After Alice Fell(25)

Toby’s jaw sags in disappointment as if I’ve kept a present from him. After all, isn’t that what this is to him? Just a bigger version of the toy box in his room. It contains treasures. It contains everything I have left of Alice, and I am not ready to go through it and give value to the treasures and the trash.

“Go back to bed.”

Turee

Doctor Lemuel Mayhew

Brawders House Dr. Mayhew— So Alice is worth three months of fees and a granite stone. And we are meant to be grateful. Am I to assume her bruises were of her own device and phantom sewing needles magically available for her lock picking use? I demand to see the investigative report and have a reckoning from you as to every action taken that evening by your staff and where it all failed. My sister should be alive and instead of writing this letter, I should be writing one asking for her release to my care.

Respond directly with a time and place to meet.

Marion Abbott





Chapter Ten


All night the sky rumbles its grievances. The air is sharp, electric, restless. As is the household. I pace the parlor, watch the brackish green sky and the whip of the hedge when the wind gusts. The windows cackle and rattle. I check the latches. Make certain they’re held tight.

Upstairs, Cathy and Lionel fight. I catch the rat-a-tat of her words and the pummel of his. They stop and start, and as the words gain momentum so does the train Toby rolls around its track. Metal wheels on metal axles that need oil. Round and round it goes.

A glass snaps and clatters in the dining room. As I cross the hall, a shimmer of oil light coats the stairs. Lionel stands on the landing, knobby kneed below the hem of his nightshirt. “What was that?”

“Just a vase, I think. Go back to bed.”

He blinks, runs his hand through his hair. “You’re up late.”

“It’s hard to sleep with all the noise.”

“You know where the whiskey is. If you need it.”

The curtains along the dining room window lift and flutter, then are pulled out to the yard, as if the wind has taken hold of them like a thief.

“I’ll close the window. Go back to your . . . conversation.”

It was a crystal vase, the shards scattered across the floor and table. I jostle the window, but it won’t shut all the way. It’s stuck, leaving a gap along the sill. Any candle I light to avoid the splinters will snuff with the wind, and my bare feet won’t do in the dark. I turn to my room. The air whisks under my nightdress, is hot breath on the nape of my neck. Another whirl comes cool and damp—the rain is coming.

A spike of light illuminates the patterned hallway wallpaper: the mourning doves stretch their wings, and the irises below bend and ripple. Then it all consolidates again to its frozen horrible design.

I pull my boots from the wardrobe and move to the desk chair to button them. The chair has been pushed away from the desk. It faces the end of Alice’s trunk as if it awaits someone’s vigil. I turn it around, button the shoes, and don’t look back at the trunk.

Saoirse keeps a small broom and dustpan in the closet under the stairs. I push the door so it springs open, grab them up, and nearly collide with Toby. He stares up at me. A yellow toy train car dangles from his hand. His pajamas cling to his frame, the static in the air puckering the cotton against his ribs and down his legs.

“A vase broke. I have to clean up the glass,” I say.

He runs the back of his free hand under his nose and nods.

“Are you afraid of the storm?”

“No.” He sniffs and rubs his nose again.

“Go get your shoes, then, and you can help me. You can point out any pieces I’ve missed.” I watch his eyes waver between his bedroom upstairs and me. “I’ll come with you.”

The train has derailed; the cars are strewn across the floor. I find Toby’s bedsheets tossed and tangled in the wardrobe, his pillow pushed to the far corner.

“That’s where I slept sometimes, too.”

“You did?”

“When there was thunder.” I pick up the train cars and set each on the round rail. “Get your shoes.”

“I’m not afraid of it.”

“As you say.” The train set’s dining car is red. Cast-iron figures with rough-shaped features sit at tables: men in tall hats and women in bonnets. The tables are scored with round plates, and there’s a little dog in the aisle.

Toby sits splay legged on the floor and struggles with his boots. Behind him, the wardrobe door hangs open. His suits and breeches are lined on hooks. His shoes and boots sit in a neat row, toes facing out.

I set the dining car on the toy shelf, next to the old magic lantern Lionel and I used when we were young. I move to help him with his laces, but he jerks up. Grabs the wardrobe door and swings it closed. “I know how to do my laces,” he says, and takes my hand. “We have to clean up the glass so she doesn’t cut herself.”

I sigh, because it would be something Saoirse wouldn’t pay attention to. Just hobble into the room to wipe down the table for breakfast and slice her hand right open. “Yes. You’re right.”

Toby’s mouth pulls into a wide smile. “Yes, that’s right.”

I follow him to the landing. There is no light from under Lionel and Cathy’s door. Only the repeated squeak of the bed coils and sweeter words from Cathy. I put my hand to the boy’s shoulder and guide us down the stairs. “Come on. It’s soon to rain.”