Had Laura killed her own sister?
I stared at the page until the letters and words blended together and didn’t make sense anymore:
IMNOTSICK
I had to leave this place.
But how? If I left now, could I make it off the property before Laura noticed? If I took the journal, that might be enough evidence. Apparently Lily had hidden it so well that Laura never found it. I was the only person who knew what Laura had done.
I slid the journal back into my waistband, but the cover, weakened with age, came partway off and the first page tore. I felt a great ball of emotion rising up inside me, and it took all my self-control to slow down, take a breath, and try again.
If this was true, Laura was a murderer.
“Margot?” Laura’s voice came from behind me, as deadly calm as the glassy surface of a lake. “You look upset. Is something wrong?”
I turned and looked at her in horror.
“Why don’t you and I go for a little walk?”
I licked my lips. I didn’t know what to say.
“I think I know what’s happening,” she said. “I’ll try to explain. Does that sound all right?”
I nodded numbly, and she beckoned me to follow her. We walked through the garden.
“Last night’s little disturbance was very hard for you,” she said. “Am I right?”
I hesitated, then nodded again. Did she not know I had the journal?
“You must trust that I know what’s best for Agatha,” she said. “It’s wonderful that you care so deeply for her. And hope so deeply. But I’ve nursed her for nearly a year.”
We came to the Adam and Eve gate, and Laura removed the key chain from her pocket and unlocked it, then gestured for me to go in.
“I also nursed my sister,” she said. “I was very young—only fifteen when she first fell ill—and my father put the responsibility on me. When she died, I think he blamed me. And of course I blamed myself.”
Which would be natural, if you murdered her.
“You know that Lily was the eldest daughter,” she said. “And the heir, as tradition dictated. But she had this idea, during her junior year of high school. She decided that instead of taking over the household, she was going to go to Europe and ‘find herself,’ whatever that means.” Laura sighed. “I don’t know why people these days are so obsessed with finding themselves, although, of course, that’s not a crime, if one has nothing better to do. But when my father suggested she stay here and spend a year working, earning money to pay for this extravagant vacation, she acted like he was asking her to put her own eye out.”
She told the story methodically, calmly, not at all sounding like a person who had poisoned her own sister.
“She was so upset that she made herself sick. The emotion seemed to bring out the worst in her. Some . . . darkness. She got mean. She threatened to kill me, to kill our father. Her behavior turned erratic, and I began locking my door at night. Then, one day, she collapsed at school and had to be rushed to the emergency room. The doctors said there was something wrong with her brain.”
“Like Agatha’s?” I heard a note of probing defiance in my voice.
“Very like Agatha’s,” she said. If she was annoyed by my tone, she didn’t show it. “In fact, what I haven’t told you is that Agatha’s condition is not the result of a bacterial infection. It’s hereditary. She has what Lily had.” Then she took a deep, shaky breath. “I pray every night that treatment has advanced enough to save her from the fate that my sister met.”
We were following the path past all the grave sites.
“There have been advances, though, right?”
“Yes, but I’ll never stop being afraid,” Laura said. “And that’s why Agatha can’t be allowed to ‘wake up,’ as she did last night. I think sometimes the greatest tragedy of the disease isn’t that it killed Lily—it’s that it made her believe we were conspiring against her. She and Tom Albright were in love, you know. They were planning to be married after they graduated from high school. It was such a big deal, because to marry an Albright would have been unheard-of only a generation before mine. But Dad was convinced that it was a good match. Tom’s loyalty was absolute. He would have brought that into the family and done whatever he could to continue the legacy. It doesn’t do to stand on tradition for its own sake, Margot.”
Sure, sure, great advice. I’ll remember that the next time I know someone who’s about to sully the family name by marrying a mere business manager.
“Did Lily have a cat?” I asked. “I—I found something in the garden.”
“Oh, the cat,” Laura said ruefully. “That cat. A feral stray that Lily had basically kidnapped from a barn near our school. She clawed and bit and would leap out of the shadows, so I was afraid to walk across the room. She’d latch on to your ankle—” She laughed a little at the memory. “It was like living with a monster. I detested that cat.”
“What happened to it?”
She shot me a sideways glance, as if trying to gauge whether to say it. “Lily drowned it.”
I felt my shoulders tense up.
“She did it during one of her episodes,” Laura said. “Afterward, when she was passed out, I buried the cat in the garden, thinking we could have a memorial of some kind. But what did we get instead? Defiled soil, as far as I can tell. I don’t really believe in those things, but—like I said, nothing grows by the gate.”
“Poor cat,” I whispered.
“Poor cat,” she agreed with a sigh. “And poor Lily. She was convinced that I killed it.”
We had reached Lily’s grave. It lay bare—no vibrant carpet of flowers. There was one small shoot beginning to reach out of the dirt near the foot of the grave, but Laura reached down and plucked it.
“Weeds,” she said with distaste. “I’m sorry if I seemed harsh last night. It wasn’t easy for me to decide to share this with you. If you were to hear my sister’s account, I’m a monster. And perhaps Agatha feels the same way. But I don’t think I’m a monster. Do you?”
