Enthrallment

Enthrallment by Deidre Dalton is Book #4 in the Collective Obsessions Saga.

 

George Sullivan reunites with his long-lost love Susan O'Reilly. Their daughter Carly enters into an unholy alliance to secure her position as Liam Larkin's wife. As secrets unfold and more madness takes root, Carly plots a fatal and twisted scheme to exact revenge on the Larkin family . . .

From Chapter Six

August 1988

Larkin City, Maine

 

    PHOEBE MCGARREN WAS DYING. She wasn't consumed with a fatal disease or a slippage of the mind but rather she was simply tired. She was weary of the daily struggle to move about, of the aches and intolerable pains in her bones. She never left her rooms anymore, spending her days in a wheelchair by the picture window in her suite. She liked looking out over the Larkin estate as she sipped her first coffee of the morning. She nibbled on toast dipped in a soft-boiled egg, drinking a second cup of coffee by mid-morning.

    Five years before the birth of Megan Larkin, Shannon hired a nurse from Larkin City to help Phoebe dress, serve her meals and to keep the older woman company during the day. Claire Colby was middle-aged with short, steel-gray hair and piercing green eyes. She was small-boned, and always wore a light-gray frock with a dark red belt cinched at the waist. Despite her rather stern appearance, Claire was a kindly woman who quickly became protective of her charge. The two women became fast friends, more than patient and caregiver as the years passed, and Phoebe grew to trust Claire implicitly as she settled into her dotage.

    Claire had worked as a nurse at St. Patrick's Hospital for many years, but after early retirement she took on patient home care by signing with the Clamshell Employment Agency. At first, Claire juggled Phoebe with a few other elderly clients in Larkin City but as time progressed she realized Phoebe needed her full attention. While the still-elegant older woman was mostly incapacitated, she expected undivided care and required the finer things in life on a daily basis. Claire did not begrudge Phoebe her peculiarities as the former dress shop owner could well afford all the frills. Claire was only too happy to oblige as she was fond of Phoebe, admiring and respecting her rather fascinating journey through life.

    Claire's younger brother Martin was the night manager of the Amber Whale, and she often told Phoebe about Martin's escapades with tourists and locals alike. Phoebe delighted in the gossip, even snickering at the more promiscuous tales involving well-known Larkin City residents.

    "I cannot imagine our Mayor taking a room at the Amber Whale in order to dictate letters to his secretary," Phoebe laughed after one of Clare's gossip sessions. "Surely there is sufficient room in city hall office space for such activity."

    While she had an apartment in Larkin City, Claire arrived at the mansion every day at eight o'clock in the morning and left after eight o'clock at night. Her only day off was the first Sunday of each month, which was of her own device rather than by any demands made by Phoebe or the Larkin family. On occasion Phoebe would tell Claire to take more time for herself, but Claire was firm in her stance. Phoebe was more than just another patient to her. She felt a true kinship and love for the older woman.

    The devotion was not lost on Phoebe or the Larkin family. After a few years, Claire was asked to move into the mansion permanently. She demurred at first, hesitant to surrender her apartment in Larkin City and unwilling to give up her black cat, a tom by the name of Newton (as in "Fig Newton" because the feline loved the little cookies). When Shannon assured her the cat could live at the mansion, Claire relented. Phoebe also insisted that Claire be given security in the form of a contract, which stated if Claire had to leave her employment at any time, the family would help her pay for new lodgings off the estate or in Larkin City.

    Claire took a comfortable room next to Phoebe's suite in the mansion, where Newton made himself at home. The cat loved sitting on the sill of the large picture window in Claire's room, and he favored snoozing in the sun rays that splashed across the carpet in the morning. Claire still took one Sunday each month for herself, when she went into Larkin City to visit her brother.

    Phoebe and Claire slipped into a predictable routine. After breakfast, Phoebe took a bath with Claire's assistance and then watched television in her sitting room. She loved talk shows and soap operas, but by lunchtime she was ready for a change. Phoebe typically dined on fresh fish with vegetables and white wine for the noon meal, and afterward allowed herself to be tucked into a blanket on the couch by Claire, where she attempted to read her current subscription of fashion magazines. Although she would never admit it, Phoebe also snuck in a brief nap or two before teatime.

