Part XVIII: Young & Beautiful (Part I)
"...Hot summer nights, mid July
When you and I were forever wild
The crazy days, city lights
The way you'd play with me like a child
Will you still love me
When I'm no longer young and beautiful?
Will you still love me
When I got nothing but my aching soul?
I know you will, I know you will
I know that you will
Will you still love me when I'm no longer beautiful..."
~ "Young & Beautiful" - Lana Del Rey
Wednesday
January 30, 1924
Gatsby paced the short distance in front of Wolfsheim's fireplace. He was barely listening to the other man going on and on about business. It was late and he didn't appreciate the late night call Wolfsheim had delivered to him about some business opportunity that seemed too good to be true. What was upsetting him the most though, was the fact that he hadn't been able to find Rebecca before he'd left to see Wolfsheim. She hadn't been in her rooms and her maid had looked terrified to the bone as she nervously answered his questions. It was obvious to him that the maid was covering for Rebecca, he just couldn't figure out what the scared girl was lying about. The sound of Wolfsheim's throat clearing drew Gatsby out of his thoughts as he looked at the man he'd long since considered to be a brother.
"Am I boring you? I just thought you'd thrilled about the business deal. Not to mention that no one suspects murder. Unless, this is boring to you," Wolfsheim barked with raised brows as he held up the New York Times and the front page article detailing the gruesome discovery of Ares Patrick's body.
The police had no suspects on who had killed the visiting southern, but Gatsby was almost positive that someone in the NYPD was being gagged. There was absolutely no mention of exactly who Ares was and what he was supposedly doing in New York City. Everything had simply been chalked up to Ares simply being in a horrific car accident. It was a simple case of Ares being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
If only the world knew the truth.
"No," Gatsby said quietly as he yanked the paper out of Wolfsheim's hands and tossed it down onto the chair closest to him. "I'm just trying to figure out why I am here. It sounds to me like you have a business deal that is too good to miss. Sign the papers already and let me go home."
"I already did. I thought you'd want to know that you were in the clear of Patrick's murder."
"In that case, I have to go."
Just as he turned and went to leave, a pearl button caught his eye on the floor. Bending and picking it up, Gatsby studied it for a moment before turning to Wolfsheim.
"A new lady friend?" he questioned with a sly grin.
"Probably from your wife," Wolfsheim replied without missing a beat. "She was here earlier. Ranting and raving about having Daisy Buchanan anywhere near her or her family. I can't say that I really blame her. Mrs. Buchanan isn't a particular favorite of mine or anyone else's."
"What did you tell her?" Gatsby asked as he pocketed the pearl button and made a mental note to turn the button over to his valet to give to Rebecca's maid.
"I told her to go home and talk to you about it. She left her calmly, but I think something else was going on. She's was too calm and too collected. One minute, she's ranting and so angry that I thought she would have broken something and the next moment, she was calm like nothing had happened."
"What time did this happen?"
Wolfsheim stood and shrugged, "Several hours ago, around about six o'clock or so. It was just before dinner. You haven't seen her since?"
Nodding at Wolfsheim's words, Gatsby left the townhouse without another word. Barely acknowledging the young, new driver that had just been hired, Jay slid into the back of his car and took the button out of his pocket. Staring at it, he couldn't help but to wonder what had been going through Rebecca's mind. The way Wolfsheim had described her behavior sounded erratic and clearly, something was off. Pocketing the pearl button, Gatsby promised himself that he would find out exactly what was wrong when he reached home. It didn't matter what he had to do, he would do whatever it took to make sure that she was alright.
Despite the lateness of the hour, Gatsby was surprised at how awake his household seemed to be as his car passed through the gates. Normally, lights and candles began to dim around nine in the evening, but tonight many lights were still shining brightly from the house. Crawley greeted him at the door with his usual formality as a footman assisted him in taking off his outerwear.
"Did Mrs. Gatsby come down to have dinner?" Gatsby inquired as he slipped his hat and gloves off.
"I haven't seen Mrs. Gatsby all evening," Crawley replied stiffly as he accepted the articles of clothing. Gatsby paused in unbuttoning his coat and stared at his butler. Swallowing, he tried to hide his worry before he spoke again. Tension had been building in his body since leaving Wolfsheim's townhouse. Something felt off to him, Gatsby just couldn't figure out what was wrong.
"You haven't seen her all evening," Gatsby repeated carefully. "Has her maid? Has that new girl been up to help Mrs. Gatsby with a bath or to change at all?"
Crawley was silent for a moment before shaking his head, "No, Mrs. Gatsby has not rung for her maid all evening. She did leave the house briefly before you left, sir."
