Sitting in the carriage, I glanced back to our group through the restaurant’s window. Gregory used large gestures to explain something while the two women sat in silence, captivated by every word. Mrs. Abrams didn’t even notice her hat was slightly crooked.
“That is how you make connections. Gregory can now stay the rest of the afternoon and impress those women until he’s had enough,” said Mother.
I watched as Gregory tilted his head back in a large chuckle, and I felt my stomach flutter. Whatever concerns I had flitted away. Gregory was a good man.
* * *
The following afternoon, I took my sketch pad out to the front yard. The first tulips had sprouted and I hoped to draw them. My efforts never amounted to much, but it gave me an excuse to sit outside for hours without Mother chastising me. I know she hoped I’d produce something wonderful, but my sketches were too obvious to excite any real interest.
The tulip petals were just blossoming and the light cast a rosy complexion to the garden. The charcoal in my hand flew over the page as I examined the lines in front of me.
“Another flower?”
I jumped and looked over my shoulder.
“Lucy!” I climbed to my feet. “I didn’t know you were visiting.”
“Well, I didn’t really tell anyone. Mother and Father have gone to the city for the day and I can’t stay in that house all alone.”
I led her to our porch swing. Before sitting down, she unpinned her hat and placed it on a small table. In unison, we kicked off and swung in silence for a few moments.
“Have you heard from Patrick?” I asked.
Lucy shrugged. “He has written, but he’s so worried about my reputation. I have to read through his words to understand what he really wants to say. It is exhausting.”
“I’d gladly have his letters come here, but Mother reads all the mail.”
“And she’d surely tell my mother.” Lucy sighed. “He’s such a good man, Isabelle. Better than most. I wish people could see that.”
“I know.” I looked down our street. Many of our neighbors had secrets in their past and yet had been forgiven. But Patrick would forever carry the guilt of his father’s actions. It didn’t seem fair. His father had died in prison before the war even ended.
Lucy clucked her tongue. “Enough about me. How are you?”
I smiled.
“I know that smile. What happened?” Lucy’s eyes lit up with delight.
“Nothing has happened, not like you think.” I met her gaze. “It’s just—the more I see Gregory in society, the more I realize how lucky I am.”
Lucy smiled and kicked our swing higher. “He is a good man, Isabelle.”
“I never hoped to have both an advantageous marriage and an affectionate one. It has taken me a bit by surprise.”
Lucy squeezed my hand. “You deserve no less.”
“And you. Are you certain your parents will not change their minds about Patrick?”
Lucy silenced me with a look.
“Mr. Stewart is coming for dinner tonight. He works at the bank with Daddy. He’s kind and respectful. Some even find him handsome. I should be excited, if not grateful.” Lucy’s voice was thick. “He just isn’t Patrick.”
My friend’s head fell to my shoulder and we swung as she cried the tears she dare not shed at home.
CHAPTER 3
Abigail had the third Tuesday of each month off. She often spent it at her mother’s house on the outskirts of town, visiting with her family since Mother didn’t approve of them coming to our home. It had been a few days since the dress fitting and I still needed to thank her properly. That morning I filled a basket with fruit, assorted muffins, and tea. It was a small gesture, but it would do.
The front porch steps of Abigail’s family’s house tilted unsteadily to the left, and the small white home seemed to lean with them. I shook the road dirt from my skirt and adjusted my lavender gloves before knocking on the door.
Shuffling sounds filled the air as Abigail shouted, “A moment!”
I smiled at what Mother might say if I shouted through our door.
“Miss Isabelle,” Abigail exclaimed, and pulled the door tight against her back. Her sage gown and brown apron were covered with flour. “What are you doing here?” Her eyes darted down the street. “Is something the matter?”
I held the basket out to her. “I wanted to thank you for your help with Mother at the dress shop.”
“I didn’t do anything but give your mother an image to work from. She only wants your happiness.” Abigail flushed.
