Proposition Fatale

“I have only ever been in love once in my life, and no, it wasn’t with your mother.”

It was a rather crude statement to make in the presence of one’s children, and an even worse thing to say so soon after one’s wife had passed, but Damon Walters was three sheets to the wind, and it had been so long since he had even mentioned her name.

His faded blue eyes looked round with satisfaction, surveying his guests with a gentle pleasure. He rested his gaze first on his youngest, Mason, who unlike the others gathered around the dinner table, hadn’t heard a lick of anything his father had said; too busy charming Eveline Bonnaire, the beautiful blonde schoolteacher with the enormous blue eyes. His glance went on to his only daughter, Thea, then on to his oldest friends, the well-groomed traveler Etienne Dubois and his cousin Perlita Tierno. There were two others in the room, Dr. Cummings, the elderly clergyman from the local parish, and his eldest, Randall, self consciously debonair. Damon Walters gave a moment of attention to all these people and then proceeded with his tale.

“I was in love once -,” he reiterated. “She was the most beautiful creature that I had ever laid eyes on. A French girl she was – Genevieve was her name.” 

“Father likes to tell stories,” Thea added swiftly, interrupting Damon’s monologue. “They’re hardly ever true.”

“I have never forgotten her,” continued Damon, unaware anyone besides himself had spoken. “She was a nice girl. Really, a very nice girl. Not silly like so many young women nowadays, save for that romantic imagination. She had an enthusiasm for history, you see. Would go on about Elizabethan times, heretics, and witch trials. She wanted to attend university to become a historian. You could imagine the bloody row that brought about when she told her father. After all, they were royalty or something like that. As royal as the French could be anyways, eh Etienne!”

Etienne Dubois threw his host a glance of reproach at which he threw his head back and laughed.

“Still so touchy, my friend,” said Damon jovially, but Etienne made no reply.

“And we’re to believe a beautiful French vixen was taken up by the likes of you? A stuffy English man?” asked Randall Walters with some amusement.

“The heavens smiled upon me, son. There was no other explanation,” replied Damon, smiling. “What were the odds that an orphaned boy would be adopted by his rich uncle and that very same summer, a French aristocrat and his family would buy the estate next door? One in a million, I’ll tell you!

“Mind you, I didn’t always like her,” he continued. “I was just a young chap when we met, and I thought her to be the most annoying creature in all of Europe. Always pointing out how I could do things better. Little miss know-it-all, I would call her. But once I got used to the fact that Genevieve just had a more brilliant mind than most, I was putty in her hands.”

“Well, if you loved her so much, how then did you end up with Mother?” commented Mason, flinging away his cigarette with an impulsive gesture. “Unless this was a case of unrequited love? That’s it, isn’t it? She ran off with someone more suitable-”

“On the contrary,” interjected the French traveler, “they were both very much in love.”

“So, he’s not spinning another tale?” asked Thea, who although had voiced her suspicions of the validity of this story, had been drinking up every word old Damon said.

Etienne shook his head. “Genevieve was my sister.”

“You say was as if she was gone,” said the schoolteacher gravely.

“But she is, my child.”

With those words, fourteen attentive eyes refocused their gaze on the balding old man. The latter was silent for a minute or two, lost in a daze. At last, he sighed and continued his story in a gentle reminiscent voice.

“Genevieve and I began courting quite young. She was fifteen and I seventeen. It wasn’t uncommon back then, but her father still wasn’t very pleased by the idea. He insisted that all our outings be chaperoned as a ploy to deter me from his daughter. Luckily for me, this chaperone had some pretty little thing in the village who kept him rather occupied. “

Damon shot a pointed look at Etienne whose cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment.

“So, we’d spend all our time together in the summer, and for the rest of the year, while she was at school in France, we would write letters. And it was so for two enchanting years, then in the third summer, she didn’t show. There were no letters. It was Etienne here who informed me that she had chosen to stay with an aunt in France and wouldn’t be returning to England until the following year. Needless to say, I was completely miserable during those five months for I had grown quite accustomed to spending every waking moment with my sweetheart. So, in August that year, right before I returned to university, I vowed to ask Genevieve for her hand in marriage.