Crawley's words left a knot in Gatsby's stomach as he slowly finished unbuttoning his heavy outer jacket. Passing the coat off to his valet, Blackburn, who had appeared from seemingly nowhere, Gatsby moved towards the staircase. Calling over his shoulder for Crawley to have the new maid sent up to see him, Gatsby made his way towards Rebecca's rooms. He'd seen light from her rooms outside and he knew she wasn't asleep. It was one of the many things that he'd learned about her, Rebecca couldn't sleep at night with lights around her. Reaching the doors to her sitting room, Gatsby knocked gently.
"Rebecca?" he called through the door. Silence was the only answer he received and trying to open the door, Gatsby was surprised to find the lock engaged. Knocking again, Gatsby called her name. No response came as the new maid came scrambling down the hallway with Crawley.
"Mr. Gatsby, sir," Crawley said. "Anna as you requested."
"When was the last time you spoke with your mistress?" he asked without preamble. He didn't care if the young girl thought he was being rude or if he scared her. Something wasn't sitting quite right inside of his chest and he couldn't help but to worry.
"S-she came back from seein' Mr. Wolfsheim, Mr. Gatsby, sir," the young girl choked. "I helped her to change and she sent me away."
"And?" Gatsby pressed with frustration. "Have you seen her since then?"
"Yes, she called me maybe a half hour after that. She destroyed her dressin' room, sir. I don't know what happened, but somethin' upset her. She wanted to leave the house right away. I don't know where she went, sir, but when Mrs. Gatsby came back she was very quiet and I think she'd been cryin', sir. She threw things at me until I left her alone. She told me she didn't want to be bothered, at all. I haven't tried to go back into the rooms since, sir."
Looking from the distressed maid to the door, Gatsby felt his heart drop. Whatever had happened, Rebecca wasn't in her best frame of mind. Between Elizabeth's death and Daisy's return, it seemed the universe was haunting her in the worst possible way. Knocking on the door again, Gatsby waited for her voice to float through the door. He didn't care what she'd say. He just wanted to hear her voice. Looking impatiently at Crawley, Gatsby jutted his chin out towards the butler. Silent communication passed between them and the older man scurried off with the maid to find the housekeeper. Only two people had complete sets of keys to every door in the house and the housekeeper was one of them.
Rebecca held the other set.
Knocking on the door again, Gatsby called out for Rebecca, but no reply came. He persisted in knocking until the housekeeper showed up with the master key. Quickly snatching the key from the older woman, Gatsby unlocked the door and pushed the door open. Rebecca's sitting room looked like a hurricane had violently swept through it. Stepping around the broken glass on the floor, Gatsby barely registered the damage of his wife's violent temper. He didn't care about the broken things. They could easily be replaced. Gatsby was far more worried that she'd hurt herself because of all the broken glass or something worse. Easily moving through the rooms that made up Rebecca's apartments, Gatsby found her collapsed on the floor of her dressing room. Back against the wall, Rebecca stared blankly at the mirror shattered on the floor not far from her. It was easy to see small scraps and cuts on her body, especially her lower legs and feet.
Slowly approaching her, Gatsby felt his foot bump into something heavy. Looking down, his eyes widened seeing an empty bottle. The shape was unmistakable and the name easily visible. Picking it up, Gatsby stared at it only for a second before instantly dropping the bottle. In a flash, he crouched down and grabbed her upper arms. Giving Rebecca a good shake, Gatsby could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he yelled for Crawley to call Doctor Weston.
Rebecca barely registered his words or his touch as she continued to stare. The only thing that moved was her eyes and they shifted to a worn picture of her younger sister.
"How much did you drink?" Gatsby demanded desperately as he gave her another shake. "How much did you take? Rebecca?"
She didn't answer him, but continued to stare at the picture of her younger sister sitting on top of the small table not far from her. It was the only thing in the entire room that hadn't been destroyed or touched.
"Rebecca!"
His yell drew her out of her trance as she looked at him. Tears formed in her eyes as she took shallow breaths. She looked frightened, but Gatsby doubted she was as scared as he was in that moment. He was desperately trying to keep calm and not panic, but the panic was quickly overcoming any calmness he'd been trying to project out or feel.
"How much did you take?" Gatsby demanded again. "Please, how much did you take?"
"I-I-I…"
"How much?" he asked again giving her a shake. "How much? Rebecca?"
"None," she cried out before breaking down and sobbing. "My hands were shaking and I-I-I dropped the bottle. It all spilt on the floor."
Her shoulders shook with grief as Gatsby drew her close to him. Adrenaline mixed with relief pumped through his veins as he tucked her close to his chest. The mere thought of losing her was enough to cause his heart to race dangerously fast with worry and grief. Sliding down to the floor, Gatsby brought her whole body close to him as Rebecca sobbed.
Wrapping his arms around, he did his best to comfort her, but there wasn't much he could do. The realization left Gatsby feeling more helpless than ever as he rested his chin on top of her head. Murmuring to her over and over again that everything would be alright, he glanced at the door way hoping that help would come soon. He'd sent Crawley to retrieve Doctor Weston and he hoped that the doctor would come quickly.
