After Alice Fell(66)

“She was killed.”

He tilts his head. “Harriet Clough has been removed from service. She was negligent, as you say in your complaint, and left a door open that should not have been. I am fully disclosing this in front of the constable so you may record it as you see fit, Mr. Grent. Kitty is a half-wit. She was abnormal in her relations with your sister. That information will not leave this room. Kitty has her own delusions, and the only truth in them is she watched your sister fall. But your sister had no delusions that night. She had opportunity to end her suffering, and she did so.” He turns again to the window, a frown pulling his lips. Elias works a stone to the fence as Amos chisels another. Then Mayhew turns to face me fully, a thumb hooked in his vest pocket. “Your complaint is as meritless as the ones your sister chose to incessantly write. All of which will be pulled into court, as will you and your brother and the initial reason for Miss Snow’s commitment. She held a small boy out a window and would have let him drop to his death. If you wish to drag all of that into court, you will need to be prepared for the questions. Of your own stability and delusions and responsibilities. Do we understand each other?”

Mr. Grent stands next to Mayhew, a hand to his pocket and an expectant look to his face. “Withdraw the complaint, Mrs. Abbott,” he says. “Your father was a good friend; there’s no need for this to tar the family. And Dr. Mayhew will be most generous in withdrawing his.”

I clamp my teeth. “No.”

We are silent. Mayhew picks at his watch chain with his nail. Grent lifts a small spoon from a cup and saucer Saoirse must have served on their arrival. He dips it into the cup and stirs. Knocks the rim of the cup and puts it again on the plate.

“What do you say?” He slurps the dark liquid and balances the drink in his hand.

“No.”

“Your sister attempted to kill a child,” Mayhew says. “She confessed to holding the boy out the window with the intent of dropping him to the ground. She confessed. And I have a witness to prove it. Do you have witnesses?”

I grit my teeth. The walls narrow until they press against my shoulders and push Mayhew closer and closer until I see the veins in his cheeks. “You’ve turned it all around.”

“I think not.” His skin flushes, and he pins me tight with his gaze. “Your sister, if you continue, will forever be known as a monster.”

My chest caves. All the breath I’ve been holding is expelled. Unsteady, I grab for the corner of the card table, knocking it into the wall.

He is right; he will win. I have nothing to give, just innuendo and gossamer strings of stories. I have no money of my own to pursue the matter; Lionel would never support it if I did. And to have Alice known as a monster—no. I can’t. I won’t.

“Constable, to confirm, the clinic has waived the last months of fees, of which the family was in arrears. Miss Snow’s headstone was paid for directly by me; Mrs. Abbott sent me the bill.” He lifts his own cup and slurps. Sets it down, then takes the papers from Grent and folds them to his coat pocket. “I believe we are agreed?”

I drop my head and nod.

“Then our business is done. I leave you to your day.”





Chapter Twenty-Six


“You were lucky, Marion.” Cathy and I watch from the window as Grent hops on one foot, the other in the stirrup, as his chestnut horse curves away from him, avoiding the man’s weight. Then the man heaves himself up. Mayhew sits straight, hand on his thigh, his pinky ring glimmering against the black serge of his trousers. He looks to the window, to me, pulling his gloves from his chest pocket.

He slips the gloves on one finger at a time. He swings his gaze to the house, smug face, and tips his hat. He’s a liar.

The horses’ hooves kick up dust as they trot to the road. Elias and Amos don’t look up as they pass by. But Mayhew slows his horse and says something to them. To Amos. Receives a shake of the head and a turned back.

Lionel closes the front door and stops in the entryway. He claps his hands. “Well, then. Who wants a drink?”

Cathy stares at me, her eyebrow lifting. “Is it over, Marion?”

“I withdrew the complaint.”

“Well, then,” she says. “We can finally give Alice her rest.”

Lionel busies himself pouring brandies into three glasses. He hums, and then laughs, turning to hand us the drinks. “I can say, that gave me a start, the two of them showing up. Just . . . well, a start. As if I’d done something wrong.”

His cheeks are red, a jovial host. He skirts a look around the room and out the window, looking everywhere but at me. “It is over, isn’t it, Marion?”

I slug down the brandy. It burns the back of my throat. “I’ll have another.”

Cathy makes a small noise of approval, then lifts up the bottle from the sideboard. She holds it by the neck, letting it swing so the liquor sloshes against the glass, then pours too much. The brandy trickles over my hand to the floor. She lifts the corner of her mouth in a smile. “My apologies.”

The bottle is set back with a snap. She raises her glass. “To Alice.”

I throw the drink in her face.

She blubbers and spits and blinks. “What are you—”

“You have no right to say her name.” I put the empty glass next to the bottle and move to the door.