    Dinner was served in the sitting room and usually consisted of beef or chicken, with more vegetables, potatoes and an extra decanter of wine. Phoebe enjoyed brandy before bedtime, which she shared with Claire before being tucked into her bed for the night.

    However, teatime was Phoebe's favorite part of the day. Once or twice a week Shannon would leave the tea service downstairs and visit Phoebe in her rooms, bringing Dana, the twins Derek and Diana, and little Megan. Angie and Jamie, now sixteen and fifteen years old respectively, typically skipped tea altogether. They were too busy with their teenaged friends and various high school activities.

    Phoebe adored the children. They made the gloomy old mansion seem more alive, more vibrant. She often wondered if the young ones found her old and boring, but Megan especially seemed to take a liking to her great-great aunt.

    Derek and Diana Larkin were nearly identical, both possessing black hair and the blue eyes of their mother. At five years old, both were precocious but very different in personality. Derek was quiet, more apt to keep to himself, while Diana was loud and gregarious, curious about everything in her path. The twins reminded Phoebe of Shannon and Sean when they were small, with Shannon being the more aggressive of the two.

    Megan Larkin was only three years old but already displayed an unusual beauty and grace. Phoebe was struck by the child's pale, translucent skin framed by dark blonde hair and large, dark-lashed eyes that seemed like burnished almonds set in her face. The girl was small and frail for her age, somehow defied by her natural curiosity and intelligence, which successfully mingled with a quiet introspection Phoebe found astounding in such a young child.

    "She is a perfect physical combination of her mother and father," Phoebe observed of Megan as she sipped her tea from the divan in her sitting room. "There is no mistaking the child is a Larkin, but there is something quite unique about her that sets her apart from the rest."

    Shannon glanced at Phoebe from her place on the divan. "Megan is a dear, sweet girl," she said quietly. "Nothing at all like her mother in personality, thankfully."

    The children were playing a game of Go Fish!, sitting in a circle in front of the fireplace in Phoebe's sitting room. The smoky etched-glass screen shielded them from the open flame in the grate, as it burned steadily on the cold autumn day.

    "Megan is a Daddy's girl," Dana spoke from the chair opposite the divan. "She and Liam have an exclusive admiration society. Every night he comes home from work, she runs laughing into his arms."

    "Hardly the same reaction she displays when her mother walks through the door," Shannon murmured from behind her tea cup.

    Phoebe frowned in warning. "Shannon, it wouldn't do if Megan overheard you."

    "I speak the truth," Shannon responded firmly. "But never fear, aunty, I wouldn't scar little Megan with such poison. I'm sure she gets enough of that from Carly, even though mother and daughter don't seem to spend much time together."

    Dana set her tea cup on the coffee table between the chair and divan. "I'm just glad Carly gave up on the idea of getting a permanent sitter so we could continue to look after Megan," she said. "Being raised with my twins will surely benefit her, rather than being isolated with a nanny in her room."

    Shannon leaned forward. "The only reason Carly gave up on hiring an outside sitter was because the search was cutting into her precious work schedule," she snapped. She lowered her voice. "I'm telling you, the woman doesn't give one whit about her own child. It's a pity, and a shame. Poor Liam has finally realized it, but of course he's stuck in the marriage now unless he wants to hand over half his fortune in a divorce settlement."

    Phoebe was startled. "Where did you hear that? Is Liam considering a divorce?"

    Shannon shrugged. "He hasn't said so, not in so many words. But I know Liam. He's not happy in his marriage. He adores Megan of course, and she makes it all worthwhile." She sipped her tea, glancing at the children engrossed in their card game. "Carly rarely gets home before seven at night anymore. To her this is a good thing because it means her business is booming, but it leaves little time for her husband and daughter. Liam bathes Megan at night, he feeds her, and he tucks her into bed. Carly is so tired by the time she gets home she eats dinner and falls into her own bed, often without two words for Megan. Then she's off again early the next morning."

    "What about weekends?" Phoebe wanted to know. "Doesn't Carly spend some time with Megan on the weekends?" Being a virtual self-imposed prisoner in her own rooms gave the older woman little insight into the daily routine of the mansion these days.

    Shannon snorted while Dana replied to the question: "She works Saturdays, too. Sundays – well, on Sunday she sleeps in and then drives over to Bangor with Megan to have lunch with Susan O'Reilly. So at least they spend one day a week together."