Rebecca's sobs slowly ebbed away into hiccups and tears. She felt so thin and weak in his arms that Gatsby mentally berated himself for her condition. It was hard to not blame himself as he stood and lifted her into his arms. Elizabeth's death had left Rebecca overwhelmed and he was heartbroken that she'd rather end her life than talk to him…talk to anyone. Settling Rebecca onto the bed, Gatsby sunk down onto a knee in front of her as she sat on the edge. Her blank expression scared him more than anything and her cold hands frightened him. He couldn't help but to wonder if she'd lied about how much medicine she'd taken.
Was she dying in that moment and he didn't know?
Taking her frigid fingers in his hand, Gatsby did his best to warm her. The action was fruitless and instead, he quickly grabbed a quilted blanket from the chest at the end of her bed. Wrapping the blanket around her, Gatsby sat down on the bed next to her. Rebecca's skin still felt cold to the touch and the dead look in her eyes hadn't left.
"Everything is going to be alright," he murmured to her softly before he pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "I promise."
She pulled away from him and for the first time, her eyes met his.
"Why?" Rebecca whispered brokenly as a single tear escaped down her cheek, "Why did you kiss her? Am I never going to be enough for you? Why is it that everyone I love abandons me? What have I done that is so undesirable?"
Gatsby felt all the air in his chest leave as the doctor arrived. The heartbroken look in Rebecca's eyes would haunt him for years to come. Weston quickly had Blackburn and Crawley forcefully remove him from Rebecca's room as her maid tended to her and followed the doctor's instructions. Forced into the hallway, Gatsby felt almost out of body as he mechanically told Crawley he'd be in the library waiting for the doctor when Weston was done. His feet moved at their own accord and Gatsby could barely remember anything except Rebecca's haunting words as they replayed over and over again in his head. She'd seen him kissing Daisy from the doorway.
Rebecca had been the flash of white that he'd seen from the corner of his eye.
Gatsby paced the library anxiously as he waited for news from the doctor. His heart hadn't stopped pounding in his chest since he'd found Rebecca. The images he'd seen would forever be frozen in his mind. Turning and pacing back, he rubbed the back of his neck and hoped that she would be alright. Every part of him wanted to believe that she was telling the truth, but he didn't know what to believe. He was so lost in his thoughts that Gatsby nearly jumped when there was a knock on the door.
Rushing to it, he eagerly opened the door and ushered the doctor in.
"How is she?" he asked with preamble as he stared anxiously at the man. "Is she alright?"
"She's resting now," Weston said quietly as he slipped his spectacles off his nose and pinched the bridge. "I don't think that she drank anything from the bottle. The stain on her rug that has formed is quite large. I believe her story that she dropped the bottle. That being said, I do think that someone should be with her at all times in the coming days. I doubt she will try anything, but to be safe…you understand."
"I understand," Gatsby replied in an equally hushed tone. "Please, keep this between us. I don't want or need the whole of New York having a party over her attempted suicide."
Weston nodded before shaking Gatsby's hand. Leaving him alone in the library, Gatsby barely sat down when the door was slammed open and an upset Nick walked into the room.
"Is she alright?" he demanded. "I just heard the news from Wolfsheim. I came over here as soon as I could. Is Rebecca alright?"
A scowl crossed Gatsby's face when he heard Wolfsheim's name. Rarely did anything escape his partner, but sometimes Gatsby wished Wolfsheim would keep to himself. In fact, Gatsby wanted to know exactly how Wolfsheim had found out about the whole situation. Tonight was one of those nights that he wanted to strangle the older man, but Gatsby stood wearily and nodded. Reaching out for a tumble and the decanter of liquor, he poured himself a small dose before tipping the contents into his mouth and pouring more into the glass.
"She's alright," he confirmed after a few seconds of silence. "Rebecca did try to…kill herself, but she's alright."
The words were hard to pronounce and the reality that he could have come home to a dead wife scared him in ways that he'd never been scared before. Turning and facing Nick, Gatsby set the tumbler down and slipped his hands into his pockets.
"Jay, I'm so sorry," Nick started, but stopped as Gatsby raised a hand.
"I have one request. That's all I ask of you and what I want is very simple. You need to keep your psychotic cousin away from me. You sure as hell keep her away from my wife," he said angrily to a shocked Nick. "You knew exactly what would happen when you brought that bitch into my wife's childhood home."
"I wasn't thinking–"
"No, you sure as hell weren't. Jesus Bleeding Christ, if my sister-in-law could see the woman you have supposedly taking care of her son she'd probably die from a stroke instead of dying from childbirth."
Gatsby regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It didn't matter that Rebecca had been the one who had nearly drunken the laudanum. In his book, Daisy's presence had been the one little thing that had final pushed her over the edge and that was unforgivable to him.
