I tried to act surprised, desperately wanting to hear what gossip was flowing about Lizzie now. To most, she was an uncomely spinster who spoke her mind too freely. To me, she was the one person in this house that treated me as a person, someone to talk to, to share meals with.
“Now why would Miss Lizzie do something as foolish as keeping pigeons?” I asked.
“Don’t know,” Minnie said as she took another damp sheet out of her basket and snapped it into the breeze. “But Mr. Alfred says she would steal food from the house to feed them every day.”
Lizzie hadn’t stolen any food; I’d given it to her. A few crumbs of day-old bread or a handful of sesame seeds I’d stored for cooking.
“He told me a few days back, Mr. Borden got angry with Miss Lizzie about the birds, told her they served no purpose but to attract young boys and their cap guns.”
“I don’t recall seeing any boys hanging around the barn,” I said. That was the same thing I’d told Mr. Borden when he’d asked about Lizzie’s coming and goings last month. And it was the truth. Not once had I seen a male suitor approach Lizzie. Not once, in all of our late night conversations, had I ever heard her mention one.
“Don’t matter if they were. According to Mr. Alfred, Mr. Borden killed the pigeons anyway. He took an axe to their necks, then brought them in the house for Miss Lizzie to see. That’s why Mr. Alfred was here, to clear the nesting boxes Miss Lizzie built in the barn and seal up any cracks.”
I kept my gaze still, despite the clawing sensation in my chest. Funny how Mr. Borden was so determined to tear away every last piece of Lizzie’s happiness, but couldn’t be bothered with fixing the barn door.
“You sure Mr. Alfred isn’t telling you some tale?”
“Aye. He showed me the axe himself. There was dried blood still coating the handle.”
“Did Mr. Alfred tell you anything else?” I asked. If Mr. Alfred knew about the pigeons, I wondered what other tales he was spreading.
“No, just that it was nice seeing me.”
The tiny smile that found its way back to her lips annoyed me, and I straightened my back to look her directly in the eye. I wasn’t particularly close to Seamus, but he was Liam’s brother and had gone out of his way to make me feel welcome in his family. Plus, he’d be my family soon, even have a room in the house Liam was planning on building for us. Because of that . . . because Liam mattered more to me than anyone else most days, I’d set my best friend straight.
“You should keep your prattle to yourself, Minnie. Folks around here don’t hire maids who are prone to gossip. I doubt Seamus would much appreciate it either, seeing as Mr. Alfred is unattached and you seem more than willing to spend your time flirting.”
I turned and walked away, afraid that if I stayed there much longer she’d see the truth I was trying to hide. The house I was working in was filled with crazy people, and everyone in Fall River knew it . . . including me.
“No, Bridget. Wait. Please.”
I stopped and turned around to face her. She looked scared, panicked. “Listen, Minnie,” I said. “All I’m saying is that you’d do well to remember who Miss Lizzie is, who Mr. Borden is. Neither one would take to kindly to you speaking ill of them.”
“You won’t tell him, will you? I mean, Seamus . . . nothing is going on between me and Mr. Alfred. I swear it.”
I let my arms fall limply to my sides, my muscles screaming from the overly aggressive beating I had given the parlor rug. Minnie looked so small on the other side of the fence, so lost and confused, that for a moment I felt guilty. True, I lived in the same claustrophobic world she did, but at least I had Liam. I had someone to talk to, someone who listened and offered me an out, should I want to take it. Minnie had no one save Seamus. And he wasn’t a day older than me, and not nearly as frugal or loyal as his brother. Best as he tried, I wasn’t sure he could actually provide the kind of support Minnie needed.
No, I wouldn’t tell him, not because Minnie was my friend or because I wanted to stop the gossip she was spreading. I wouldn’t tell Seamus because at the end of the day, I felt sorry for Minnie. She was all alone in that house, her employer a widow who rarely ventured out of her room. A house that Lizzie believed was cursed, one that saw the death of two children and their mother all before Lawdwick Borden sold it. Despite all the yelling and hatred that seemed to fester in the Borden house, I wasn’t ever alone, not really. I had Lizzie, and even on her worst days, it was better than having no one at all.
Chapter 17
Lizzie was sitting in the rocking chair I had tucked in a corner of my bedroom, watching me as I tied back my hair with a silver comb. She’d offered to help, even lent me the nearly empty bottle of jasmine water she had sitting on her bureau, all in the hopes that I’d give in to her demands and let her accompany me to Liam’s.
