“I’ll sit with you if that’s all right?” I recognized the nurse from other interactions. For a moment, I searched for her name, but then it came to me. Agnes. She’d been employed here six years ago when I’d first brought Mary to asylum. She was silver-haired and slightly stooped but had lively, intelligent eyes. I’d always been under the impression that nothing much went on around here without her knowing about it.

  “Yes, fine,” I mumbled. “Why would anyone do this?”

  “I don’t know, Doctor. I surely don’t. But we’ll find out. The chief of police is a competent investigator if you can believe it. He’ll discover who did this. I know he will.”

  “What if it’s just that she somehow escaped and wandered into the woods? She wouldn’t have understood how dangerous that would be in this weather.”

  “If that’s the case, then they’ll know. In the end, the truth always comes out.”

  Was that true? Who knew?

  My last meal was threatening to come up. I stumbled to my feet and ran out into the hallway, desperately looking for a place to vomit. I remembered the restrooms, making it just in time to unleash the contents of my stomach into the toilet. Then, sweaty and still feeling sick, I sank to the cold floor. What now? What now?

  By nightfall, they’d brought my poor Mary’s ravaged body inside to one of the examination rooms. The coroner arrived and disappeared behind the closed door. In the meantime, I waited. At some point, it occurred to me to call home. Mother would be worried and possibly frantic to hear an update.

  Mrs. Mason allowed me to use the phone in her office. The operator put me through, and Mother’s voice came through the receiver.

  “Darling, I’ve been worried sick,” Mother said. “Have they found her?”

  I nodded as if she could see me. “She’s dead. They found her body in the woods. It had been dragged there from somewhere else. Whether by animal or man, we do not know.”

  “Oh, Percy.”

  “They don’t know if she wandered out to the woods, got lost, and froze to death, or if someone took her there and left, knowing she would be too confused to find her way back.”

  “It has to be the former. Why would anyone want her dead?”

  “I don’t know.” Tears waited, hot behind my eyes. “I just don’t know.”

  “When can you come home?”

  “Not tonight. I need to stay to make arrangements to get her home, among other things.” Like defending myself. “Also, they’re trying to find Simon so they can question him. He was the last family member to visit her.”

  “Simon wouldn’t do such a thing,” Mother said. “Would he?”

  “I don’t know what motive he would have. No one has one but me.”

  For a moment, I heard only the crackle of static on the line. “Is that what they think? Because of Stella?”

  “Yes. And Mother, he said cops will come by the house to speak with you and Stella. I’m afraid she’s on the suspect list.”

  “Did they tell you that?”

  “No, but if they think I have a motive, they’ll think she does too.”

  “I’ll have her stay here again tonight,” Mother said. “That way, they can talk to both of us. She won’t want to be alone.”

  I hung up after saying goodbye just as Wallace entered the office. He shut the door behind him. “We have something,” Wallace said, sitting in one of the chairs next to Mrs. Mason’s desk. “One of the staff admitted to seeing a woman with Mary just before she vanished.”

  “A woman? Someone other than a nurse?” I asked.

  “That’s right. He has no description of her face, because she was wearing a hat pulled down over her eyes and a scarf.”

  “Why didn’t they find her last night? Surely they combed those woods?” I asked.

  “The young man works here as one of the night guards. He was afraid to come forward. Instead of standing by the door, he was outside smoking a cigarette. But before he took his break, he noticed Mary huddled in the corner of the recreation room with a woman. He assumed it was a visitor. If the woman in question had anything to do with her disappearance, she must have taken the opportunity to sneak Mary out the door while the guard was otherwise occupied.”

  “Can’t you check the visitor logs to find out who it was?”

  “We did that. Mrs. Mason recognized the names of all the visitors from yesterday. Most visitors are family members, and she’s familiar with them. She saw nothing unusual.”

  A woman.

  For one horrific second, I thought about Mother. She’d been clear to me that she thought I should seize love, even if it meant going outside my marriage vows. It was her opinion that my marriage was essentially over and that I should feel free to move on. Specifically with Stella. Yet I could not entertain such an idea. I would not be my father.

  But what if Mother took it upon herself to give me the life I wanted so desperately with Stella? All my life, Mother had been my protector and my champion. I had no doubt she would do anything for me. But this? Murder? Of her own daughter-in-law? In my wildest imagination, I could not see her doing anything so heinous. Not even to give me the freedom to find love again.

  What about for Clara? My mother was getting older. Perhaps she worried about what would become of Clara should she pass away. She knew how much Clara wished for Stella to become her mother. Had that pushed Mother into doing something unthinkable?

  No, it couldn’t be. Like me, Mother abhorred violence of any kind. Not to mention that she would not risk going to prison or being put to death. For one thing, she knew Clara and I needed her.

  My next horrid thought was Stella. But no. Like Mother, she’d been with us for most of the day. There was no way she could have taken the train up yesterday afternoon and returned in time for dinner.

  “Do you have any idea about who this mystery woman could be?” Wallace asked, pulling me from my morbid thoughts.

  “No sir, I don’t. Both my mother and Stella were with me yesterday afternoon.”