"I have a home in Westchester County," Gatsby said quietly. "It's out of the city and private. God only knows that Rebecca needs both in this moment. You're not the only one nursing a broken heart, Nick. I suggest you get your head screwed on straight because you have a son to take care of now and when I bring Rebecca back from Westchester, if Daisy is still with you, I don't know if I can still be your friend and I don't know if I will be able to let my wife see your son with that heartless bitch around."
"Daisy is a lot of things, Jay," Nick breathed as he sat down in the closest chair. "She's also my cousin. She's my cousin and she has no place to go."
Picking the tumbler back up and pouring more amber liquid, Gatsby casually walked towards Nick before he gave him an emotionless smile, "All I have to do is point out to Edward Harper that Henry is his mother's son. If you don't understand that, let me explain. Elizabeth's last testament doesn't name you exactly as her heir. In fact, nothing ties you to the Harper fortune except for Henry. All Edward and Katherine Harper have to do is go before a judge and explain the circumstances. You haven't been a father to that child since the day he was born. You and I both know that you haven't even held that little boy since his mother died. It's going to be hard to sell a judge that you're a good father and capable father when that judge is only going to see is a heartbroken and depressed father with a very self absorbed, homeless, husband-less cousin who can't even take care of her own daughter. In contrast, that judge is going to see two, very wealthy grandparents, eager and more than willing to care for their daughter's son along with a doting aunt and uncle who will do everything in their power to make sure that little boy has everything in this life he could ever need or want."
"Are you threatening me?" Nick asked as he stood to his feet shakily.
"I am promising you," Gatsby growled. "I am promising you what will happen if Daisy is still here. She's like a poison and considering that you've always been a champion for Rebecca's happiness, I am more than shocked that you'd ever agree to letting that bitch live in my wife's childhood home. That is the greatest insult you could ever sling at her, Nick. My butler will see you out. Have a good day, Mr. Carraway."
Without another word, Gatsby turned and left Nick standing alone in the library. They'd always been friends, but he couldn't be friends with a man who would willing let Daisy enter their lives again after she'd been exiled. Quietly opening the door to Rebecca's rooms, Gatsby paused in the sitting room and took a deep breath. Calming himself and steadying his body, he went back to her bedside. She was far too fragile to worry about the world around her. Some would call him overprotective, but Gatsby was about to wrap her in a safe blanket and he wasn't going to let anything penetrate that blanket.
Until he knew that Rebecca was stronger, he wasn't going to let any worries or fears plague her if he could help it.
Thursday
February 8, 1924
Fairview Park was secluded away from the world. The large house was tucked away behind trees and far off the main roads to the city. Situated in Westchester County, the private little gem had been a house that Gatsby had simply snatched up from an auction. He'd barely looked twice at the damned house before paying a private company to update everything. Extensively redone, the six bedroom house had been redecorated and the grounds redesigned on very little money. Gatsby doubted the house could ever be described as a cottage. It resembled a small manor with its gated drive and large gardens. Horses grazed in nearby fields and the closest neighbor was more than a mile away.
A true country house, Gatsby couldn't help but to feel relief as the Rolls Royce pulled into the drive. Though the house was a gem, it was a drive from the city and travelling hadn't been something Gatsby had wanted to truly do with Rebecca in her condition. She'd been silent the whole way and it had worried him more than anything. The only time she'd acknowledged him was when he'd asked her if she was warm enough and only then, Rebecca had only nodded. The entire trip had passed and all she'd done was stare out the window.
Pulling into the circle of the drive, Gatsby nearly sighed in relief as the automobile came to a complete stop. Outside, staff quickly moved around as they quickly prepared to meet their master and mistress for the first time. It was Gatsby's own first time coming to the house and he only hoped that Rebecca could find some peace in the quiet house.
His valet, Blackburn, quickly opened the door and Gatsby slipped out. Only nodding at the man, he quickly walked around the car to the other side. Brighton had opened Rebecca's door, but she hadn't stirred.
Ignoring the staff's curious glances at the car, Gatsby used his body to shield Rebecca away from the bitter coldness that had seemed to grip New York tightly only a few days prior. Blankets were tucked around her for the journey and two heated bricks had aided in keep her warm. Passing the two bricks to the butler, Mr. Gibson, Gatsby moved to push the blankets back when a small gloved hand reached out and grabbed the arm of his own thick jacket.
"Make them go away," Rebecca whispered to him in an almost childlike voice. "Please, make them go. I don't want to see them."
Her first words in almost two weeks, Gatsby could barely hear anything else. The sound of his own voice issuing the order sounded foreign to his ears. Mr. Gibson quickly made the staff dispensed and they went scuttling off like birds chasing worms. Within minutes, the only people standing in the drive were those who were needed. Gently pulling back the blankets that he'd tucked around her earlier before leaving Gatsby House in West Egg, he helped her to shift her legs around so she could stand. Still weak, Rebecca looked like small twig wrapped in clothing that was far too big for her. She'd barely stood up when Gatsby decided he'd carry her to the house.
