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I stare at him. “You trapped her?”
“I made it exceedingly difficult for her to remain.”
“Gabriel.”
“I know.” His voice is quiet.
No excuses. No indignation. Just those two words.
He inhales slowly. “She came here,” he continues. “One evening. It was raining. I remember that quite clearly.”
He looks toward the fireplace, and I can almost see it. A woman in a sodden black dress, standing on the polished floor of the foyer while Gabriel looks down at her from the stairs.
“She was soaked through. She asked me to reconsider.”
“And you refused.”
He nods.
I swallow. “What did she say?”
“She asked whether I understood what it meant to lose a home.” He pauses. “I told her that a house was merely property. That everything had a price.”
I look around the library, at the towering shelves with the carved woodwork. The enormous windows. This beautiful, ridiculous house.
“And she asked what price you’d put on Winchester House,” I say.
His eyes meet mine. “Yes.”
“What did you tell her?”
“That it was priceless.”
I close my eyes. Because there it is. The whole ugly truth. He believed his home was worth protecting, but hers wasn’t.
“She was furious,” he says. “Quite understandably.”
“What happened next?”
“She told me that if I valued my house above everything else, I should have it.” He looks down at his hands. “She said I would remain here until I understood what truly made a home worth keeping.”
A chill travels down my spine. “And then?”
“She touched my chest and told me that I had a heart of stone.” He pauses. “And then I faded into unconsciousness. By the time I was alert, I was on the balcony. Stuck and made of stone.”
For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then I ask the question that’s been bothering me. “What happened to her house?”
Gabriel looks at me. Something passes across his face. Regret or possibly shame.
“Honestly, I don’t know.”
My heart sinks.
“I was stone, April. I couldn’t speak to anyone. Couldn’t send word. Couldn’t do anything.”
He swallows.
“I spent years wondering what became of her.”