“No,” I said. I mean, maybe.
She seemed pleased. She patted me on the back. “Good girl. Now let’s go have some lunch.”
We continued along the path, farther than I’d ever had reason to go, and we came across a large pond, which looked cold and black under the dappled shade.
Yeah, no thanks. I wasn’t a fan of dark water.
“Isn’t this a sweet place?” Laura asked. “When I was a kid, there were always ducks here.”
“That’s cute,” I said.
“They were filthy,” she added.
As we were turning to leave, I felt a strange sensation in my back pocket—something incredibly familiar, but also something I’d nearly forgotten about.
Laura locked the gate, and just as we reached the entrance to the garden, I paused and looked over my shoulder. “Oh, I need to clean the shears I was using earlier. They’re in the shed, but they’re not dry.”
To Laura, leaving a piece of gardening equipment sitting out uncleaned was basically like stealing a loaf of bread from a widow. A moral failing.
“I’d better go take care of it,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you at lunch.”
I turned and walked away and felt her watching every step I took.
In the shed, I wiped down the shears and hung them on their little peg, in case Laura had followed me. Then I went around the side of the small building and pulled my phone from my pocket.
I gasped—there were new-message notifications. I scrolled through them and found mostly spam, with a few medical billing notices, but that didn’t matter—
What mattered was that there was a cell signal at the far side of the graveyard.
I felt a surge of power. This was big. It was huge.
I could call for a cab. I coul
d call anybody. I could call Barrett.
And Laura didn’t even know.
* * *
I FINISHED ARRANGING the flowers just as Laura walked out of the kitchen with two bowls of spinach salad topped with grilled chicken. She set them on the table.
I glanced at the hall. “Should I get Agatha?”
“No, dear. Not today.” And then she gestured for me to sit down. “She’s taking a little nap.”
A nap? At lunchtime?
“Don’t look so concerned,” Laura said, a gentle smile on her lips. “She’s fine. I’m working with Dr. Reed to make sure we don’t end up with a repeat of last night.”
“Dr. Reed said she needs to sleep all day?”
She set down her fork, hitting her plate with a loud click. “I’m sorry, the subject is closed.”
“Okay, sorry,” I said.
The rest of our meal was awkward. I felt like I’d taken an ax and wedged it directly between us, and Laura didn’t seem willing to move past it. She wasn’t angry, I don’t think, but she didn’t speak to me, either.
Bad orphan, Margot. Very bad orphan.
* * *
LAURA ASKED ME to stay out of the nursery so Agatha would be undisturbed.
But then Agatha skipped dinner, too. Laura claimed she’d woken for a while and eaten a big meal to make up for missing lunch, but I hadn’t seen any evidence of this and wondered if it was true.
After dinner, I did the dishes, and then I went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed. When I went into the nursery, Agatha was already in bed, asleep, with Laura standing over her.
Laura turned to me, raised her finger to her lips, and whispered, “Shhhh. She’s worn out, sweet girl.”
“She’s been asleep for most of the day,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “How can she be worn out?”
“I spoke to Dr. Reed, and we’ve adjusted her medications a bit,” Laura said. “So I think it will be smoother sailing from now on.”
“New medication? Does the doctor think she’s getting worse?”
“No, no,” Laura said. “She’s doing fine.”
* * *
LAURA BROUGHT MY tea and handed it over. “Careful, it’s very hot. The new electric kettle is a bust, I’m afraid. I should go back to using Grandmother’s old one.”
I took a sip and did indeed burn my taste buds right off.
“I’ll just wait,” I said, setting it aside.
“Probably a good idea,” Laura said, a bit sarcastically.
She was treating me a little differently now. Maybe it was because Barrett and John were both gone and I was the only human contact she had (not counting Agatha, of course). Or maybe it was because we’d talked about Lily, and sharing her pain had made her feel closer to me.
Whichever it was, I didn’t like it.
With cold, calculating Laura, you always knew where you stood.
With this Laura, I kept overstepping in small ways that irritated her.
I couldn’t stop thinking over our conversation about Lily. If she’d been telling the truth—and she could have been—that just made the journal one more sign of Lily’s messed-up mind. It would be easy to see how a paranoid person with a lot of time on her hands could produce page after page of deranged ranting.
On the other hand, a normal person being held prisoner and being overmedicated would probably produce strikingly similar rants.
So which was it? I knew Laura’s side of the story. I knew Lily’s side of the story.
But what bothered me the most was Agatha’s side of the story.
I’m not sick.
I believed her.
And that meant that when she said go, I should believe that, too. I should leave this place, even if it meant going to the state institution.
The only thing that was holding me back now was Agatha—even before this new regime of powerful medication, I had hated to think of her here, all alone. We were, in our own way, friends. I cared about Agatha. I wanted to protect her. And how could I do that if I abandoned her?
Easy, really. All I had to do was tell Barrett what I knew. He would look out for his sister, right?