I pressed the basket into her hands. “Without your influence, I’d be getting married in a dress I hate.” Wind blew over the yard, scattering a few stray leaves.
Abigail released her grip on the door and took the basket’s handle with both hands. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Miss Isabelle.” She glanced back into the house. For a moment, I wondered if she would invite me inside.
I spoke quickly to save Abigail any embarrassment for the state of her home. “I don’t have much time, and must be on my way. I just wanted to thank you.”
Abigail’s cheeks flushed, clearly seeing through my ruse. “Thank you, Isabelle. I’ll bring the basket back with me this evening.” She slipped back inside and shut the door behind her.
I sighed and glanced around the neighborhood whose homes all looked as if one good storm would topple them.
A crow cawed over me as I turned down an unfamiliar street and made my way toward the center of town. The spring breeze felt crisp as it pulled small pieces of my hair free. I was tempted to unpin my hat and let the wind do its bidding, but knew I’d never hear the end of it from Mother. Instead, I kicked a pebble down a side street just to prove I still had my own will. I watched it bounce the length of nearly five houses before it landed in the garden of a small brick home with dusty windows and no porch. It seemed silly, but I wanted to keep the memento of my small defiance. I turned down the road and went to retrieve the stone.
As I knelt to pick it up from the moist dirt, familiar raised voices filled the air. I bolted upright and turned to look for Gregory. But I was alone on the street. Rubbing the smooth pebble with my thumb, I shook the notion from my mind. Gregory had no business here; I must have been mistaken. I was turning into those silly women Lucy and I deplored. Those who could only think of their beloved and saw him everywhere. I laughed at myself and turned to leave.
“Gregory, please! Mother said you’d be able to help.” My mouth went dry. Hearing his name, I could no longer deny it was him.
The front curtains were thin. Not wanting to be seen, I crept toward the side of the house, hoping to hear more. On the side of the house was a row of bushes just tall enough to conceal me. I hid myself and listened for more. He must have known Katerina previously. He wouldn’t have come here if he hadn’t.
“Your mother is a liar, Katerina,” Gregory exclaimed, his tone raw with anger. “I will not let you make a fool of me! What else has she told you?”
I reclined against the house and closed my eyes. Why would Gregory lie about knowing that girl? Such behavior didn’t fit with the respectable man I agreed to marry. I opened my eyes as a breeze caressed me. Had I deceived myself about who Gregory was? Did I know him well enough to make any assumption?
A scream pierced the air and shattered my racing thoughts. Gregory murmured something low, and the scream was cut short.
Without thinking, I jumped from my hiding spot and lunged toward the front door, ripping my skirt on the brambly bushes. I pushed against the front door, but it wouldn’t budge. Something crashed inside. I pushed harder against the door, hoping they were all right, but it didn’t move. In fact, all my efforts barely made a sound. I put my ear to the wood, hoping to hear something. Had they been attacked? Had she hurt Gregory? Perhaps one of them had become ill and fallen. I wanted to run for help, but who to fetch? When something else thudded to the floor, I’d had enough.
I stepped back from the do
or, looking for a window or hole. The front windows were too dirty to see through, but the side ones were covered inside only with a sheer spring curtain. Another thud came from inside the house. I pushed through the bushes and, grasping the window ledge, peered in.
At first I couldn’t see anything, but as my eyes became used to the dim light, I could make out the furnishings of the room. Pillows were strewn across the floor, and a kettle on the stove steamed. I squinted, looking for Gregory or Katerina, but couldn’t find them. Then, I shifted my gaze and spotted two figures on the floor, one on top of the other. My head spun. Were they lovers?
No, if that were true, her cries for help didn’t make sense. I forced myself to look again.
Gregory was on his knees, his hands on Katerina’s throat. As I made sense of what I saw, he pressed down harder against Katerina. Her hands clawed against his coat sleeves and her legs struggled to move away from him. Nothing she did made any difference. Gregory didn’t move.
