After Alice Fell(70)

“You should have been a nurse,” I say.

She lifts her shoulder and pinches my thumb. “Not a week here without some sort of scrape or bruise to look after.” She sits back. “It looks well.”

“Thank you.”

The door to the main house is open, as is the door to the garden. But it gives no succor. The air is heavy damp, and nothing stirs it from its sleep.

“May I trust you?” I murmur.

I don’t know if she heard. She winds the cotton and puts it to the cabinet shelf, then leans her hands to the white wood counter before grabbing up a towel to wipe it down.

“Saoirse, please.”

She folds the towel and lays her hand on it. “I heard you.”

“I think Cathy killed Lydia.”

Her sigh is long; she stares out at the yard. “You know what you’re accusing?”

“I do. Alice saw.”

“Child—” Her voice is sharp. She shuts the door to the house, then stamps to the outer door and shuts it too.

“Why do you think she was put in that place? You know her. She’s not violent, she’s never once . . . She didn’t try to kill Toby. She tried to save him. That’s what I think. And maybe it was all in her mind, that he was in danger. Or maybe not.” I spread my hand to her. “Maybe not. She saw what she shouldn’t, and Cathy must have paid someone to, to . . .” A sick dread claws up my stomach. I stand. The chair tilts and falls against the wall. “All that money in the ledger. She wrote Buttons. Once a month from the first week Alice was committed. Cathy paid someone to kill her. Because Alice knew the truth. She saw her murder Lydia.”

“Do you listen to yourself, child? Do you but listen?”

“I’ll prove it. And the constable will listen to you. If you tell him.” I reach across the table to her. “Saoirse. All you need to do is watch.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but instead swallows and picks up the calico cloth for the sling and folds it around my arm. She is careful with the knot, and her touch lingers on the back of my neck. “You never left things be, did you?”

I weave my hand to hers. “Tomorrow night. After Toby’s asleep. Make her favorite dessert.”

“What will I be looking for?”

“Her guilt, Saoirse. Her guilt.”





Chapter Twenty-Eight


Cathy is suspicious. She watches me over her wineglass, the ruby red of the liquid sparkling from the oil lamp. She has pulled her feet up on the settee, her skirts (Oh, Cathy, but pineapples and oranges are such a marvelous pattern; I would never think to pair them!) splayed all around so she looks like a barrel of fruit on the steps of the general store.

Lionel finishes hanging a sheet to the wall. As he moves close to the convex mirror, I see his eyes in the reflection wander to me and then to Cathy. Wary there will be a fight. Does he know what Cathy did? Or is the tale she tells, of desperately trying to save Lydia, what he believes? What makes him able to sleep through a night? This woman committed my sister to keep her from telling the truth. And had her killed before Alice could tell the truth to me.

Her gaze is flat and steady. All I can see is the lantern slide: skirts and cuffs dripping wet as she leaves the boat for the shore. Leaves Lydia blind and suffocating under the hood, every breath a drag of water to the lungs instead of air. Flailing for any purchase on the steep rocks and instead gripped and clawed by roots and river rush.

“You outdid yourself with the meal,” Cathy says.

“Saoirse made it. I merely suggested . . .” But here my hand trembles as I pull the clip from the magic lantern and lift the oil pot. It’s full. It’s as full as it was when I checked prior to dinner, when I checked as she chose a wine. The box of slides sits at the ready. “Lionel, can you?” I gesture him over with my good hand, give a wave to the other. “I feel so helpless.”

“Soon to be healed,” he says and takes a match to the wick. His back is turned to Cathy. He shakes the match and murmurs, “Thank you.”

I stare at him. My smile is taut. “Sit down. Saoirse is bringing dessert. Your favorite, Cathy. Raspberry Charlotte. And we’re going to watch The 7 Wonders of the World.”

“I’ve seen it,” Cathy says.

“Oh, I don’t believe so.” I jiggle the box so the lid pops free. The slides tinkle against each other.

“Since this evening comes with Raspberry Charlotte—with cream?—then I’ll suffer through this.”

Cathy taps her wedding ring to her glass and watches as I take out the first slide. I look to the hall, for Saoirse should be here now. I turn my hand and wipe the sweat from my upper lip with my knuckle. I catch myself in the mirror, face ablaze in red, looking every bit the terrible liar Cathy thinks I am.

Lionel sits in the armchair, resting his chin on his palm. “Toby would like this too.”

“He’s seen it,” I say and turn the slide round and round in my fingers. “And he’s already asleep. There’s no reason to—”

“Raspberry Charlotte,” Saoirse announces. She waddles forward with the tray of cake slices and offers one to Cathy. “The first of the bunch. I added extra sugar and vanilla.”

Cathy glances at me. “You spoil me.”

“I am making amends,” I say.