In the Shadow of Lakecrest(72)

There was a quick knock at the door, and Edna walked in with a tray of food. I pushed Marjorie’s letter under my pillow, saving it for later, though I could tell Blanche was aching to know what it said. My stomach growled, and I told Blanche, “You’re in for a treat. Edna’s a wonderful cook.”

Edna accepted the compliment with a curt nod and placed the tray across my lap. Sandwiches, potato salad, slices of raspberry pie. Lemonade for Blanche and the usual milk for me. Before I could say anything, Blanche reached for the milk and took a sip.

“I love fresh milk! Don’t tell me you have cows wandering the grounds?”

Edna stopped fussing with my napkin. She stood perfectly still as Blanche gulped down half the glass. Was it the flicker of concern in her eyes that made me suspicious or the way her lips tightened? My thoughts leapt from one to another, making connections. And then I knew.

It wasn’t hard to pretend I’d lost hold of my dessert plate. Chunks of raspberry filling and mangled piecrust smeared across the bed.

“Oh no!” I exclaimed.

I waved Blanche off when she leaned over to help clean up the mess. “It’s all right. Edna, would you have Alice bring fresh sheets?”

Edna scowled and stomped away. Now I just had to get rid of Blanche for a few minutes.

“Darling,” I told her, “why don’t you go into my dressing room and have a look in my jewelry box while we get this sorted out? I’ve got all sorts of pieces I never wear, and I’d love to give you one as an engagement present. It’s on top of a bureau in the corner.”

Blanche made the expected protests, but it didn’t take much to convince her. When Alice arrived, I hovered at the bedside as she went about her work, whispering so we wouldn’t be overheard.

“What has Edna been putting in my milk?”

Sometimes it’s best to ask a question as if you already know the answer.

“I’m not sure,” Alice said slowly. “Some kind of medicine.”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know the name. She told me not to touch the bottle.”

“What does the bottle look like?”

“Brown? The syrup’s pink when she pours it.”

I’d seen Edna pour pink syrup from a brown bottle before. She’d given it to Marjorie when she was chained to a bed in the basement.

It all made sense. It wasn’t the pregnancy that had me so out of sorts. Twice a day, for weeks, I’d been taking something that left me tired and muddled. Easy to control. What was it Matthew had told me? We’re testing out a formula. A treatment for nervous hysteria. It’s made one woman’s mania vanish almost entirely.

“Kate?” Blanche stood in the doorway to the dressing room, holding up a few strands of pearls. “I can’t decide.”

I dismissed Alice with a jerk of my head.

“Come here and let me have a look,” I told Blanche.

She modeled different lengths and took so long deciding that I insisted she take all three. Blanche didn’t even bother to politely decline. Sitting with her shoulders hunched over, stifling a yawn, she looked exhausted. All from drinking one glass of my milk.

“Guess the heat is catching up with me,” she said.

“Why don’t you lie down?” I suggested. “I bet you could do with a nap.”

“I could.” Too tired to offer more than a halfhearted smile, Blanche curled up in bed next to me. Soon, she was asleep, and I must have followed not long after, because I jolted awake—confused and disoriented—at the sound of tires braking on the front drive. Hannah was home.

Within minutes, I heard the distinctive sound of her shoes click-clacking up the stairs. Though Hannah was surprised to see Blanche—and Blanche looked mortified—they managed to exchange pleasantries while I tried to hold in my rage. I wanted to scream at Hannah for drugging me. For turning me into her prisoner. Instead, I smiled pleasantly and hugged Blanche good-bye when Hannah offered to have Hank drive her home. I’d wait until Matthew was home. See how she defended herself in front of her son.

“Do you need anything?” Hannah asked before leaving the room.

“It’s done me a world of good, seeing Blanche,” I said. “I don’t feel nearly as tired as usual.”

Let her make what she wanted of that, especially after she talked to Edna and found out I hadn’t drunk that day’s milk. I almost hoped she’d come back and scold me so I could unleash my anger. She didn’t. I heard the car drive off and the faint sound of voices downstairs. But Hannah left me alone.

As soon as I felt it was safe, I pulled Marjorie’s letter out from under my pillow.



My dear Kate—

Funny how it’s easier to write you than Matthew. When I imagine telling you what happened, I know just what to say and how to explain myself. With Matthew, I could fill pages and pages and still not find the right words. There’s so much history between us.

I hope the news of my elopement had the desired effect on Mum (horrified gasps, an attack of the vapors, etc. etc.). You must promise to describe the scene to me one day. I’m sure you’re awfully curious about my husband (as he will be by the time you receive this). Since I barely know him, I’m afraid there’s not much to tell. Sir Edwin Macfarlane, Third Earl of Lothingbrook, is what they call “a decent chap”—blond hair, ruddy complexion, posh accent, a terrible snob. All you’d expect in an earl, really. No money, of course—he was quite up front about that—but soon to inherit a huge leaky castle in Scotland very much in need of repairs. His best quality, in my eyes, is his large circle of acquaintances—he’s got friends and relatives in Australia, South Africa, India, Egypt. Any of whom, he says, would be happy to have us for an extended stay.