    "That's something, then," Phoebe said uncertainly.

    "Ask Carly what Megan's favorite cartoon is," Shannon whispered. "Ask her what the child likes for lunch, or what her favorite book is. Carly doesn't have a clue. She has no interest in the development of her own child, but rather treats her like a little trophy. Trotting off to Bangor every Sunday is just a gesture, trust me."

    "What makes you so sure?" Phoebe asked. "You've never liked Carly, dear. Are you positive your judgment isn't clouded?" The older woman appeared thoughtful for a moment. "Granted, I've never really cared for Carly either, but she is a member of this family and we have to make allowances."

    "I can read Carly," Shannon insisted. "I knew she was wrong for Liam the minute I met her. She reminds me of Marianne Chamberlain, actually. If Liam's money were to disappear tomorrow, so would Carly. She enjoys the prestige of being a Larkin more than her marriage. I can't prove it, of course, but I think Liam is a means to an end for her. You know as well as I do how fast she got her own business going after Liam married her, all of which was made possible with his money."

    "Perhaps Carly feels the hostility from you," Dana noted. "Maybe that's why she feels the need to stay away from the mansion."

    Shannon raised an eyebrow at her sister-in-law, surprised Dana would defend Carly. "Why would you say something like that?"

    Dana looked sheepish. "Everyone is always down on Carly, no matter what she does. It's not fair. We are not great friends, her and I, but I feel bad for her when everyone finds fault with her every action."

    Shannon sighed. "You're right, I suppose, yet I can't help how I feel. Call it intuition if you will, but I don't think Carly is the genuine article."

    Their conversation halted when the children came forward, asking for pastries from the tea cart.

    Shannon smiled at Megan, who stood in front of her. "And what would you like today?" she asked. "Let me guess – a blueberry muffin?"

    Megan nodded happily, holding out her hands. "Yes, please, Aunty Shannon."

    Shannon glanced over the child's head toward Dana, who watched in return.

    The two women smiled at one another, knowing that no matter what was said between them they would never lose their deep and lasting friendship.

June 1989

Larkin City, Maine

 

    PHOEBE WASN'T SLEEPING WELL. She didn't mind, because she knew deep in her heart she would be in the eternal state of sleep before too long.

    She spent her time daydreaming. She remembered her past with surprising alacrity, preferring to focus on the happy points in her life and skimming over the unpleasant. She pondered on what wisdom to convey to her family, and struggled with parts of her life that were left well enough alone. She felt certain aspects had no bearing or benefit for those in the present or the future.

    Although she told herself she dwelled little on the sins of her past, in fact Phoebe obsessed over what she perceived to be her part in Colleen Larkin's death. She felt monumental guilt for her long-ago affair with Patrick Larkin and the subsequent result of her sister's stroke some years later when she learned the truth.

    But her perception of the truth continued to gnaw at her. The Larkin's had shown her nothing but kindness, love and complete acceptance since the start, some seventy-one years ago. How could she not tell them the whole story, including her affair with Patrick, the resulting pregnancy, and the knowledge of which caused Colleen to have a massive stroke that led to her death?

    "They will hate me if the truth was known," Phoebe thought fearfully, her eyes wandering around her bedroom. She lovingly took in every detail, from the large picture window, to the white marble fireplace, the small table and chairs which used to be her favorite place for early morning coffee, and the various pictures depicting seascapes and flower gardens that adorned her walls.

    "No one will ever know," she continued to ponder drowsily. "There is nothing written down on paper, no untoward conversations that might lead someone to think I had a hand in Colleen's death. It's all in my head now, which is where it will remain."

    Phoebe fell into a light, fitful slumber, her swaying decisions weighing heavily on her mind.

    She dreamed about Patrick Larkin at first, reliving their affair with every excruciating detail. She saw herself as a young woman in her dreams, with tall coltish legs, rich brown hair and lively green eyes. Then she saw her beloved Niles Wharritt, smiling and holding out his hands to her. "I'm waiting here for you," he whispered. "It's been such a long time, Phoebe, please don't make me wait much longer."

    Her vision dimmed for a moment. When it cleared she saw Niles again, but this time Colleen was standing behind him. Phoebe felt herself turn rigid with fear, her eyes going over Niles' head to rest on her sister.