Lifting her up with ease, he mentally thanked whatever God existed out there that he no longer needed his cane to move about. Mr. Gibson quickly got the door for Gatsby as the snow began blowing violently. Inside the house, warmth seeped into every part of him and despite all the extra blankets that they'd had and the warming bricks, Gatsby couldn't believe how cold he'd been. In his arms, Rebecca gave a violent shiver as she pressed her face into his neck. Not bothering to look around, Gatsby knew that the master bedroom in the house was upstairs. A single grand staircase wrapped around the wall past the foyer and the marble floors complimented the dark wood accents.
The drawing room, library, and private study were all on the first floor along with a private ladies sitting room that was meant to be used by the mistress of the house. The bedrooms were all on the second floor and the kitchen and servants quarters were below. Any other day, Gatsby would have been more than happy to show Rebecca each room and let her explore to her heart's content. When she was better, Gatsby had already planned on her decorating the house to her tastes. The money had been sitting aside for a while now untouched.
Taking care, Gatsby climbed the steps to the second floor with both the housekeeper and butler on his heels. Blackburn had slipped away more than likely slipped away to take care of their luggage and see to anything that needed to be corrected before he, Gatsby, found it was wrong.
The master bedroom was the last door at the end of the corridor. Double doors opened to an elegant sitting room and through an archway, Gatsby could see a large bed. Mr. Gibson quickly tended to the fire that was burning in the hearth. Even though he did like the modern inventions of heating, Gatsby still preferred to have some fires burning in case the heat gave out for some unknown reason. Taking note of only the large mantle above the fireplace, Gatsby let the housekeeper flutter about. Easing Rebecca down to sit on the edge of the bed, Gatsby looked about the bedroom.
Their room was large and the soft colors on the wall were calming. It was easy to see the French influence in the house. The furniture looked to be decorated and beautifully made. Each piece looked handmade and antique. A four poster bed was situated in the middle of the bedroom with drapes that had been pulled back. Rebecca shifted on the bed slowly. She looked stiff and in pain. He watched her struggle to simply take off her gloves for a moment before moving to sit beside her. Dark circle marred the skin under her eyes and without a word he gently slipped the gloves from her hands with ease. He helped her with her shoes next and coat before helping her to stand.
The housekeeper had gotten a bed pan ready to keep their feet warm from the biting cold that still managed to get inside. She slipped the pan in between the sheets before she turned down the fresh covers on the bed. All the while, Gatsby watched as Rebecca's near catatonic state returned. The small flicker of hope that had been burning on the inside since she'd spoken to him stayed though. After dismissing the house keeper and butler, Gatsby delicately removed her dress and helped her into a nightgown that had been laid out prior to their arrival.
Once he'd finished buttoning the last button, he didn't know what to do. It was clear from the weariness written across Rebecca's face that she would lie down before dinner. The drive out to Westchester had been long, but the frigid weather and her frailness hadn't made the journey comfortable. Helping her to slip between the sheets, Gatsby made sure the bed pan wasn't too close to Rebecca's feet to burn her. Tucking the blankets around her like she was a child, he pressed a kiss to her temple.
"Everything will get better," he vowed to her softly. "We'll be staying here for a few months. You love the gardens at home and I think you'll love the gardens here in spring time even more. Do you need anything else?"
Rebecca gave him no reply before she turned her head and looked out at the blizzard that had seemed to engulf the afternoon sky. The snow swirled violently outside and Gatsby couldn't help but to wonder if his heart had been acting the same way. Unconsciously, he reached for her hand and she let him take it. Another small flame of hope came alive in his chest as she loosely held on to his fingers. The metal of her wedding rings felt cold against his skin as he looked down to see his own wedding band nestled against Rebecca's pale skin.
"I never meant to kiss her," Gatsby told her softly without thinking. "Daisy, she kissed me. If you'd stood in the doorway for only a second longer you would have seen me push her away. Mrs. Buchanan is gone, Rebecca. She's not coming back and I promise you that never do you have to worry about another woman in my life. You're the only person that I want."
He'd hoped that his words would register somewhere inside, but Gatsby was quickly losing faith as Rebecca continued to stare out the window. She looked so tired and worn in his eyes. Gone was the vibrant young woman he'd grown to love. He wanted her back and yet, Gatsby wasn't sure she existed anymore. He often forgot how truly young Rebecca was to the world. She carried herself like a woman twice her age, but she wasn't even twenty-five.
So many people had died around her and death had robbed her of any lasting innocence. The loss of two sisters had shattered her and Gatsby truly didn't know if it was possible to fix her. He didn't want the woman in front of him to stay. Rebecca had locked herself away from him and he didn't want that. He wanted her laughing and smiling with him. He wanted her eyes to light up with the joy he'd promised himself that he'd bring her. He didn't know if that woman was coming back, but Gatsby did know one thing.