My fiancé, the man I was to spend my life with, couldn’t be capable of something so horrific. Yet, the truth was directly before my eyes. There had to be an explanation. I willed myself to be calm and swallowed the tears threatening to overwhelm me. Katerina didn’t have time for me to be hysterical. I had to stop this!
Lifting the top layer of my skirt, I wrapped it around my fist, forming a layer of protection. As I prepared to break the window, the scene inside changed. Katerina’s arms slowed and slid to the floor and her legs stopped kicking. I was too late.
Gregory sat back on his heels beside Katerina’s still body, raking his shaking fingers through his hair. Even through the curtain, I could see the terror on his face as he took in what he’d done. The redder his face became, the less brave I felt. Attempting to stop him in the moment was one thing, but walking in just as he realized he’d killed someone was something I wasn’t prepared to handle.
Gregory knelt over Katerina’s body and felt her neck. He shook his head. I could just make out his low voice muttering to himself.
“Damn it!” He balled up his fists and shook his arms in the air. Then he jumped up, adjusted his coat, and looked around the room. I ducked, trusting he hadn’t seen me, while I willed breath to enter and exit my lungs. Slinking down the side of the house, I let the bushes shield me from view, their thorns piercing my face and arms.
My fiancé was a murderer.
The front door burst open followed by the sound of Gregory’s footsteps walking down the steps. I couldn’t see him, nor did I try. Instead, I pulled my knees to my chest and held my skirts as close as possible, hoping he’d not look around the house for witnesses. I didn’t know how long I sat there, counting my heartbeats and praying to God to make me invisible, but when I reopened my eyes, dusk had settled.
The smooth pebble was still in my hand, and I tossed it onto the stone path around the front of the house. Knowing I had to finish things, I swallowed my fear. I had to see her body and know that she was dead. If she lived, I needed to help her. Slowly, I rose to my feet and crept toward the front door. Gregory hadn’t taken the time to lock it, and it swung open at my touch. Katerina’s feet were mere inches from mine as I stepped into the house and closed the door behind me.
Immediately, I stepped back. Katerina’s vacant eyes stared at nothing, and her face was discolored from strangulation. There was no doubt. Katerina was dead, yet I kept expecting her to move. I stepped backward until the wall supported me. Her eyes seemed to follow me. As I tried to muster the courage to move, a scuffling from outside the front door nearly made me jump out of my skin. My heart pounded in my ears, but I couldn’t move an inch until I heard the visitor fall against the front step. The small room held few pieces of furniture and even fewer hiding places. Thinking fast, I flew across the room and crawled beneath the bed, pulling the quilt down low to conceal myself.
A moment later the front door creaked open, and Gregory reentered. I recoiled from him and curled up tighter under the bed. His footsteps were heavy and his breath was loud and uneven. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought he was drunk, but Gregory had refused every drink I’d ever seen offered to him. I slithered as close to the wall as possible and held my breath. Gregory knelt beside Katerina and lifted her lifeless hand to his chest.
“I didn’t mean it,” he whispered hoarsely. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.” His voice cracked.
I slid forward slightly so I could see better, careful not to make a sound. His brown suit was wrinkled, and his mustache needed to be combed.
Rocking back and forth, he hugged himself and shook his head as if in a fit. Then he snorted and regained his composure. His face was splotchy, but his mouth was set in a stubborn line. I knew that expression well—he had come to a decision.
Carefully, he placed his hands under her neck and knees. As he stared into her bluish face, his cheeks flushed again.
“I can make this right,” he insisted. “You will not have died in vain.”
Then, he lifted her corpse into his arms and walked slowly out of the house. The front door closed with a slap as if Katerina herself were angry with me. I let that monster carry her away, and for what? To make it right—what did that mean? The only person he could make it right for was himself; she was dead.
I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat. He had brazenly walked out of the house without any kind of cover upon her. The first person who spied them would know she was dead. But Gregory was too smart to allow that. He was going to dispose of her body, I was sure of it. Quick as I could, I crawled out of my hiding place and ran from the house, not even worrying about the dirt and dust that was surely stuck in my hair. He would not get away with this, not if I could stop him.