But would he do it, even if it meant, say, calling the police on his mom?
It seemed absurd. Laura wouldn’t hurt Agatha. That was ridiculous. Everything she did was to keep Agatha safe and cared for. She’d taken care of her every day for nearly a year.
But what if Laura was the reason Agatha needed caring for?
I fell asleep miserably mulling it over.
* * *
A STRANGE NOISE woke me, and I jumped out of bed, on high alert. The previous night’s episode had me ready for another chance to communicate with Agatha, whenever it might come. So I raced out to the nursery.
Agatha was awake. But this was different. She was convulsing. Her legs were jerking, her arms twitching.
I ran to her bedside.
She looked up at me through bright eyes. A strangled humming sound emerged from her, and that’s when I realized that she was choking.
I grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her to her side. Immediately, the noises she was making changed—they became more intense, more desperate.
I shoved my arms under her armpits and hoisted her up, then dragged her off the bed, staggering under her weight, and leaned us both forward.
She vomited a spray of thick gray-brown liquid all over the floor.
Then she took a deep, long gurgling breath. The effort sounded painful, but she took in enough air to take another breath, and another, and then finally she was breathing normally—with a bit of a rasp, but getting enough air at least.
Still supporting her, I collapsed back onto the bed and laid her out on the mattress. She was limp, but breathing.
Agatha gave a shuddering sigh, and suddenly a whisper of air escaped her lips.
“What?” I asked, leaning over her. “What did you say?”
Her eyes struggled to stay open, then quickly lost their focus and rolled back in her head. She dropped out of consciousness without even a hint of struggle.
I looked at the floor. Gross. and it wasn’t my job to clean it . . . but I didn’t feel like involving Laura.
Was I scared of her? Maybe.
I spent a half hour cleaning up, then maneuvered Agatha back under the covers, gently wiping her unresponsive face before I finally switched off the light. I was beyond exhausted, myself, and as I dumped the dirty towels in the bathroom hamper—I’d worry about explaining that another time—fatigue washed over me. I washed my hands and splashed water on my face and wondered how I would make it back to bed before collapsing. But as I lay restlessly under the covers, I couldn’t stop thinking of how Agatha had looked, struggling for air.
I carried my pillow and Blue Bunny back out to the nursery. I peeled back the covers on the bed opposite Agatha’s and climbed under. If I pulled my pillow back a little, I could rest my head but still see the rise and fall of Agatha’s chest as she breathed. When I closed my eyes, I could hear her soft snoring.
Go.
Yes. It was time to go.
CHAPTER
26
THE NEXT MORNING, I felt strangely out of sync. Whether it was my own fear or Laura’s suspicion, something hung in the air between us.
I awoke to her small sniff of surprise when she came into the nursery to find me sleeping across from Agatha.
“Good morning, Margot . . . ?” she said. It was a question.
“Oh, hi.” My mouth was cottony. I sat up and rubbed my eyes. “Agatha had kind of a rough night, so I thought I should stay close.”
Oh, crap. I hadn’t meant to tell the truth. Laura raised her eyebrows. “What kind of a rough night?”
“Uh . . . I think there’s a chance that maybe whatever the new medication dose is . . .” I felt
like I might burst into flames under the intensity of Laura’s gaze. “Maybe it’s too high?”
She was politely interested. The way a cat shows polite interest in a mouse. “And what makes you say that?”
The obvious thing would be to explain the throwing up. But something nagged at me, and I dodged. “Just . . . bad dreams, maybe?”
“Ah,” she said. “Did you come and look for me?”
“No,” I said. “I’m sorry. Should I have?”
“Not necessarily,” she said, with a kind smile. “It seems you handled it wisely. You did what you thought was best.”
Then she looked down at Agatha, still asleep, and set her hand on Agatha’s motionless arm.
“Why don’t you get started with your day?” she asked me. “I’ll take over.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you want me to make oatmeal?”
“I’ve eaten already,” she said. “Just make something for yourself. I’ll be down later.”
So I got dressed and made myself a bowl of oatmeal, expecting Laura and Agatha to come down any minute. I settled on a chair in the library and read about women’s fashions from the Renaissance to the Second World War, which was when the book was written. I skipped around, looking at illustrations, and reading captions praising the “stunning advances of the modern age.”
When I looked at the clock, I was shocked to see that two hours had passed—and there was still no sign of Laura or Agatha. I went back up the stairs just as Laura was emerging from the nursery. Her expression struggled to be tranquil, but she was clearly stressed.
“Why don’t we let Agatha sleep a little longer?” There was a crispness to her voice. “I think it would be best if she’s not disturbed.”
“Do you need help with her?” I asked.
Her pleasant smile was made unpleasant by the fact that she refused to make eye contact with me. “No, thank you,” she said. “In fact . . . I wasn’t sure when to bring this up, but I’ve been feeling lately like we’re asking too much of you. You work so hard, and then on nights like last night, you’re forced to get up out of bed and deal with bad dreams.”
The Companion Page 24
