House of Salt and Sorrows(32)

“I know,” I murmured, my voice so quiet I wasn’t wholly certain I’d spoken.

Edgar’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “Eulalie told you about me?”

I shook my head. “The inscription, in the locket…”

He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. Even it was black. “I was surprised to see it on her at the funeral. She never wore it in life. It was our secret.”

“She must have had it on when she fell, but I don’t think anyone ever noticed it…. The fishermen who found her read the engraving. If they hadn’t, I would never have known Eulalie was engaged.”

“Engaged!” Camille snorted. “Don’t be absurd. Eulalie wasn’t engaged.”

Edgar shifted to the edge of his seat, focusing his attention on me with an unnerving intensity. “How did you know it was me? We were so careful.”

“I found the pocket watch she’d hidden, with the lock of hair. It wasn’t until you took your hat off in the marketplace that I realized you were a perfect match.”

“You found the watch?”

“What watch? Annaleigh, what is going on?”

For the first time during his visit, Edgar truly smiled. “I thought for certain it was lost to the Salt. I gave it to her in lieu of a ring.”

Camille’s mouth fell open. “A ring?”

I rubbed my forehead. “The night that Eulalie…she was leaving Highmoor to elope with Edgar.”

She burst out laughing. “Is this some sort of prank?”

Edgar shook his head.

“I don’t believe you. Eulalie was heir to Highmoor. She wouldn’t leave that. She had a responsibility here.”

“She didn’t want it. She never wanted it.”

He wasn’t lying. Papa had to all but drag her to visit the shipyards in Vasa and coerce her into studying ledgers and accounts. How many times had I sat at the piano and watched her fall asleep during one of Papa’s lectures on family history?

“Even if that’s true, she would never have married a lowly watchmaker’s apprentice. She wanted better things out of life.”

“Camille!”

She silenced me with a look as lethal as a dagger.

Edgar ignored her insult. “We were in love.”

Camille let out a laugh. “Then she wouldn’t have run away with you. She would have married you in a proper ceremony.”

“She was scared.”

“Of what?” she snapped.

He shrugged. “That’s what I hoped you might know. We were supposed to meet at the cliff walk at midnight. I waited for hours, but she never came. I decided to leave and planned to return in the morning. As I pushed my boat from under the cliffs…” He winced, swallowing back a sob. “I’ll never forget that sound as long as I live…. Like the slap of meat landing on the butcher’s block.” He wiped his forehead again, tears streaming down his face. “I can’t stop hearing it. It’s ringing in my ears even now. I fear it will drive me mad.”

“You saw her fall?” I asked, aghast. My eyes were wide, and the horror raced down my spine.

He nodded miserably. “I was paddling by the rocks when she struck them.” He blew his nose with a great honk. “I thought at first she’d slipped. It was dark, a new moon. Perhaps she couldn’t see the path. But when I looked up…there was a shadow peering over the cliffs. When it saw my boat, it jerked away, hiding in the brush.”

“A shadow!” I exclaimed.

Camille took a long sip of tea, seemingly unaffected by his tale of woe. “What then?”

Edgar looked away, his voice growing small. “I left.”

“You left our sister’s body on the rocks.” Her face was a terrifying mask of placidity.

“I didn’t know what to do. Nothing could have saved her. She was dead on impact. She had to be.”

Camille’s calm broke, her eyes flashing with rage. “You didn’t check?”

I put my hand out to steady her. “Camille, no one could have survived that fall. You know that.” I turned to Edgar. “You think she was pushed? By this shadow figure?”

“I do.”

“Was it a man? A woman? Did you see any features?”

“I couldn’t say. I was so close to the cliffs, and the waves were pushing my boat about. It was difficult to see. But I can’t forget the look in Eulalie’s eyes the last day I saw her alive. She was so frightened. She said she’d discovered something she wasn’t meant to and needed to escape. At the time, I thought it was simply dramatic fuel to start our getaway—she always had her nose in those tattered romance novels, you know—but now I wonder…” He removed his glasses and wiped them clean, once, twice, three times.

Camille’s mouth disappeared in a thin line, and I hardly recognized the look in her eyes.

“How dare you enter our home and suggest that our sister, for whom we are still mourning, was murdered!”

“Mourning?” He bristled, casting his arm around the room with disdain. “Yes, I can see all evidence of that. Fresh-cut flowers and lemon cookies. Polished mirrors and balls. How the cheeriness of that dress must lift your spirits from otherwise abject despair!”

“Get out!” She stood so quickly, her cup dropped to the floor. The spilled tea soaked into the plush weave of the rug, leaving a spot as red as a bloodstain.