No matter what came in life, he'd be there to take care of her. Even if she remained in the catatonic, he'd take care of her. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Gatsby stood up and tucked the blankets around her one last time. Ringing the bell and waiting, he watched her from the doorway of the connecting sitting room. A middle aged woman appeared minutes later and she gave him a slight smile.
"Sir?"
Gatsby only had to look once at Mrs. Gates to know the woman had a kind spirit and soul. A widow, she'd come at the recommendation of Wolfsheim to be a companion. Rebecca didn't need a maid at the moment, she needed someone to simply sit with her and let her know that she was never alone. In truth, Gatsby had hired to woman mostly out of fear. The first week after Rebecca had attempted to kill herself had left him feeling more fear than a soldier on a battle field.
Leaving her side hadn't been an option to him and yet, it had also become unrealistic for him to constantly be at her side. Wolfsheim had screened several people as a companion for Rebecca. Gatsby knew that the other man would never admit it, but Wolfsheim had a soft spot for Rebecca. Her actions had scared them both and Gatsby knew that Wolfsheim carried the same fear he did. Not to the same degree, but he knew that they were both afraid of Rebecca trying again and actually being successful at ending her life.
"I have some business that I need to do," Gatsby told Mrs. Gates quietly as he watched Rebecca shift to her side and stare out the windows. "Please, sit with her. If she's hungry or thirsty, just have a maid deliver a tray. The staff below has already been informed of Mrs. Gatsby's likes and dislikes. If you have any problems with the staff speak with Mr. Gibson directly. He'll know what to do. That will be all."
His words lingered between them and Gatsby knew that he was supposed to quit the room. He knew he was supposed to leave and finish business that he'd been putting off for far too long. As much as he wanted to move, Gatsby couldn't. He didn't want to leave her. He didn't want to leave and something happen. Only a select few knew what had happened and his valet and Mr. Crawley had already informed the staff of Fairview Park of his expectations. Sharp objects had been removed from every room and the staff knew that Mrs. Gatsby had recently lost both her sisters tragically.
Gatsby had already warned all his staff in all his homes that gossiping wasn't permitted. If anyone was caught even trying to spread gossip or sell a story to the press, they would be dismissed without a final pay and a reference. The consequences were harsh, but Gatsby was committed to protecting his privacy and Rebecca's. All he wanted was for her to be safe and he didn't care what it cost.
A gentle hand touched his shoulder and he nearly jumped from the contact. Turning, he met Mrs. Gates' soft, understanding eyes. She knew the truth of what had happened and she gave him a comforting smile.
"If you want," she said softly. "I'm sure you could work here. The desk by the window is large and this sitting room has very good lightening. We could simply close the door part of the way. You wouldn't have to leave her."
Her words echoed around him and as tempting as it was, Gatsby shook his head. Rebecca needed sleep and the only way she would get the rest she so desperately needed was to have quiet. The sounds of him writing and speaking on the telephone wouldn't help her to rest and being so close to her wouldn't help his focus.
Taking a step away from Mrs. Gates, Gatsby nodded at her silently before leaving. He could almost hear Rebecca's light voice in his head telling him that he was almost being rude to the woman by not speaking. Going to the door and slipping out into the hallway, Gatsby quickly went to the private study on the first floor. Large, with many bookshelves and a handsome fireplace, the room was decidedly masculine with dark wood and dark reds, browns and greens.
Sinking down into the chair behind the desk, Gatsby could feel his own exhaustion sinking in. The past two weeks had been so long and so tiring. Forcing his spine to be rigid, Gatsby shook off the tiredness that threatened to overcome him as he reached for the stack of unopened letters and telegrams that he'd neglected far too long. Opening the first one, he devoted himself to the task of making sure he was caught up on all his business before dinner.
Saturday
February 16, 1924
"Tell me about what happened."
Gatsby nearly ripped the page he'd been writing on hearing Rebecca's soft voice. It had been a little over a week since they'd arrived at Fairview Park and though she'd said some words, Gatsby was sure that her most recent sentence had been her longest in that time.
"Tell me about what happened between you and Daisy Buchanan the night that…"
Rebecca trailed off as he stood and capped his fountain pen. Dressed for dinner, her soft curls had been fashionably pulled back at the base of her neck and the dress she wore brushed the ground where she stood. A plum color, Rebecca's snow white complexion looked flawless as she played with the buttons on the inside wrist on one of her gloves she wore. A small comb in her hair glittered and Gatsby felt the hope that he'd been burning deep inside brighten more.
"She came looking to go over old memories," Gatsby said without hesitation. "She was under the belief that I wanted to walk down memory lane with her. I quickly assured her that I didn't and I left to see Wolfsheim minutes later."
Rebecca slowly glided towards the large glass window seat near his desk and sat down. She looked out into the night and shook her head.
"That explains why she was in your house," she replied quietly. "It doesn't explain the kiss."
