Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN BEHIND THE DOOR
For several seconds, Daniel could not move.
The cottage smelled of damp wood, old tea, and the faint sweetness of the bread he had watched Clara carry from the estate. A small coal fire glowed in the grate. Beside it sat the woman he had buried in his mind for eighteen months.
His mother.
Eleanor Whitmore looked thinner than he remembered. Her silver hair had been cut unevenly, and the beige cardigan slipped from one narrow shoulder. But the pale blue eyes were unmistakable. So was the little scar beside her eyebrow, left by a bicycle accident when Daniel was seven.
He had kissed that scar before every school trip.
Now he could barely breathe.
“Mom?”
Eleanor's hand remained outstretched.
Daniel crossed the threshold at last. He dropped to one knee beside her chair and took her hand in both of his. It was cold, but it was real.
“You're alive,” he whispered. “You're alive.”
Eleanor's eyes filled.
“I thought you had forgotten me.”
“Never.”
“They said you were angry. They said you didn't want to see me.”
“Who said that?”
She glanced at Clara.
The maid stood near the small kitchen table, her face pale. She had removed her uniform apron, but the canvas bag was still hanging from her shoulder.
“Daniel, I can explain,” she began.
He turned toward her.
“You knew?”
Clara swallowed. “I knew she was alive. I didn't know who you were until tonight.”
“You've been taking food from my kitchen for three nights.”
“For longer than that.”
His jaw tightened.
“You stole from me.”
“I took food that was going to be thrown away.”
“That isn't the point.”
“No,” Clara said quietly. “It isn't.”
Eleanor squeezed Daniel's fingers.
“Don't be angry with her. She brought me food when nobody else would.”
Daniel looked back at his mother.
“Why are you here? Why didn't you come home?”
Eleanor's mouth trembled.
“They told me I couldn't.”
“Who?”
She stared toward the window, as if the answer might be standing outside.
“Your uncle.”
Daniel felt something cold move through him.
His uncle, Robert Whitmore, had managed the family estate and its business interests after Daniel's father died. He had been the one who identified Eleanor's body after the fire at the lakeside cottage. He had arranged the funeral, handled the paperwork, and told Daniel that his mother had died before rescuers could reach her.
Daniel had been twenty-six. Grief had made every day feel like a room with no doors. Robert had handled everything.
“You're saying Uncle Robert knows you're alive?”
Eleanor nodded once.
“He said if I went back, you would lose everything.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
She looked frightened.
“He said you had signed papers. He said you had agreed I should stay away.”
“I never signed anything.”
“He showed me your name.”
Daniel stood so abruptly that the chair scraped against the floor.
“Where are those papers?”
Eleanor flinched.
He immediately lowered his voice.
“I'm sorry, Mom. I'm not angry with you.”
He crouched again.
“I'm angry that someone made you believe I abandoned you.”
Clara set the canvas bag on the table.
“Mrs. Whitmore needs to rest. She gets tired when she talks for too long.”
Daniel turned to her.
“How long have you been caring for her?”
“Almost four months.”
“Where were you before that?”
“At the estate.”
“I know where you work. I asked where you were before.”
Clara hesitated.
“My grandmother used to live in this cottage. She was Mrs. Whitmore's companion before the fire.”
Daniel looked around the room. An old photograph sat on the mantel: Eleanor standing beside a younger woman in a garden.
“Your grandmother knew my mother?”
“She was with her the night the fire happened.”
Daniel's heart began to pound.
“Then she knows what happened.”
Clara looked down.
“She died last winter.”
The fire cracked in the grate.
Daniel glanced at the photograph again.
“What's your name?”
“Clara Bell.”
“Clara, I need you to tell me everything you know.”
“I will. But not tonight.”
“Why not?”
She looked at Eleanor.
“Because someone still checks whether this cottage is occupied.”
A vehicle passed slowly along the narrow road outside.
Clara went rigid.
She crossed to the window and pulled the curtain aside by an inch.
Daniel watched her face change.
“What is it?”
“Go into the back room,” she whispered.
“I'm not leaving my mother.”
“Then stay quiet.”
The headlights passed the cottage.
The vehicle slowed.
For one long moment, its beams rested on the front door.
Then it continued down the road.
Clara waited until the sound faded.
“Now you understand why she didn't come home.”
Daniel looked at the closed door.
May you like
For eighteen months, he had believed he was the only one mourning his mother.
Now he understood that someone had been making sure she remained a ghost.
