In the Shadow of Lakecrest(44)

“I’ll call Dr. Gordon,” she said. “He’s very well regarded in East Ridge. Won’t take him long to get here. Then I’ll bring in some tea. Alice, you inform Mrs. Lemont; I believe she’s in her dressing room upstairs. But clean that up first.”

I looked to where she was pointing. Water had seeped through the bottom of the French doors that opened onto the terrace. Though the puddle extended several feet into the room, it was almost invisible in the dim light. I watched numbly as Alice brought in a mop and began swabbing. All those tiny drips making their way through the nooks and crannies of this house had gathered here. Waiting for me.

“Is this yours, Mrs. Lemont?”

Alice held up the book I’d taken from the library. It must have tumbled out of my sweater when I fell.

“Yes. You can take it to my room when you’re finished.”

Alice was giving the floor a final inspection when a stocky man walked in carrying a toolbox. He paused when he saw me and tipped his head.

“Mrs. Lemont.”

I knew he was the caretaker, and his name was Karel, but we’d never spoken. Hannah seemed to like him—as much as she liked anyone—and she’d trusted him enough to leave him in charge of Lakecrest while the family was abroad. Though I knew I should say something polite, I was distracted by his dark, baggy coat and lumbering walk. I’d seen someone else move in that same distinctive way, leaning from side to side with each step. So much for my ridiculous illusion that Cecily herself had lured me out to the Labyrinth; it had been Karel all along, inspecting the property. Doing his job.

“Over here,” Alice told him.

Karel pulled off his coat and neatly folded it before joining her on the other side of the room. He watched Alice finish up, then examined the doors.

“I’ve heard leaks all over the house,” I said.

“Of course is water.” He had a strong, guttural accent, but spoke confidently. “Not well built, this house. Always repairs.”

I was surprised to hear one of the staff criticize the place they depended on for their livelihood.

“I thought Mr. Lemont—that is, Mr. Obadiah—hired the best workers money could buy.”

“Good workmens, yes. He make them do job too fast. Always hurry, hurry. Not careful, you understand?”

I nodded. Karel didn’t have the deferential manner of the maids, or even Edna, and I sensed he took great pride in telling the truth, even when it wasn’t what his employers wanted to hear.

“Did you know Mr. Obadiah?” I asked. It was hard to tell Karel’s age from his weather-beaten skin, though he looked to be in his sixties.

“Long time ago,” Karel said. He grunted and pressed his finger into a section of spongy wood at the bottom of the doorframe. “Here the water is coming. I will fix how I can, bring new wood tomorrow.”

He pressed a rag into the narrow gap at the bottom of the door. As he was securing it, Edna bustled in with a tray and announced the doctor was on his way. She hovered over me while Karel gathered his things and left. It was frustrating, not being able to ask more questions, but I planned to seek him out as soon as I was better. Karel had known Obadiah, which meant he’d also known Cecily. He might have seen or heard something on the night she disappeared.

Or was I just desperate to talk to someone who hated Lakecrest as much as I did?

Soon enough, the grandfatherly Dr. Gordon arrived. He pressed around my stomach and asked if I had any pain or cramping. I told him no.

“I do feel something strange, though. Like bubbles popping.”

“Why, it’s your child, Mrs. Lemont! Is this the first time you’ve felt it move?”

I nodded.

“Well, fancy that. He wants you to know he’s all right.”

Having been assured by the doctor that my ankle was twisted rather than broken, Edna and Alice helped me limp upstairs, where I lay in bed and pretended to be asleep when Hannah came to check on me. I really was asleep when Matthew crept in sometime in the middle of the night.

“I’m sorry, darling. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “How are you?”

My ankle was still throbbing, but not as much. “Better. No harm done. What are you doing here?”

“I caught the first train home. I had to make sure you were all right.”

I was so touched I nearly cried. Matthew laughed and tousled my hair. “You’ll get the royal treatment tomorrow,” he said. “Just because you’re stuck in bed doesn’t mean I can’t spoil you.”

Stuck in bed. The words sparked my memory: Marjorie, her leg chained to the wall. The terrible blankness of her expression when she told me to leave. Frantically, I told Matthew what I’d seen, but the more I talked, the less interested he seemed. There was no anger, no outrage. Only resignation.

“I’m sorry you had to see her that way,” he said at last.

“You knew?” I felt the same jarring shock as when I’d hit the floor.

Matthew nodded.

“You told me Marjorie was in Palm Beach! You lied!”

“To spare you this kind of reaction. Don’t worry. It’s for her own good, and Mum has everything in hand.”

His mouth and eyes were set in an expression I’d come to know well, one that meant a conversation was over.