In the Shadow of Lakecrest(77)
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure it would give me away. Poe’s tell-tale heart, I thought giddily, trying to keep my breathing steady. I couldn’t see out, but the lumbering pace sounded like Edna. To my horror, the muscles in my legs began to shake; I didn’t know how long I’d be able to maintain this awkward, hunched position. I pushed my hand against my mouth to keep in the moans that threatened to escape. Thankfully, the footsteps moved to the other side of the room, then grew fainter as Edna returned to the stairs. I was safe for the moment. But I knew I couldn’t stay up there much longer. The only thing worse than giving birth in my room would be doing it in the attic, alone.
And what if Dr. Westbrook was right? If the baby was weak, I’d be responsible if something went wrong.
I couldn’t tell exactly what time it was, but from the sunlight coming in the windows, it had to be at least seven. Hank would be in the garage by now. I knew a set of stairs led directly from the servants’ quarters to the kitchen, and if I could get down those without being seen, I could escape out the side door.
I pushed aside the paintings and pulled myself up. Matthew must be back by now; was he looking for me, too? He’d be beside himself. Devastated that I’d run off without telling him—again. I’ll explain it to him later, I told myself, when I’ve gotten him away from Hannah. I still believed we could break away and start fresh.
Wasn’t that the American way?
I found a set of stairs leading directly from the attic. Clutching the banister for support, I eased myself down one step, then another. Fear made me clumsy, and when my foot nearly slid out from under me, I froze and curled over, keeping myself as still as possible until my breathing eased. The staircase came to an end after one flight on a landing somewhere above the second floor. Doorways opened to a series of cramped spaces: a storage closet filled with blankets and pillows, a room with ironing boards and hangers, another with a sink and buckets and mops. Places the servants could work out of sight that looked like they hadn’t been used in decades.
The workrooms led from one into another, always ending back at the same landing. I had no idea where I was, and there was no clear way out; it felt like the Labyrinth all over again. I felt a throbbing in my stomach, like a clock ticking, urging me out. Finally, I looked out one of the narrow windows to get my bearings. I saw the lake and the beach, which meant I was directly over the kitchen. So close! I went back to the stairs, certain there must be another way down. I examined the landing more carefully and at last I saw it: a door concealed in the paneling, all but invisible unless you were standing directly in front of it. I pushed against the door—it swung open easily and silently—and found myself in the second-floor hallway. Opposite Hannah’s bedroom.
I stood still and listened. Nothing. Could everyone be outside searching the grounds? Carefully, I moved along the hall. I’d seen Alice and Gerta bring sheets up to the linen closet from the laundry room below, which meant there was another set of service stairs at the center of the house. I found it easily and began walking down, taking each step as lightly as possible, alert to any sound. The kitchen was the only room at Lakecrest that never felt deserted; there was almost always someone there, cooking or cleaning or brewing tea. I passed through the laundry room, then the butler’s pantry. I peeked around the corner, ducking down to make myself less visible.
The kitchen was empty.
I hurried to the door. Pulled it open and did a quick check of the kitchen garden. No one. Ahead of me was the gravel path that curved around the side of the house. If I could get to the front drive, I’d be only a few hundred feet from the garage. Hank. The car. I tried to run, but my body fought against the effort, my stomach weighing me down. Don’t stop, I told myself. Not when you’re so close.
I turned the corner, and the garage appeared before me like a beacon guiding me to safety. Only a few more steps. Another. My feet stumbled on the uneven ground, and I nearly fell. I saw Hank, emerging from behind the car, staring at me. He rushed toward me, arms outstretched, and I collapsed into him, sagging with relief. He sat me down gently on the grass and took a step back.
“Mrs. Lemont? Are you all right?”
“Hank, you have to take me to the hospital. The baby’s coming.”
“Mr. Lemont’s worried sick. I was about to drive down to the Monroes’ to look for you.”
“We have to go, right now.” I reached into the sagging pockets of my robe. “Here’s a payment for your trouble. Jewelry, too; I’m sure it’s quite valuable. You can give it to your wife or pawn it if you’d like.”
The bracelets slithered from my hand to the ground. Hank looked at them as if they were poison.
“Please, Hank, you’re the only one I trust.”
He glanced toward the house, uncertain. I grabbed his hands, squeezing his fingers as I begged, and that’s what doomed me. Hank twisted out of my grip and stepped back, his face a mix of anguished sympathy and fear. Lemonts are never overly familiar with staff. Especially not their Negro drivers. I’d put his job and his family in danger, and I can’t blame him for putting his future over my own.
Hank looked behind me and shouted, “She’s here! I’ve found her!”
I heard thudding footsteps, and then hands were reaching under my arms, pulling me up. Matthew on one side, Gerta on the other, but all I could see was Hank, stepping back as ten-and twenty-dollar bills cascaded around my feet. As if in punishment for my disloyalty, a dull ache radiated across my lower back. It wouldn’t be long before my pains started. I began to sob, dreading the ordeal to come.