Gatsby didn't bother to correct her that the house was no longer his. The sale of the manor had already gone through and as they spoke, a team of maids and footmen was busily packing away items as workers prepared to move the boxes later in the month once the weather had changed for the better. The new estate that he'd purchased in East Egg was almost finished and by the end of spring or the beginning of summer, Rebecca would be back at home. Every decision on the interior of the house would be hers. She'd already unknowingly designed the grounds and all that was left was, God willing, to fill the house was many years of laughter and joy.
"You would have me believe that she kissed you unwillingly?" Rebecca asked him as a tear rolled down her cheek.
"That is the truth," he told her as he quickly stood and took a handkerchief out of pocket. Sitting down next to her, he gently brushed a loose curl behind her ear. Her fingers tugged at the linen as she twisted the handkerchief between her fingers with worry. She gazed out into the raging storm outside, but said nothing.
Minutes passed and Gatsby couldn't bring himself to move away from her. Gently covering her hands with his, he brushed his thumb back and forth over her glove. He wasn't sure how much physical contact Rebecca would accept. She'd become as jittery as a skittish cat and he didn't want to drive her away. She'd spoken to him more in one day than she had in weeks. He silently made up his mind to let Rebecca come to him by herself. God only knew that she'd been patient with him for years. He could exercise the same patience for her.
"Why were you visiting Wolfsheim?" she asked softly.
"We had business to discuss…an opportunity that would be too good to pass up."
Staring at her, Gatsby could see exhaustion in her eyes. Despite the fact that they shared a bed, he knew that there were plenty of nights that she didn't sleep. Reach for her in his sleep, he only awoke to find that Rebecca wasn't in bed. Most of the time, he'd found her sitting in the window seat across from their bed. Wearing only her thin nightgown, Rebecca would simply sit staring out at the night. He wouldn't say anything, but he'd simply get out of bed and wrap a blanket around her.
"Why don't you go back to bed and lie down?" Gatsby said softly. "You look so tired. I'll have a maid deliver you some dinner."
Just as he rose to ring the bell to summon the butler, Rebecca's small hand darted out and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. Her hands trembled as she held on tightly.
"I can't sleep…the things he did," she admitted softly. "I still dream about it. I haven't slept well in a long time. I doubt I ever will sleep well again."
Sinking back down next to her, Gatsby reached out and gently cupped her cheek, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You can't make it go away," she whispered as a tear slipped down her cheek. "It plays in my mind over and over again sometimes and I can't get it to stop. I can still feel him…touching me and…I can't stop it. It won't go away."
"He can't hurt you anymore," he said softly. "I promised you he won't hurt you. I will always keep my promises."
"You don't know that for certain."
"Yes, I do."
Rebecca didn't look convinced as another tear slipped down her cheek. What he was about to do wasn't something Gatsby had wanted to do. He'd sworn to himself that he would never involve her in his private business affairs. Should something ever happen, he didn't want her tangled up those kinds of problems. Seeing her fears and tears, he knew this one time he would break the vow he'd made. She needed comfort and peace of mind and maybe if she knew the truth about Ares Patrick, she'd have some closure.
Feeling her eyes on him, Gatsby walked to the desk and took the key that was on the chain attached to his fob watch. Unlocking the top drawer, he slowly drew the small leather bound book that was there. Between the pages, the gruesome truth of what had happened to Ares Patrick rested there. Going back, Gatsby slipped the book between her fingers and sat down.
"This must stay between us," he told her softly. "No one can know that these exist. Do you understand? It could cost me my freedom, Rebecca. It could cost me my life."
She looked at him curiously before opening the book. The first picture of Ares' mangled body slipped out from between the pages and a gasp escaped her lips as she stared at the picture in horror. Seeing her reaction, Gatsby slipped the book off her lap as stared at the picture.
"He's never going to bother you again," he said. "I made sure of it."
Her eyes darted from the picture to him and back to the picture.
"I would never congratulate a man on taking the life of another," Rebecca replied softly as she flipped the picture his man, Edwards, had collected over. "Thank you, I will say that."
They both sat in silence until the butler came and announced that dinner was ready.
Saturday
March 1, 1924
Weeks passed and slowly, February came to an end. There was some improvement in Rebecca's condition. No longer did she simply sit and stare at the wall all day.
Instead, Mrs. Gates had convinced her to take some interest in the house. Most of the day to day function of the house was still carried out by the housekeeper, Mrs. Jenkins, but the fact that Rebecca had taken any interest seemed like a miracle to Gatsby. It was late in the evening and though Gatsby was tired, he couldn't take his eyes away from the sight before him. Trying to escape the cold, a black and white tabby cat had invited itself into the house. It had taken Gatsby all of five seconds to realize that maybe the cat could be more of a help than just catching mice. Rebecca had instantly taken a shine to the lovable cat. Lady, as the cat was now called, was a darling little thing with a new silver bell wrapped around her neck on a lavender colored ribbon. With each little move she made, the soft sound of the bell filled the room softly.
