outside and may need to pass the window-" Sir James interrupts, "Yes. Thank you. Close them."
Farleigh looks on the verge of nausea, and Gabriette follows Duncan's figure with weary eyes as he swiftly moves toward the large red curtain.
As he goes about shutting the curtains, each pull makes the room darker. Struggling with the last curtain, his nerves betray him.
Gabriette and Farleigh startle in their seats when Sir James impatiently calls out, "Duncan, for Christ's sake, just get them closed!"
"Yes, I am trying, sir. I can't-" He gives it a hard yank, finally closing it, casting the room into a red-tinted darkness.
Then, the sound of a squeaking gurney on the gravel sounds and an unbearable silence follows. Finally, the sound of ambulance doors closing shut echo.
A footman, nearly in tears, rushes away with a sob. They all ignore him. Sir James disapprovingly tuts as he goes.
Farleigh fights to hold himself together, attempting not to cry. Sir James picks up his fork and stabs at his pie.
"Oh my God... May I be excused, please?" Farleigh softly cries out, pleading to rise from his seat and flee the room.
"No. We haven't finished lunch," Sir James responds evenly and authoritatively.
Farleigh cries out, "Lunch is cold. You want me to eat it like nothing is happening?" Elspeth gazes at him, the first glimmer of sadness evident. "What else is there to do, darling?"
"Anything! Anything-" Farleigh's pleas are cut short as Sir James slams his fist onto the table, sending glasses and plates clattering.
"FARLEIGH, WILL YOU BE QUIET? SIT DOWN AND EAT THE BLOODY PIE. JUST EAT IT. EAT IT AND SHUT UP. EAT THE BLOODY PIE." Farleigh and Gabriette jump at his roaring voice.
A shocked silence ensues. Farleigh sits, picks up his fork with a cry. Sir James takes a deep breath, calming himself, "You're not the only person here with feelings. None of us wants your bloody American feelings!"
A prolonged silence lingers. Then Oliver speaks in a hushed tone, "I think it's delicious."
Gabriette's eyes fixate on Oliver, a bewildered expression on her face as their gaze meet for a long moment. Abruptly, she slams the short glass onto the table, causing some of the amber liquid to spill out. "You opportunistic psycho," she spits out.
The chair scrapes against the floor as she forcefully pushes it back, standing up, and swiftly exits the dining room without a word.
"Miss Gabriette Burton, get back here at once!" Sir James yells, but he only hears Gabriette's retreating footsteps in response.
Rushing toward Felix's room, she slams the door shut and locks it behind her, letting her sobs escape freely.
Her eyes wander around Felix's room and land on his desk, specifically a small transparent baggie containing white powder.
With a heavy hand, she takes it between her fingers, opens it, sticks her finger in the baggie, and withdraws it with remnants of white powder on the pad of her finger.
"Good God, mum, today might just be the day that you roll over in your grave."
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