“Take me with you.” She’d been saying those same four words to me for the past half an hour, sounding more like a child of two than the grown woman she was.
“Have you gone mad?” I asked.
Lizzie scowled and went to get up from the chair. I held out a hand to stop her, only now realizing how cruel my actual words were. “I’m sorry. What I meant was, why in the world would you want to go with me?”
She brushed off the front of her skirt and stared out the window. She’d been staring off into space like that more lately, like the world was closing in around her and her only escape was somewhere off in the distance. Somewhere no one could see, not even her. But it wasn’t the world suffocating her. It was her father. Unfortunately for Lizzie, there were only two acceptable ways to escape his hold—death or marriage—and neither one seemed likely anytime soon.
“I think it sounds like fun, Bridget. I mean, the only thing I’ve done this past month besides my charity work and teaching Sunday school is go to the market for you. I can’t count on Emma, either. My days are starting to run together, and I feel like I’m slowly losing my mind.”
“What about Alice?” I asked.
Lizzie laughed softly, that rare twinkle returning to her eyes. “You’ve met Alice, Bridget. She’s as boring as a rock.”
I had met Alice in passing, served her tea here a handful of times, but I doubted asking her if she wanted cream or sugar qualified as “meeting her.” And as for the boring part, Lizzie was absolutely right. So far as I could see, the woman Lizzie shared her company with was meek-mannered and impossibly dull. And that’s the way Mr. Borden wanted Lizzie. Yes, Lizzie would have fun down at Liam’s flat, probably more fun than she ever imagined, but that didn’t mean I could ever cross that line and take her.
“Plus, I want to meet the boy you are so smitten with,” Lizzie added.
“I don’t think that is a good idea,” I replied. Liam was already displeased about me working here, and I most definitely didn’t need Lizzie’s meddling to make it worse. She was getting more unpredictable with each passing day, her moods cycling by the minute, one second quiet and withdrawn, and the next prattling on about the injustices of society and this house. Not to mention, with the exception of the small bottle of whiskey hidden in my room, I’d never seen a drop of alcohol pass this door, not even an elixir to ease a cough. The Bordens very rarely cursed. They didn’t drink; they never even danced. But at Liam’s flat . . . we did all that and then some.
“I won’t tell my father, if that’s what you are worried about,” Lizzie said.
“My friends aren’t like yours, Lizzie. I wouldn’t want you to think less of me.” More accurately, I didn’t want my escapades getting back to Mr. Borden. He’d have my job if I exposed Lizzie to what he often referred to as the “ill-mannered side of Fall River.”
Lizzie huffed and kicked back her heels. “My mind is not as closed off as my father’s, Bridget. I thought you knew that about me.”
“I do,” I whispered. I had a year’s worth of watching her purposely irritate her father, to guide my thoughts. But I’d also been warned by Liam to keep my private life just that . . . private.
&
nbsp; “Fine,” Lizzie said, suddenly resigned to the fact that I wasn’t going to change my mind. “But you can’t keep him hidden forever. It’s simply not fair.”
She didn’t make a peep for the few remaining moments I spent in my room. No advice on how to fix my hair, no complaints about my active social life that I purposely excluded her from. Only the creak of the rocking chair as she gently set it into motion.
I wondered if I should ask her to leave when I was done, if it was customary for the daughter of an employer to spend time alone in her maid’s room. I decided against it. There was nothing in here worth hiding from Lizzie, and if sitting in the dark corner of my room in solitude brought her peace, then so be it.
“I can feel it getting worse, Bridget. All of it.”
I had one foot out the door when Lizzie uttered those words, her eyes still focused on the nearly deserted street outside. Deep down I knew it was probably a ploy to get me to stay, to brush off Liam for the night and spend it with her. But still. Some tiny fraction of me wondered if she was telling the truth. If being here alone with nothing but the darkness of this house and the trappings of her mind made the voices she heard a little louder. A little clearer.
“Why don’t you go see Alice? I’d be happy to walk you there. It’s on my way.” That was a lie; Alice’s home was seven blocks in the opposite direction, seven blocks that snaked through darkened streets and decaying alleys. But if it kept Lizzie sane for one more day, for one more hour, then I would gladly do it.
