Almost Gone

She stared at Cassie, her eyes wide and blue, and Cassie felt a lump in her throat at the unexpected gratitude.

“That’s what I’m here for,” she said.

“I’m sorry I told you to walk through the nettles.” She glanced at the welts on Cassie’s hands, still swollen and inflamed.

“That’s really no problem. I understand it was just a joke.” Tears were flooding her eyes now as sympathy welled inside her. She hadn’t expected Antoinette to let down her guard. She understood exactly how lonely she must feel, and how vulnerable. It was terrible to think Antoinette had suffered previous verbal abuse from Margot, with nobody there to protect her and her father deliberately siding against her.

Well, she had somebody now—Cassie was in her corner and would support her no matter what it took. The day hadn’t been a complete disaster if it meant she’d managed to get closer to this complex and troubled child.

“Try to sleep now. I am sure things will be better in the morning.”

“I hope so. Good night, Cassie.”

Cassie closed the door, sniffed violently, and wiped her nose on her sleeve. Exhaustion and emotion were getting the better of her. She hurried down the corridor, grabbed her pajamas, and headed for the shower.

When she was standing under the steaming jet of water, she finally allowed her tears to flow.

*

Although the hot water had soothed her emotions, Cassie soon realized it had caused her skin to flare up again. The nettle stings started itching unbearably. She scrubbed herself hard with her towel in an effort to scratch the itch, but only succeeded in spreading it.

After climbing into bed, she found she was so uncomfortable she couldn’t sleep. Her face and arms were throbbing and burning. Scratching offered only temporary relief and actually worsened the pain.

After what seemed like hours of unsuccessfully trying to will herself to sleep, Cassie admitted defeat. She needed something to soothe her skin. The cupboard in the shower room had housed only basic essentials, but she’d seen a large cabinet in the bathroom beyond Ella’s bedroom. Perhaps there would be something there that could help.

She walked quietly to the bathroom and opened the wooden cabinet, relieved to see that it was filled with tubes and bottles. There was bound to be something for allergies. She read the labels, struggling with the complicated French, nervous that applying the wrong remedy might make things even worse.

Calamine lotion. She recognized the color and smell even though the label was unfamiliar. This would soothe her skin.

Pouring some into her cupped hand, Cassie slathered it onto the burns. Immediately she felt cool relief. She replaced the bottle and closed the cabinet.

As she turned to leave, she heard a sound and froze.

It was a rough shout, a muffled scream.

It must be Marc. He’d gotten out of bed and was causing trouble with Ella.

She hurried down the corridor but realized after just a few steps that this side of the house was quiet and the children were asleep.

There it was again—a crash and a thud and another scream.

Cassie froze. Was somebody breaking into the house? Her mind raced as she thought of all the treasures it contained. In the States, she would have locked herself in her room and called the police. But there was no cell signal here, so the best she could do would be to alert Pierre. It sounded as if it was coming from that direction anyway.

She would feel braver if she had a weapon. She glanced into her bedroom. Perhaps she should take the steel poker by the fireplace. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Grasping the poker firmly, Cassie tiptoed down the corridor. She rounded the corner and found herself facing a closed wooden door.

This must be the master suite, and the noise was coming from inside.

Cassie leaned the poker against the wall, so she could grab it quickly if she needed to. Then she bent down and peeked through the keyhole.

The lights were on in the bedroom. Her view was limited, but she could see one person—no, two. There was Pierre, his dark hair gleaming in the light. But what was he doing with his hands? They were wrapped round something—he was gripping and shaking it violently. Another plaintive, choking scream reached her, and she drew in her breath sharply as she realized he was grasping a woman’s neck.

Cassie’s heart pounded as she translated the scene playing out through the tiny hole in the door, where Pierre was murdering Margot.

CHAPTER NINE

Cassie recoiled from the heavy wooden door, adrenaline flooding through her as she replayed the deadly scene in her mind. Heavy hands clamped around a pale neck, those panicked, choking screams. There had been something else as well; a splash of vivid color she couldn’t make sense of.

She needed to call for help, and fast.

Who could she call, though? The housekeeper was the only person she knew, and she had no idea where to find her. In any case, if she wasted time looking for her, Margot would die. It was as simple as that.

Instead, Cassie herself would have to intervene.

If she burst into the bedroom, shouting at the top of her voice, it would cause a distraction that would hopefully allow the blonde woman to break free.

Terror overpowered her at the thought, but she told herself it had to be done. Even if her legs turned to water and her voice was no more than a pathetic squeak, she had to try and be brave.

As she reached for the door handle, she heard another sound that stopped her in her tracks.

It was a deep-voiced groan of pleasure.

Hesitantly, Cassie bent and peered through the keyhole once again.

Moving her head from side to side to make the most of her narrow view, Cassie realized the object she’d seen was a brightly colored scarf. Margot’s wrists were tightly bound, and the scarf was knotted to a brass rail that must be the headboard.

Cassie gasped as she realized what was happening.

This wasn’t murder, but a sexual act—dark, violent, and prolonged. She could see Margot struggling to free herself. This wasn’t just kinky experimentation; it looked downright dangerous. And she wasn’t at all sure that it was consensual. Margot didn’t seem to be a willing partner. Perhaps Pierre was punishing her for her earlier outburst, or using it as an excuse to do what he was doing now.

Cassie told herself firmly that however horrifying the act, it was taking place in private and certainly not her business. If Pierre or Margot found out she’d been watching, she’d be in serious trouble. And if one of the children were to see her peeking through the keyhole, she didn’t want to imagine what the consequences would be.

Cassie stepped back, but in the shock of what she’d seen, she forgot all about the poker she’d placed against the wall. She knocked it with her foot and it clattered loudly down onto the marble tiles.

The groans stopped suddenly. After a heartbeat of silence, Pierre called out, his voice sharp.

“What’s that? Who’s there?”

He’d heard. And the sudden creak of bedsprings and the thud of feet on floorboards told her that he was on his way to see.

Cassie picked up the poker and fled down the corridor, running as fast and silently as she could. She prayed that Pierre might stop to put on a gown or slippers, and that she’d be out of sight by the time he opened the door. Because if he saw her, if he even guessed she’d been there, she had a world of trouble coming her way.

She rounded the corner and skidded on the marble tiles, grabbing desperately at the wall to stop herself from falling. Her finger bent back painfully and she swallowed a cry. From behind her she heard the latch click as the bedroom door swung open. And then she heard the pounding of feet down the corridor. Pierre was pursuing her at speed.

Nightmare scenarios raced through Cassie’s mind as she headed for her bedroom. She closed the door as quietly as she could and placed the poker back in the fireplace, trying to stop her hands from shaking so it wouldn’t rattle against the grate. A moment later she leaped into bed and yanked the covers up to her chin. With her heart banging in her throat, she waited for Pierre to pass by.

Because of course he would pass by, wouldn’t he? There would be no reason for him to knock if he saw her door was closed.