Chapter 21
Author's Notes: I’m so nervous about this. *hides*
She didn’t know when the draperies had changed. The current texture was coarse, the shade a deep charcoal, and yards of fabric pooled at the ground. She was certain the drapes hadn’t always been this color. As though sensing the shift, the subtle but significant change in the tide, the house had altered its mood. Manderley sensed the impending storm, and despite the resurrection of its mistress, chose to mirror the lifeless shade of William’s eyes.
“Mr. de Winter,” Colonel Finn said diplomatically, offering his hand. “I’m—”
“I know who you are,” William replied, his eyes flickering to Buffy, heavy with concern but likewise well-guarded. Everything about him was guarded. “Is everything all right?”
“Colonel Finn,” she implored desperately. Her tone only furthered the concern in her husband’s eyes. “Please, I—”
“What is it?” William demanded. “What’s happened?”
Buffy sank deeper into the settee, thoroughly vulnerable and more than a little useless. The voices around her stretched into long, incoherent notes which resembled nothing of actual words. She didn’t need to listen—hearing it a second time would amount to little more than rubbing salt into an already achingly open wound. She watched color fade from her husband’s face. His jaw hardened, his head nodding as though detached from his body. Every few seconds his lips would part, and he would offer a non-committal, monosyllabic retort. A dull hum filled Buffy’s ears, drying her throat and numbing her skin and rendering her nothing more than a shadow.
The voices which surfaced made sense but she could barely hear them. She felt miles away.
“I see,” William murmured. “Yes, of course…”
“Obviously, I don’t want to trouble you more on this difficult subject than is necessary,” Finn said sympathetically. “But you understand the problems…” He nodded to Buffy. “Your wife and I think there must have been someone else in the boat with Mrs. de Winter.”
A long, unbearable pause. William’s face didn’t change, nor did his inflection. He merely cleared his throat and nodded. “I see.”
“We don’t know who—”
“Yes, that would be problematic.”
“And I know the last thing you want is more attention on this…matter. The whole island knows that.”
William met Buffy’s eyes and held. There was nothing behind them.
“Yes, Colonel, you’re correct…but obviously our desires don’t coincide with the nature of things.” He nodded again. “If you leave your number, I’ll be sure to give you a ring in the morning. As it is, I believe I need to discuss a few things with my wife. This changes…quite a bit.”
“I can imagine,” Finn said, and if he weren’t so damned empathetic, Buffy would have shoved him through the bay window. He didn’t know what he’d done. What he’d just cost her. He didn’t know how the world had suddenly changed.
And she couldn’t stop it. The last shoe had finally dropped. There was no ray of hope, no way of talking herself into something which truly no longer existed. Colonel Finn had extinguished the last bit of light she’d reserved for herself. Buffy sat on the settee and watched as William slipped away from her completely, unable to do anything to stop it. Everything around her blurred again, disconnected, static, leaving her only to the terrible cadence of her thundering heart. Along the bay, the waves were crashing and Drusilla’s boat was rocking and there was a body in the main cabin. A body which oughtn’t be there but was.
A body which had brought Drusilla herself back to life. No longer a ghost; the woman was truly alive again.
Sound clarified after what felt like hours. Buffy watched William shake Finn’s hand again and show him to the door. Then they were alone. A few agonizingly long minutes passed, but William returned to her. He stood in the doorway, not looking at her, his hands in his pockets. How long they remained like that, she didn’t know. Only that it seemed hours before he closed off the parlor from unwanted visitors.
It took every nerve in her body to command herself to her feet. William met her eyes but only fleetingly, turning instead to the window. There he fixed his gaze on something distant and held. She watched the bob of his Adam’s-apple. She listened to the steady course of his breaths. She stood and waited, but he didn’t say anything.