“The day before Genevieve was to arrive, I made my way to Woodbine Estate to speak with her father, the Marquis. One look at me and he knew exactly the matter I had come to discuss.”

““So, you have come to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage.” It was more a statement than a question.

 “I nodded my head in reply. It was all I could do at that moment to not chuck my lunch all over his expensive, Persian rug.”

“Have you gone mute, boy?” the Marquis demanded.

““No, sir,” I muttered hastily, lowering my head in a slight bow. “I apologize for my nerves. I do not wish to disrespect you in your home. I only hope you would be willing to grant me permission to ask your daughter for her hand.” The words sort of tumbled out my mouth, almost incoherently but when I looked up at him, Marquis Dubois was smiling. He himself had no qualms about the marriage, despite his daughter being so young, but he warned me that her feelings may have changed since I had seen her last. That worried me. Had she found herself a new beau? Was that the reason for her absence the year prior?”

“Ah!” Randall declared suddenly. He too had been most intrigued by the story being unfolded. “Mason was right after all! Tis a tale of love unrequited.”

“Hush!” said Thea to her elder brother. “Go on, Father.”

“I had it all planned. Didn’t I Etienne?”

The Frenchman however hadn’t heard him. The others at the party simply chucked his silence to an old man being lost in his own memories.

“The morning of her arrival was an especially hot and beautiful one,” continued their host. “When I met Genevieve on the terrace at the Estate, there was the usual outcries of merriment and ‘how I have missed you so’s’. I invited her to ride with me before lunch. She was always happiest saddled on a horse with the wind whipping through her auburn hair. Of course, she accepted. And just like that, the Marquis’ words from the day prior melted from my thoughts.

“We rode our horses until we reached her favorite spot on the estate – a bluff overlooking the lake. I remember thinking about how exquisite she looked with her flushed cheeks and wild hair. Funnily, as soon as the thought had popped into my mind, Genevieve subconsciously reached out and attempted to tame her tresses.”

““It’s always so peaceful here,” she said, tilting her head to the sky, breathing in the gentle zephyr.

“It’s most peaceful when you are here,” I think I replied, or something corny of that sort.

“You have quite a charming way with words,” she said sweetly. “I think you would be better suited as a writer than a doctor.”

“Would you not want to be a doctor’s wife? That has a better ring to it than my husband is a writer.

“It was my moment. I lowered one knee to the ground and presented to her my late mother’s ring. “I know I may not be of your station, but I promise to love you more each day than any other suitor possibly can. I am yours if you will have me. I will protect you. I will cherish you. I will provide for you. You shall never want for I will give you everything I own. Genevieve Marie Dubois, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife.

“It felt like an eternity down there on my knee. She stared at me unblinking, as if frozen in time. Finally, she cried out: “Oh Damon!” Then she was on her horse again, riding; retreating in a haste towards her house.””

Etienne cleared his throat loudly, drawing all eyes on to him. “I think it best if I tell my bit of the story now, dear friend, seeing as you were not present for all of it.”

Damon Walters nodded his head somberly.

“It must have been almost dinner time when we realized that Genevieve was not with us,” began Etienne.

“Surely, she has not gone to bed,” my father remarked.

“Our young parlor maid, Marissa, shook her head. “Oh no,” she said. “I saw her going off in that direction only a few hours ago.” “She pointed as she spoke to the little footpath we often took, when we traveled to church.”

““Do you think they’ve gone off an eloped?” inquired my mother, horrified. I shook my head. I knew Damon well, and although neither he nor my sister would care for a large stately wedding, they wouldn’t deny my mother the chance to plan such an affair. So, I announced my decision to walk to Rutherford Hall and query my sister’s whereabouts.”

“I was thus surprised to hear the events that had transpired. I knew my parents worried that Genevieve would turn down the engagement, but I didn’t share in their worry for I had spoken to Genevieve before Damon coming over, and she seemed genuinely pleased at the aspect of a proposal. Damon of course was a mess when he heard that his beloved had disappeared and immediately set off towards the parish in search of her. I on the other hand returned to Woodbine Estate and organized a type of search party.”