Seated in front of the dying fire, Rebecca had a book open before her as she gently ran her finger tips over the smooth fur of the purring cat. Gatsby watched her turn another page and he couldn't help, but to admire her. No longer did she look as sickly and frail as when he'd first brought her to Fairview Park. Her cheeks and complexion had regained color and her body had regained the some of the soft curves he knew existed under her dress. Although she wasn't completely herself again, he could see improvements. She didn't smile much, but the rare moments she did gave Gatsby hope that someday she'd be herself again. He wanted her back to herself, but Gatsby also acknowledged the small truth that Rebecca might never be the woman she was when he married her. So much had happened between them that he wondered if she'd simply settled in the end with loving him. The haunting though entered his mind and he couldn't help but to shake his head.
Had she settled with him?
Was that why she'd tried to end her life?
Gatsby didn't want to think that she'd just settled with him, but the haunting evidence overwhelmed him. They had been making strides in their relationship up until Elizabeth's death. Rebecca had seemed happy to him. Her smiles had seemed genuine and she had been the one to come to him when she wanted him in her bed. Her kisses had seemed passionate, but had it been a lie?
Continuing to watch her, Gatsby knew that Rebecca would never truly tell anyone the truth. A part of herself was always hidden and she hid herself from him more than anyone. The thought disturbed Gatsby and he silently wondered if he was in part to blame for her attempted suicide.
Was she not as happy as she'd projected?
Had he simply read into the situation what he'd wanted to read?
The thought unnerved him as he tapped his fingers on his knee. He'd been so focused on his own happiness. When Matthew Spring had left New York, Gatsby had rejoiced privately. The British bastard had been an obstacle that he'd been more than happy to demolish, but thinking back, Gatsby wondered if he had done the right thing. Rebecca had loved Matthew long before she'd ever married. She'd turned to the Earl when he hadn't been the best husband. She'd found comfort and passion in the arms of her childhood sweetheart and he hadn't thought about what Rebecca had wanted at the time. Gatsby had been more convinced that he could make Rebecca happier than Matthew could.
Had that been a lie to himself as well?
Could he truly claim that he made her happier?
The truth hit him so hard that Gatsby nearly fell out of the chair. He had no right to decide what made Rebecca happy and what didn't. If he loved her, he would let her decide what made her happy. Her depression after Matthew departure had touched her deeply and Gatsby couldn't help but to wonder if he should have just let her go. Scandal would have resulted, but he would have gladly taken the scandal than and he would gladly take the scandal now if it meant she was alive and happy.
Her being alive was all well and good, but her happiness was something he valued more than anything. There was only one thing he could do and he knew that he had to do it. Standing and slowly going to her, Gatsby lowered himself down to the rug and gently ran his fingertips over Lady's fur. The cat wasn't interested in him and quickly wondered off. Rebecca looked over her shoulder at the cat before looking at him. Taking a deep breath, his eyes met hers and he could feel his chest tightening. Every selfish part of him screamed that he was going to lose her if he didn't shut up, but Gatsby knew it was right. Both he and Matthew had robbed Rebecca of the chance to decide what made her happy.
"I don't know how to make you happy again," Gatsby whispered to her softly. "I don't know how to bring back your smile. God only knows how much I miss it, but I don't know how to make you smile again. You're so very unhappy and I don't know how to make you happy. I love you and seeing you like this breaks my heart."
Rebecca could hear his words, but she said nothing. Outside, the violent snow storm continued on.
"Rebecca," Gatsby said gently. "Look at me. If you're unhappy with me I don't want you to feel like a prisoner. I don't want you live a life filled with regret. If there is someone out there who will make you happy again, I want you to be with him."
Her eyes met his and she couldn't help the tear that escaped. His words touched her unlike anything else. They both knew who 'him' was, but Gatsby didn't know what had happened.
"You would let me go?" she asked softly. "If I wanted to go? Even after you went to Matthew to make sure that I wouldn't leave?"
"I thought then that I could make you happy," he told her. "I just didn't know how wrong I could be. If Matthew is who will make you happy again, I want you to be happy. I've come to realize that loving you means that you come before me. My wishes, my needs, my desires…they're all meaningless. What I want more than anything is you to be happy and I never thought something as basic as that would come from my love for you. The choice is yours. All you have to do is tell me what you want and I will make sure it happens."
Gatsby's words touched her soul and in that moment, Rebecca knew she'd never question that he loved her. She'd once been willing to do whatever made him happy and the fact that he was willing to do what made her happy touched her in a way that she'd never imagined.
Gatsby loved her enough to let her leave him if it made her happy. He wanted her happy, but Rebecca wasn't sure she'd ever be happy again. Raising her hand to cup his cheek, Rebecca gave him a soft smile when he covered her hand with his.
"You poor, silly man. I love you," she whispered softly before pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