He wanted to say something. He wouldn’t still be with her if he didn’t want to say something.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy heard herself blurt. Then she was moving—moving swiftly across the room until she was against him. Her arms encircled his waist and her cheek found his chest, and before she could help herself, the tears she’d cried all night tore through the dam she’d built. Everything came tumbling down. “I’m so sorry, William. Please forgive me. Please.”
It was immediate. She’d never felt an embrace like this. His arms were suddenly around her, hugging her to him with foreign intensity. It was unlike anything. Apart from their lovemaking, apart from the captured moments of stolen tenderness—apart from everything. It was so unexpected she didn’t know what to do with it, save hold him tighter and hope he didn’t let go.
William’s lips brushed her brow. “What are you sorry for, sweetheart?”
“The dress. I didn’t mean to…I know it was foolish. I should have known. I should have—”
“Oh, Buffy…”
She blinked, startled beyond reproach. His tone was not one of an angry widower. There was nothing but raw sincerity, and it rattled her to the bone. “What?”
“You did nothing wrong last night,” he murmured, kissing her temple as his fingers played with the wisps of hair at the base of her neck. “I lost my head. My behavior was unforgivable.”
“But the dress—”
“Was only a dress.”
“It was the dress she—” Buffy’s breath drew up short, her heart leaping into her throat. Never before had she referenced Drusilla directly. With intent. But then, never before had they been in such a situation—in a place where his dead wife was more than the ghost in the room. She was the room itself. And no matter how much it terrified her, there was no ignoring Drusilla anymore. “It was the dress she wore.”
To her astonishment, William offered a dry chuckle. “Not the same one, I’d hope,” he replied. “That’d be bloody awkward.”
“No. Mrs. Hart—”
“So it was Mrs. Hart.” A long sigh tore across his shoulders. “I should have seen something like this coming. The woman was devoted to her…” William paused long enough to slowly untangle himself from her clinging arms. “It doesn’t matter now,” he continued, turning again to the window. “It’s over.”
Cold froze Buffy’s insides. “What’s over?”
“Everything, darling. You heard what Colonel Finn said. It’s over now.”
“Because she was sailing with someone else?” Buffy demanded, astonished at the sudden shrill in her voice but unable to stop it. “It was…I know it comes as a shock, but—”
William shook his head indiscernibly. “That’s not it.”
A long sigh depressed her heart. And before she could help herself, the voice of her greatest insecurity tore down the walls of her psyche and stepped forward with uncharacteristic audacity. “I’ll be better,” she promised softly. “I can do better.”
He whirled around, frowning. “What?”
“I’ll be more…I don’t know. I didn’t know how to…when you married me, I didn’t know how to behave. How to be the best…the best wife…for you.”
The dead look on his face made her feel like an over-rubbed scar. “What are you talking about?”
“I know I can’t ever be her. I—”
“You think I want that?”
It wasn’t the fact the words were truly between them, carried by air and existing somewhere other than the recesses of her mind; it was the endless astonishment on his face. As though he had never been plagued with such thoughts. As though he’d never thought her any less than what she was, or never wanted her to be anything more. And perhaps it was the truth. She’d harbored the delusion William wanted her to embody Drusilla, a delusion she suspected the night before had destroyed when he realized she never could be.
Still, there was nothing to support the contrary. Every whispered breath between them was spelled out by distance. William never met her eyes when they made love. Their nights were often occupied with his desperate pleas to his dead wife. He’d turned away from her last night when he’d seen her. He’d told Wesley that she didn’t know him, and never could. He never went to the bay—he’d been so angry with her when she dared venture that way with Jasper, telling her she wouldn’t dare if she had his memories. He bought her dresses and jewels and acted thoroughly bewildered when she couldn’t step with ease into the role into which she’d married.
“I don’t…I don’t know,” Buffy whispered, the air stinging her eyes. “Didn’t you?”
It was a slow transformation. The way his face fell pale, his gaze filling with the most potent sorrow she’d ever seen. The veils between them fell. Standing in the deceitful quiet of the parlor, the space between them occupied with heavy breaths and thundering hearts, it seemed they understood each other at long last.