A lonely tear slid down Etienne’s cheek and he drew in a very shaky breath before he continued the tale. “We all trooped off together, each person at varying levels of distress. The search party included myself, the Marquis, the gardener, Perlita (who had been staying with my parents since the war), and that young parlor maid Marissa. We searched for an hour with no luck until someone – I am unsure who – suggested we looked near the bluff. That was where we found her, at the bottom of that cliff. She had jumped, concluded the police.”

The room was silent.

“Certain things have come to light in these past days about that incident,” said Damon, breaking the quiet. “I now believe that my sweet Genevieve was murdered.”

The clergyman gave a dry little cough. Until then, most of the dinner guests had forgotten he was present. “That is a horrible thing to say. What has brought this about?”

“The murderer confessed, Dr. Cummings, but you should know. She confessed to you five years after it happened.”

Dr. Cummings fidgeted, uncomfortable under the accusing gazes of his parishioners. “That is a terrible thing to say, Mr. Walters. To think, I would let a family think their daughter had committed sin when a heinous act had been done to her.”

“But you did, Father. You did so because the murderess promised that she would never kill again.”

Dr. Cummings rose from his chair, fuming.

“Sit down!” barked Damon, and almost automatically, the clergyman complied. “You will listen. All of you will listen! Too many of you have kept secrets from me for far too long.”

“Calm down, old friend,” placated Etienne. “You know your heart is weak.”

“My heart is weak, old friend, because you have left me heartbroken.”

“I did not kill my sister!”

“No, you did not,” answered Damon gravely. “But you have hidden something almost as terrible. You have hidden from me a child. My child.”

Etienne did not speak.

“You do not deny it, then,” roared Damon. “You do not deny that I have fathered another!”

Still, Etienne did not speak.

“I don’t understand,” declared Thea. “Who is this child?”

It was Damon’s turn to remain silent, but his gaze shifted ever slightly to the blue-eyed maiden seated next to his son. Mason who had slipped his arm into hers, quickly withdrew his embrace.

“Me?” Eveline Bonnaire murmured.

“You were born in Paris in 1973, were you not?”

She nodded.

“And you grew up in a convent in France, given up for adoption?”

Again, the fair-haired maiden nodded.

“You won scholarships to all the best schools, even without application. It was as if your whole life you have had a secret guardian angel smiling down at you? Yes, my dear, that was your dear old uncle, Etienne. My oldest friend, who continued to live right next door, despite his frequent travels and yet, never mentioned that I had sired another daughter!”

“I couldn’t!” Etienne cried out. “I couldn’t, don’t you see? She didn’t want you to know. I thought she did. She told me she would come clean to you, that day at the train station, but then she jumped, and you weren’t the wiser. I figured that it was a secret she wished to take to the grave.”

“And that she did. But there were still five other people who knew. Besides you and your parents, they were your cousin, Perlita, and the maid, Marissa. And it was those two who conspired to kill her.”

Perlita laughed. It was a terrible sound akin to a witch’s cackle. “I think your father has gone mad.”

“Maybe I am mad, but you are wicked. You are greedy. Marissa told me everything before she died. How you riled her up, convinced her that the only way she could have me is by ensuring Genevieve never got the chance to say yes. She had confided in the two of you. Told you that she was going to come clean to me and agree to the engagement. But you couldn’t have that, could you? Not when Genevieve’s marriage meant that you could never inherit from the Marquis. Because of your greediness, Genevieve never saw her twenty-first birthday. Because of your greediness, my firstborn grew up without her family. You shall hang for your sins!”

“I shall phone the police,” said Etienne gravely. Then he rose to his feet and exited the room.

“What a monster,” mouthed Thea. 

 “I can’t believe I flirted with my sister,” commented Mason dryly. 

Randall, the most intelligent of his siblings, voiced a question that was forming in his head. “Was Marissa mother?”

His father nodded. Then for the first time in thirty years, Damon Walters allowed himself to weep.