Once I was out of the house, Gregory was nowhere to be found. How had he moved so fast while carrying her? I gulped and lunged into a run. I had to find the sheriff.
I turned down the street that led straight into town. These roads weren’t as well cared for as the ones I was used to and after only two steps, my foot slid into a hole, twisting my ankle.
“Blast,” I exclaimed as I fell to the ground. My ankle was already swelling. I’d never make it back to town alone. There was only one path left to take. Summoning my strength, I hobbled down the road back to Abigail’s house. As I approached, I saw her in the front yard unpinning laundry that had been drying in the sun.
“Abigail,” I called out to her, wincing as I put weight on my injured foot.
She looked up, startled, as if she didn’t recognize me. My breath, already uneven, sped up in fear.
“It’s me, Isabelle,” I called out, now only two houses away. The stays of my corset felt as if they were tightening, and I had to stop walking to catch my breath. Yet, even standing still, the world turned and the full weight of what I witnessed fell upon me.
“Isabelle?” Abigail reached me and put a hand on my shoulder.
“He did it,” I wheezed, trying desperately to breathe. “He killed her.”
“What?” Abigail asked.
I grabbed her hand and clawed at the back of my gown, trying to loosen my corset, but it was too late.
I slid into darkness.
CHAPTER 4
Voices surrounded me, all clamoring to be heard, but the darkness refused to let me go. The familiar scent of vanilla and orange soothed my confusion and the soft quilt I gripped told me I was in my own bed. Safe.
Something cool and wet was pressed against my forehead, and I finally pulled myself fully into consciousness. Light beat against my eyes, but I refused to open them and rolled my head away from it. There was a rustling as Abigail leaned over and whispered, “Do not awaken yet.” I clenched my eyes to show that I heard her, and she returned to dabbing my forehead with the cool compress.
Finally the commotion calmed enough for me to differentiate the voices.
“What do you mean ‘attacked’?” Mother’s demanded. Her voice was shrill.
“Mrs. Larkin, look at her. Her gown is shredded a
nd her arms and legs bruised and scarred. Her corset was loosened at some point and her ankle is swollen.” The man’s deep voice was familiar. Searching my mind I realized it was Dr. Carson. “When she wakes up we’ll probably have more answers, but you should steel yourself to the possibility that someone did your daughter harm.”
“All this to bring you a basket? I hope you’re happy, Abigail.” Leave it to Mother to blame a servant.
“She was fine when she visited me. It was when she returned that something was wrong, ma’am.” Abigail rinsed the washcloth and reapplied it to my forehead. Water droplets trickled down my cheeks, but I resisted the urge to wipe them, for I wanted to hear Mother’s response. “I don’t know what happened, but I am sorry she was harmed.”
Hadn’t I explained to Abigail what happened? My head pounded, and I couldn’t remember what I’d said or not before I fainted. Abigail pressed her hand hard against my forehead, preventing any movement.
“I believe the noise is distressing Isabelle,” Abigail whispered, her voice thick with concern.
“Of course,” Mother replied. “We’ll leave.” The door creaked as she pulled it closed behind them. I could hear their muffled voices from the hall. “Shall I call for tea, Dr. Carson?” How could Mother think of tea when I was injured?
“Yes, thank you.” Their voices faded as they walked down the hall.
Once I heard our top stair creak, I opened my eyes and tried to sit up. Dizziness slapped against me and I lowered myself back onto the pillows. “What happened? Why is Dr. Carson here?”
Abigail raised a finger to her mouth before pressing her hand against the door to make sure it was closed. Once satisfied, she returned to my side and took my hand in hers.
“If I am right, you will thank me. If not, no harm’s been done by the deception.”
My head spun. “What do you mean?”
Abigail silenced me with a look of true pity. “Before you fainted you said ‘He killed her.’ Do you remember?”
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