“Oh God,” William murmured, horrified. “Oh God…”
“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him hurriedly, her feet carrying her to his side before she could stop herself. “None of it matters. We’ll start over. We can still start over.”
He shook his head, though for the dismayed look on his face, she didn’t know if it was in reaction to her offer or if he was still in shock over her revelation. “No,” he whispered. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t haunted. “No, my love. It’s too late.”
The bottom of her stomach dropped. “No,” she protested urgently. It suddenly didn’t matter this was the moment she’d predicted since last night. Since the incident at the bay and the visit from Colonel Finn had fortified every negative fear her mind had whispered to her lovesick heart. Ignoring everything, because the alternative was unbearable. “No, it can’t be too late. It can’t be. I know this is…I can’t imagine how horrible this must be for you. But William, please. It was just someone sailing with her. It was—”
He sighed, his head dropping. “Buffy…”
“I love you,” she cried, tears stinging her eyes. “I love you so much. I know I haven’t—”
William whirled around, and the explosion of life she saw flash across his face nearly knocked her off her feet. “Say it again,” he said softly, his voice weighed with something heavy—something she couldn’t identify, something she barely noticed for her own anxiety. “Say it again, Buffy.”
“I love you.”
It was wondrous—a page from a storybook. For a blindingly perfect moment, she thought he would finally say it back. The softness of his eyes and the hope in his voice begged expansion, but as he approached the definitive line, the fire died and he backed away again. And without warning, the moment passed. “It might have been enough once,” he said, casting his gaze downward. “I thought it would be. You, me…I was so foolish for coming back here. Our one chance of happiness is gone forever.”
Buffy shook her head, hot rivers scalding her cheeks. “William,
please. Please.” “Drusilla has won.”
The words served as the proverbial slap. “What?”
“She’s won. I left to forget her. To forget…God, to forget everything that happened. I never knew I’d meet you. Never dreamed of marrying again. Never thought I could come back to Manderley…not after…” William cleared his throat and turned to the window again, crossing his arms elegantly behind his back, but for the first time she saw how he trembled. “But then I saw you. You were wearing that white dress. Do you remember?”
She remembered screaming at him, terrified she was about to witness a man’s death. Her dress was insignificant. She’d just needed to save him.
“You looked so innocent,” William mused thoughtfully. “You were, of course. Innocent. So much more than even I knew. And you drew me in. God, you drew me in so deeply. But I couldn’t…you couldn’t…”
When his voice faded to silence, Buffy knew he would not speak again. His body was too tight with tension, holding with it the strings keeping her heart together. How he could ever have been enchanted with her was a mystery. It was something she’d never seen—something he’d certainly never revealed. The thought alone was enough to blow her mind but she couldn’t stop. No matter what he said about the past, the fact remained he thought it was over. Whatever it was between them had ended. Their marriage. The life they lived at Manderley. There was something he refused to tell her—something the rest of him was practically screaming.
And again, she thought of his words the night before. The words which would undoubtedly haunt her to the grave.
She doesn’t know me. “Drusilla has won,” he said again. “I was foolish to think I could beat her. Even in death, she always had the upper-hand.”
“I don’t understand,” Buffy whispered, because it was the truth. “It was someone sailing with her, William. It was only that. Someone was sailing with her that night.”
There was a short, nearly indiscernible shake of his head. “No.”
“But—”
“It’s her. It’s Drusilla.”
It was an odd sensation, feeling one’s heart stop. Tiny prickles danced up and down her arms, her insides flushing cold and her throat threatening to choke on air. What he said was impossible—absolutely impossible. Drusilla was buried in the family plot. William had seen her, identified her. There had been a funeral. This wasn’t a flight of fancy; it was knowledge. It was something to which the whole country could attest.
Shock, Buffy told herself, swallowing hard and forcing a brave step forward.