  His thick mustache quivered as he peered at me through his small, deep-set eyes. “I suppose you have countless servants who will back up your story?”

  “We do indeed.” I scratched behind one ear, trying to think of a way to convince him that we had nothing to do with this.

  He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair. “This marriage has been a burden to you?”

  “Burden’s not the right word. Has it been exceedingly difficult? Yes. Am I lonely? Yes. Would I like to move on with my life, remarry, and perhaps have more children? Only if I knew that Mary had no hope of getting better. It seemed clearer and clearer every month that my wife would not return to me. Not as the woman she’d once been, anyway. She’d been violent toward me and our infant daughter, Chief. I couldn’t keep her with me and sleep at night. But did I wish her dead? Especially in such a horrifying way? Never. She was my wife. I can still remember what she was like before she lost this battle with her mind. I could not harm her. Not the mother of my child and the woman I promised to take care of in sickness and in health.”

  “I suppose you’d like to go home?” Wallace asked.

  “Not until I have her body to take with me. Her family has a plot where her brother would like her laid to rest.”

  “Speaking of Simon Price—he’s been located and brought into the precinct for questioning.”

  “It’s not Simon,” I said. “He was nothing but devoted to her.”

  We were interrupted by one of the deputies, who said he needed Wallace. “Do you have a place to stay?” Wallace asked me.

  “Mrs. Mason said I can sleep here on her couch,” I said. “Which I will do.”

  “The coroner should be done with his work by tomorrow,” Wallace said. “You should make arrangements for a casket and a burial.”

  Before I could answer, he was gone.

  For a moment, I remained seated, my body suddenly as limp as a rag doll. Mary was dead. After all her suffering and the hardship of my little family, she was gone. How was I supposed to feel? Was this numbness normal, or did it prove once and for all that I was a monster? Because just under the surface lay relief.

  9

  Estelle

  Mrs. Bancroft stood in the doorway of the sitting room, her complexion ashen and her hands trembling. I rushed to her and drew her over to the sofa, encouraging her to sit.

  “I’ve heard from Percy.”

  I waited, holding my breath.

  “They found Mary’s body. She froze to death and was then attacked by some kind of wild animal. Or at least, that’s their initial conclusion.”

  I held on to the back of a chair, afraid I might faint, as black dots danced before my eyes. “The poor woman,” I whispered. “Who would do this?”

  “I have to believe it was an accident,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “She wandered outside for whatever reason her addled brain would give her and got lost. With the weather as it is, it wouldn’t take long for her to freeze to death.”

  “How will we ever know?”

  “The police are doing a thorough investigation. Percy said to expect them to come by tonight or tomorrow to question us.”

  “I don’t know what to say. Or think.”

  “Me either,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “I have to tell Clara.”

  “Not yet. Not until Percival returns.”

  “Yes, yes. It can wait, I suppose.”

  “May I get you something?” I asked.

  “A sherry, please.”

  My own hands shook as I poured us each a small glass and returned to the sitting area in front of the fire.

  No sooner had we settled in than Robert announced a visitor. “It’s Mr. Price, ma’am. Shall I show him in?”

  “Yes, please,” Mrs. Bancroft said, her gaze darting toward me.

  Simon appeared, looking frazzled and grief-stricken, with red eyes and wild hair, as if he’d spent the last hour running his hands through the dark strands.

  “Simon?” Mrs. Bancroft got to her feet. “I suppose by the look on your face, I can assume you’ve heard.”

  “Yes, the police questioned me. I came right over afterward.”

  “May I get you a drink?” I asked.

  He scowled at me. “I’ll get my own.”

  “Allow me, sir,” Robert said.

  He knew how to blend into the scenery so well that I’d forgotten he was there.

  “What did they want from you?” Mrs. Bancroft asked after Simon had sat and taken what appeared to be a fortifying drink of his whiskey.

  “They asked me a lot of questions about my whereabouts yesterday.” He took another drink. “This is unthinkable.” Tears filled his eyes, and despite our differences, I felt terribly sorry for him.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Truly.”

  He glared at me through narrowed eyes. “Did you have anything to do with this? Was it you? Don’t deny this gives you what you want.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. “I would never do another person harm if I could help it. Anyway, I was here all day and night with Mrs. Bancroft and Percival. The staff can tell you that it’s so.”

  He stared at me for a while longer and then shrugged, as if I didn’t matter enough to acknowledge. I knew better. Inside, he seethed with anger.

  “Stella had nothing to do with this…unfortunate tragedy,” Mrs. Bancroft said.

  “If you say so,” Simon said, bitterness dripping from his mouth like coffee left on the stove too long.

  “What did the police ask you?” Mrs. Bancroft asked.

  “They wanted to know why I was there yesterday and what time I left and on and on. I was on the train home when she supposedly disappeared and had a ticket to prove it. For now, they let me go. But, Miss Sullivan, they know everything that happened between our two families. They implied that this may be related to my father’s involvement in organized crime.”

  “As in, revenge from a warring family?” Mrs. Bancroft asked, sitting forward slightly.

