“Yes.”
She didn’t see him leave, but she heard the quiet click of the door as it shut behind him. She exhaled then pushed the blanket off and stood.
I’m not crazy. She stared at her hands, frustrated that they continued to shake. But there was no door. But I’m not crazy. But I know what I saw. But I’m not crazy…
She left the fire to approach the windows. The day was nearly gone. A golden sunset glittered through the falling snow. The forest was clearly visible, a ragged band of black stretching across the horizon. It continued to snow, but the storm was over.
Thank mercy. She wrapped her arms around herself as she choked on tears. The radio was within reach. It would be reckless to try for it that night, while the temperatures were brutal and with dusk setting in, but daylight was less than twelve hours away. She would speak to Beth. She would find a way to leave Winterbourne before it sent her truly insane.
The door creaked as it opened, and Clare flinched.
Dorran stood in the entrance, holding a tray with two bowls of soup. He smiled. “Come and sit by the fire with me, where it’s warm.”
Chapter Ten
That night was the most peaceful Clare had spent in Winterbourne. She and Dorran sat side by side on the rug by the fire, blankets wrapped around their shoulders as they ate the soup and talked. Dorran didn’t mention the scene in the cellar, and Clare was grateful for it. She still didn’t know what to think had happened. Or what to think of herself. Instead, she focussed on what was important—making contact with the outside world. Leaving.
She wouldn’t have any regrets if she never saw Winterbourne again. But she was surprised to realise she would miss Dorran.
They talked about the garden—a safe, neutral topic—and about what plants they wanted to grow and how many. As she’d suspected, Dorran had spent a lot of time there while his family occupied the house. His mother refused to visit what she called “the servants’ quarters.” And while she disapproved of Dorran’s hobby, she didn’t disturb him when he worked there.
“In late spring and summer, it is warm enough to grow some hardy plants outside,” he said. “I enjoy that. Being out of the house. Merri would join me on most days, though she complained when the frost set in.”
“Is Merri one of your nieces?”
He laughed. “No. My dog. She is gone, sadly, spending the winter in Gould with my family. If I’d been able to bring her back with me, our incarceration would be a lot more entertaining.” His smile faded, the way it did when he talked about his family.
Clare watched him curiously. “Your mother wouldn’t let you take Merri with you?”
“No.”
He placed his empty bowl to one side and stretched his legs towards the fire. All humour had left his face. Clare could tell he wanted to say more. But he was hesitating, standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of whether it was safe to jump.
She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “What is it? You can tell me.”
“This is not a healthy family,” he said at last, the words halting and hesitant. The wood in the fire popped and fizzed. He stared at it, his face tense and his thick eyebrows pulled tight. “Everything we do is to maintain a pretence. The pretence that we are still the wealthiest estate in the area. The pretence that we are revered, adored, above reproach. The pretence that time never moved past our glory days.”
Dorran had been guarded about what he said, but Clare had read between the lines enough to guess who was responsible. “That’s what your mother wants, isn’t it? To stay locked in that bubble of time?”
“Yes. And she is fanatical about it. Any staff who question her values are dismissed harshly. Those who remain have absorbed her obsession. They became swept up in it—almost like a cult. They treat her word like law, and she will not accept anything less. Time away from the house is heavily restricted.” He pressed his eyes closed. “Disobedience is punished, sometimes harshly. Withholding food for minor infractions. Caning for more serious lapses.”
Clare’s throat was tight. “But that’s illegal.”
“It is. But no one will report her. Some are too loyal. Others are afraid of the consequences. Our family’s influence is diminished compared to what it once was, but not gone. And my mother does not forget grudges.”
Anyone who kept her staff on such a tight leash could not have been an easy mother to live under. Clare spoke carefully. “Does she control what you do too?”
His smile was tense. “She does. I cannot leave the estate.”
“Never?”
“I see the world twice a year, through the windows of our car, as we travel between Winterbourne and Gould.”
Anger, cold and sharp, bloomed in Clare’s stomach. What sort of mother would lock her own child up like that? It was quickly followed by a different question. Why does he put up with it?
Dorran adjusted his posture, folding one leg under the other. “It is not so bad. I had a good education through tutors. And the house is large, which makes it easy to avoid my family and easy to keep busy. I spend much of my time with the staff. Many of them are good company.”
Clare shook her head. “Even so, don’t you want to leave?”
He chuckled and glanced aside. “I do. But that is not why I am telling you this. I want to explain, and to apologise.”
“Apologise for what?”
“Sometimes it is hard to know what is right, what is normal. When you spend your whole life trapped inside a family with an unhealthy view of the world, what is bizarre becomes your every day. What should be abhorrent becomes your reality.”
Dorran ran his fingers through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. His eyes moved, darting over the flames as he tried to piece together his thoughts. Clare waited, knowing he would need a minute.
“I am not used to speaking with people outside my family,” he said at last. “I know I have not been the best of company. I did not know how to talk to you, especially at first. I made you uncomfortable, and I am sorry for it.”
“You don’t have to apologise for that.”
He met her eyes. It only lasted a second, but the sincerity in his gaze was arresting. “I hope you will pardon me for any lapses in manners. They are not intentional. And…” He paused again as he chose his words. “I know trust is not something I can expect to come easily. But you should not be afraid to ask for anything you want or need while you stay here. I want you to be comfortable.”
“Thank you.” Clare wanted to say more, to tell him she was sorry for the family he’d been trapped with, to say how much she appreciated what he’d done for her. The words were crowding onto her tongue, too jumbled to come out, but she didn’t want to let the silence hang. She rested her hand on his forearm.
He glanced at it, and his smile grew warmer, almost fond. It held more real joy than Clare had seen in him before. His other hand came up to cover hers, the fingers heavy and careful. He only held it there for a second before he stood, moving away from her touch.
“Your cuts need redressing. I should not have left them this long. I will return soon.”
Clare waited until his footsteps had faded, then she released a held breath. Something was still bothering him. She wished she could look inside his mind, even just for a moment.