Curse of Rose de Winter

Chapter 34

It was a rainy April, as expected. Only this time it had been raining from last night to this morning and when I looked out it reminded me of when I looked through my father's eyeglasses when I was young. There was a blur, like some impressionist painter's canvas.

When I woke up my hair was still wet, the cold dampness traversing my body like a ghost. I held myself and looked at the area next to my pillow; Ruby had left. I sat up and groaned before there was a prompt knock and Irene entered like a mechanical doll that had been waiting outside for me.

"Blanche, it's already noon. You took a late bath last night, didn't you? It's dangerous, you ought to have told me in advance."

"Why?" I asked. "I'm a legal adult, I can do what I want."

Irene's lips drew into a hard line before she spoke again. "I was up until three a.m."

I watched her carefully before I sighed and looked down at my hands. I had carefully hidden all the paper the whole household but Claribel wrote in and then took a bath. My waist length hair wasn't dry and I felt myself wake up to vague dreams.

Why?

Why wasn't I happy even though Dylan had given permission to stop playing Blanche?

"Irene," I whispered, "what is love?"

Irene stood there very still before she laid out my dress for the day and earrings.

"Love, you see, is what women hold for man who collect them like trophies. The first wife, Mrs Claribel, Mrs Scarlett, even you, and someday Ruby. You'll all fall for men under the guise of love, while they—"

Irene closed her lips and then walked to my bedside and pulled me up rather forcefully. The morning air made me shudder before she abruptly hugged me.

"Be careful of that word, love."

I closed my eyes against her shoulder, feeling a strange loneliness resonate between the two of us. Had she always been so mysterious? So cynical and kind despite it?

Dylan was in the study that day after breakfast, only Vaughn also came and interrupted with some news.

"Blanche," he sneered as he walked in and closed the door behind him. "You're quite the popular one, aren't you?"

"Is this about Sal Mazzanti?" I asked.

"Well, no. It's Leroy, your backup." That explains the sneer. "The poor darling invites you to the Blackwood house, of course, with Rosalind. Andrew and Sarah won't be there, but I'm sure some interesting things might result from this..."

As Vaughn spoke Dylan's eyes met mine and he gave a quick shake of his head.

It wasn't easy to make a decision. I loved Dylan, didn't I? I should cut off all ties to Rosemarie Blackwood, including Leroy and Rosalind. But somehow I remembered it, those years I was tossed around like a beanbag between Auguste and Sal and many, many more men. Only Rosalind hugged me without disgust, and I felt as Leroy would too.

Would Dylan?

To this day I would not give the full truth and tell him I was one of those woman his father had fed whilst giving him the cold shoulder.

"Leave the invitation," I said softly.

"No," Dylan said. I looked up to see him rising out of his seat slowly, like an actor suddenly unsure of his next lines. "No, Vaughn. It's useless, we want to find the real Blanche. Rose is going to be freed from this."

Surprisingly, Vaughn didn't laugh. He looked from Dylan to me and then finally the diary.

"So this is what the game last night was about. You're analyzing our handwriting. And what have you discovered?"