  “Something like that.” Simon got up and went to the liquor cabinet to pour himself another drink. “They told me not to leave the country until they’re further along in their investigation. I’m afraid Sullivan’s going to kill me, and the cops may jail me.”

  “You must stay here with us,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “We’ll keep you safe.”

  “I don’t have much choice. Not with Sullivan’s thugs and the cops suspecting I killed my own sister.” His voice cracked, and he dropped his face into his hands.

  “What if they’re right?” I asked. “What if this does have something to do with our families’ rivalries? My father’s vengeful. He might have done this to further punish you.” I hated to say out loud the words that I feared were the truth, but it had to be said. I’d learned my lessons about lies. It was better to say the truth than hide within your lies. Eventually, they always came to light.

  “Is your father really so cruel?” Mrs. Bancroft asked.

  “That’s been proven,” Simon said.

  “I have to agree with you.” I kept my voice matter-of-fact. The less emotion I showed Simon, who still felt very much my enemy, the better.

  Mrs. Bancroft nodded and then seemed to speak her thoughts out loud as they came to her. “They appear to have taken more interest in this than they typically would—that is, for a mental patient to freeze to death in the woods not far from her asylum’s grounds wouldn’t normally get this much attention.”

  “You’re right,” Simon said. “No one cares about the poor souls trapped in that place.”

  “Given that, it would make sense they think it’s related to your fathers,” Mrs. Bancroft said.

  “Was this supposed to be a message to me?” Simon asked.

  “One my father thought the authorities wouldn’t care about?” I asked, also speaking my thoughts as they entered my mind. “Less likely to gather attention but a sure way to let us know he’s out there, controlling us. Sending clear instructions to stay out of his business.

  “Simon, he threatened Percival and had Clara and me followed. Maybe he thought it wasn’t enough to get your attention and decided to kill your sister.” By the time I finished this thought, tears leaked from my eyes. How could my father have done such a thing? We’d all gotten the message. Simon was supposed to leave for Europe tomorrow.

  What had I told my father? Had I somehow given him information that helped in his decision?

  Robert came in then to tell us the police detectives were here. Mrs. Bancroft and I immediately rose to our feet. “Show them into the study,” she said to Robert.

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “Simon, go up to the guest room and wait for them to leave,” Mrs. Bancroft said. “There’s no reason they need to know you’re here.”

  For once, he did as suggested.

  It was only one detective who waited for Mrs. Bancroft and me in the study. Tall and lanky, with a head that brought to mind a watermelon, he was named Forsyth.

  He greeted us politely and then asked Mrs. Bancroft if he might speak to me alone. She gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before leaving us.

  “Please sit,” Forsyth said. “I have a few questions for you. Shouldn’t take long.”

  “I’m here to help.”

  “How long have you known the Bancrofts?”

  “Since last fall. I was unwell, and they were kind enough to take me in.”

  “Is Percival Bancroft a benefactor or your lover?” He asked this in a calm, almost soothing voice that normally would lull me into a sleepy state. However, I was much too nervous to be lulled into anything.

  “He’s only my benefactor,” I said. “After all, he’s a married man. He takes care of me out of the kindness of his heart.”

  “He puts you up in an apartment simply because he’s kind?” The detective, as mild-mannered as he appeared, had a gaze that could fell a large tree with its intensity.

  I sighed, having grown tired of this question. “That’s correct.” I went on to explain that I helped Mrs. Bancroft with her work. “After she nursed me back to health, that is.”

  “A woman such as yourself, devoting hours to the poor—it’s somewhat unusual, is it not?”

  “I was only too happy to do something useful with my time.”

  The usual questions followed. Where was I yesterday and so forth. I detailed the time in question without hesitation. He scribbled it into a small notebook with a pencil.

  Forsyth looked up from his writing to say, “One of the employees at the asylum has confessed to seeing Mrs. Bancroft—that is, Mary Bancroft—in the company of a woman he didn’t recognize just minutes before her disappearance. He was outside having a cigarette instead of keeping watch at the door. Before he knew it, she’d vanished. As had the woman with her. He couldn’t see the woman’s face, given she wore a large-brimmed hat and scarf.”

  “Was she wearing a coat?” I don’t know what made me ask such a question, but it fell out of my mouth.

  Forsyth flipped through his notes, clearly taken during another interview. “Yes. The employee believes the coat was an ordinary brown, with a matching hat. The scarf was purple.” His brow wrinkled. “Or rather, lavender, to be more precise.”

  “That is very specific.”

  “Does it bring to mind anything or anyone?” Forsyth asked. “As in, do you know anyone who wears a lavender scarf?”

  “I can’t say that I do. However, my circles are rather small these days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Other than the Bancrofts, I have little social activity. My family and I no longer…speak.” That was the best way to say it.

  “What do you mean? You’re estranged?”

  “Correct.” I peered at him, curious about what he knew. Was he feigning ignorance? How much did he know about my father’s business affairs? Or should I say, criminal affairs.

  “Miss Sullivan, it would be best if you told me the truth in plain terms. Why are you no longer welcome in your father’s home?”

  “After the death of my fiancé and my subsequent…you know…condition, he didn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

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