It’s the shock. Perhaps it was easier for him to imagine Drusilla under water than the less pleasant alternative; the one wherein she was out sailing with a lover.
Another step. She was closing in on him. If she could just touch him, reassure him with a caress, she was certain she could talk him off this ledge as well. He might not want to face the truth of his former marriage, but he’d given Buffy enough ammunition to resurrect her fallen confidence. He’d seen something in her that day on the bluff. Something in her open, vulnerable face and her white dress. If he just looked at her now it wouldn’t seem so horribly bad. Nothing would. She could save him from this. For the sake of their marriage—for
his sake—she had no option. “William,” she said softly. “I know it’s…hard to imagine her with someone else down there, but—”
Shivers danced across her skin at the harshness of his laugh. “Oh, yes,” he drawled. “Bloody unfathomable.”
“Talk to me.”
“It’s over. There’s nothing to talk about.” He stared fixedly out the window. “I’m so sorry. I wish I…but she’s won. Drusilla has won.”
“Stop saying that!” Buffy cried, tossing caution aside and grasping his wrist. In a blink, she was trapped beneath the power of his azure eyes. She refused to blink; refused to back down. Not when she had something so vital for which to fight. “She was sailing with someone. Colonel Finn said so. She was—”
“Buffy, it’s no good. It’s her. She’s back. She’s in the boat.” William took her hands in his, tossing a fleeting glance to the door behind her as though it would open on his command.
“It’s impossible! She—”
“You have no idea how I wish it was.”
And then there was fire. Sparks ignited in her belly and began to spread. “So you don’t wish I was her?” she asked before she could stop herself, wincing at the horror which engulfed his face. But there was no stopping—the gate was open. She couldn’t help herself if she tried. “You don’t wish she was here and I wasn’t?”
“No.
No. God no. Oh Buffy—”
She heard the words but they made no sense. Not with everything she’d seen. Everything through which she’d been. Not after seeing his eyes last night. “But you wanted her,” she gasped. “You wanted Drusilla. You wanted her back and—”
“Buffy, stop—”
“—you could never love me like you loved her.”
Shock replaced horror. William released her at once and staggered back as though struck with a bullet.
“Loved her?” he replied. The words might as well have been toxic for how he spat them.
“Loved Drusilla? I hated her. I hated every wretched thing about her. She was a menace. A bloody viper. She never—” He broke away, shaking his head, the whole of him trembling. “I
never loved Drusilla.
Never. She was pure poison. She killed everything she touched. Everything she…I never thought I was capable of hatred before I met her.” William paused before meeting her eyes again. “And you say you love me. You tell me you love me. I asked you before we married if you loved me. But you can’t, sweetheart. You can’t love me. You don’t know…” He twisted on his heel and pointed at the window. Pointed to the bay. “You want to know how I know Dru’s in that boat? Because I bloody
put her there. I shot her with a double-barrel shotgun, put her in the boat, and made damned sure she’d never…but she’s won. Do you understand? She’s won. I killed her.
I killed Drusilla, and she still won. She
always wins.”
William’s head snapped back to Buffy. She was motionless, frozen with shock, unable to do anything but stare.
“I killed Drusilla,” he said again. “And now you know. The whole world will know. She’s not in the cemetery. She never has been. She never even left Manderley. Never. She’s been here always. Always.”
Every inch of her had frozen. She existed between realities.
And William, with eyes like a thunderstorm, was all around her. He gripped her arms and pulled her to his chest, threatening to consume her, devour her, and daring her to fear him in turn. “So look at me, Buffy,” he whispered, his voice dropping to a plea. For the first time, the tears clouding her vision weren’t her own. “Look at me and tell me it doesn’t matter. Now that you know what I…what I am. Look at me and tell me you can love me
now.” TBCNote: Don’t hate me! I’m halfway through the next chapter, promise!
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ghostgirl13's prompting. Therefore, I lovingly dedicate this story to her. She kept me on my toes, even when I didn’t want to be kept.