    It was not a comforting sight. Colleen was as she had died – mismatched eyes from the stroke, and a menacing twist to her lips that made is impossible for her to speak. Her eyes were wide and staring, accusing in their regard. Beyond Colleen was another figure, that of Nicholas Bertrand, standing motionless and appearing as he had also died: head lolling to one side in near decapitation where Patrick slit his throat, and one eyeball dangling down to his cheek.

 Patrick Larkin stood behind all the characters in Phoebe's mind. The bastard was laughing, crossing his arms and leaning forward. She saw the rope burns on his throat, a reminder that he hung himself rather than face the consequences of his deeds. His voice came mockingly, using her nickname as a wicked epithet: "I'm waiting for you too, Pheebs."

    She felt horror grip her like a vise, cutting off her breath. She touched her throat, sensing the perspiration that covered her entire body.

    "Phoebe," she heard a voice as if from far away. "Phoebe, wake up. You're having a bad dream."

    She opened her eyes, looking upon the concerned face of Claire Colby. The woman's visage was framed in a cloud-like halo, as if she were part of the dreams that haunted Phoebe's mind. Instead of being menacing or judgmental, however, Claire's appearance was soothing, a declaration of complete trust and selfless devotion.

    Phoebe reached over and took Claire's hand. "I was dreaming about people in my life who have already passed," she murmured, without fear this time. "Niles, my fiancé; my sister Colleen, and the family chef Nicholas Bertrand, who was so brutally murdered. I also saw his killer, Patrick Larkin. The dream started off well enough, but the end was less than pleasing." She paused briefly. "I also saw myself as I once was, young and lithe and beautiful."

    Claire leaned over the bed, letting go of Phoebe's hand. She pulled the comforter closer to Phoebe's shoulders, and tried to adjust the pillow under her head. Newton came into the room, jumping lightly on the bed. Phoebe regarded the black cat fondly, suddenly recalling her own Siamese feline Lady Sam from many years ago.

    "Do you want me to shoo him from the bed?" Claire asked as Newton sniffed the air from his place on the comforter.

    "No let him be," Phoebe said as she watched Newton settle down next to her, leaning against her arm. The cat began to clean himself, the rhythmic motion of his paw circling his face with exact precision. She smiled. "I think Lady Sam and Newton would have liked one another."

    "Who is Lady Sam?" Claire asked with some trepidation, fearing Phoebe was slipping into dementia.

    Phoebe glanced at Claire. "Lady Sam was my Siamese cat. I had her when I owned the dress shop in Larkin City. She was my dearest companion until you came along."

    "What about your sister Colleen?" Claire queried. "Wasn't she close to you?"

    Phoebe was quiet for a moment. "Yes, we were close, but that goes without saying because we were blood-related. What I meant to say was Lady Sam was my dearest companion on a daily basis, like Newton is for you."

    "Of course," Claire said. She took the chair next to the bed, gazing at Phoebe as the older woman rested her head against her pillow. "Would you like some tea? If I brought you a bowl of soup, would you take a few spoonfuls?"

    Phoebe sighed. "Not yet, dear. First, there is something I need to tell you." She wasn't sure if it was the dream prompting her to change her mind again or if her own guilt was the cause, but Phoebe decided she had to confide her sins to someone. Rather than burden the Larkin's, she decided to unload her conscience to Claire instead. At least Claire could be trusted to keep family secrets that were of no concern to the village gossipmongers and busybodies.

    "What is it, Phoebe?" Claire asked.

    "You must never repeat what I'm about to tell you," Phoebe insisted.

    "I would never betray your trust," Claire said, a trifle hurt. "Surely you know that by now."

    Phoebe dismissed the remark in her mind. She had one more important requisite to ask of the woman.

    "Most of all, never repeat anything I'm about to tell you to a member of the Larkin family."

    Claire nodded. "I understand, Phoebe. I promise, I'll never repeat a single word of what you tell me in confidence."

    Phoebe felt herself relax. She closed her eyes, summoning the physical strength to confess her sins. It had been a long time in coming, and she was more than ready to vocally unburden herself.

    She turned her head and opened her eyes, looking at the expectant Claire. "I am responsible for the death of my sister Colleen," she began softly, tears forming in her eyes. "Because of my sins, Colleen suffered a stroke and passed away unable to speak and accuse me of my terrible deeds . . ."