“Don’t be silly,” Lizzie said as she stood from the chair, swiping her hand down her skirts as if the dust of my room had somehow settled there. “Alice would have nothing short of a fit if I showed up unannounced. Besides, I have some mending to tend to.”
She left before I had a chance to respond, slipping down the back staircase to the kitchen. I heard the spring lock on the back door open, followed by the wood door slamming shut behind her. I didn’t have to guess where she was going. I was sure she’d be in that barn most of the night doing God knows what. In the morning, I’d ask her, maybe slip into the barn myself and see what she had to toil over, now that her pigeons were gone.
Chapter 18
Liam’s flat was quiet when I got there; his brothers and his friends were all down the road at St. Patrick’s. They all met there several nights a week, to give their thanks for what little they had and give back what they could. A few gave coin, most gave labor, but Father Fitzpatrick didn’t seem to mind either way. The Irish had built that church, laid each stone, and now it was our turn to see to the repairs right alongside him.
Tonight, they were holding a prayer vigil for Liam’s ailing friend, Peter Bence. He’d taken a turn for the worse this past Sunday. After Mass, we’d all head back to Liam’s flat and drink to Peter’s swift recovery.
I met Liam by the side entrance to St. Patrick’s, was hoping to steal a few private moments with him before we joined our friends. I was expecting him, yet the minute I saw him standing there, smiling as if he didn’t have a care in the world, I broke down.
The strength I’d harnessed all day, the calm, logical way in which I’d approached Minnie and Lizzie slipped away, and I sat down, right there on the side of the dusty road, without a care for the dampness seeping into my skirts. Tears I didn’t know I was holding in fell, as the weight of the day and the enormity of the Bordens’ secrets crashed over me.
“Bridget?” Liam stooped down in front of me, his blue eyes meeting mine. “What is it, love?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t tell him any of it; Lizzie had all but sworn me to secrecy. That thought, the idea that I had to carry the weight of Lizzie’s disintegrating world around, unaided, brought on another wave of tears. My body shook, each sob bringing forth another image. The pigeons, beheaded, with their life’s blood seeping out into a bowl. The biting smell as I stirred in the barley and oats to make blood pudding. The tiny voices echoing through the walls of the house. And Lizzie, her story about the children in the well and her mother’s untimely death. If she was right, if there was a madness consuming her . . . consuming all of them, I couldn’t fight it alone.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered. “I simply can’t do it anymore.”
Liam sat down next to me on the road, wrapped his arm around me, and buried me into his shoulder. “Can’t do what, love?”
I shook my head rather than answer, unsure I could find my voice.
“Nobody here is going to make you do anything you aren’t willing,” he continued. “My brothers and I’ll make sure of that.”
I grabbed onto his shirt and pulled myself further into his embrace. This was the one place I always felt valued . . . felt safe. All other reasons aside, that’s really why I never brought Lizzie here. That’s why I kept this part of my life hidden from her. It was the one pure thing I had, the only piece of my existence that wasn’t tainted by that house. Only today, that knowledge hurt me even more. I was escaping, and she wasn’t. Twice now this week, I’d left her alone with her fears so I could selfishly assuage my own.
“I can’t tell you, Liam. I need to tell you, I want to tell you, but I can’t.”
“You trust me, Bridget?”
I nodded. I trusted Liam with my life, hoped one day to bind myself to him in the very church we were sitting across from. I’d never once lied to Liam and often told him more than he needed or wanted to hear. Until now. Until Lizzie’s unspoken plea to keep the fragility of her mind a secret.
“Then trust me with your secrets and let me carry that burden for you.” His voice dipped at the end, as if it truly pained him to see me so weak, so utterly trapped.
He tipped my chin up when I didn’t answer, silently begging me to see the sincerity in his eyes. “We are your family, here. Me and Seamus and Minnie. Let us help you.”
“What did Minnie tell you?” The words came out sharper than I expected, and Liam rocked back, searching my eyes for a truth I would never reveal.
“Nothing.” He paused and looked over his shoulder as if he thought Minnie or maybe even Lizzie would be standing there. “I haven’t seen her in a few days. Seamus hasn’t either. Is there something she’s privy to that I’m not?”
I’d never seen Liam upset, never seen him be anything but gentle and kind with the people he loved. But I saw it then, that tiny spark, the indescribable potential for anger to consume him. “What. Does. Minnie. Know?”
“Nothing, not really. But she’s been talking about the Bordens, asking about rumors she’s heard.”
Liam cocked his head, weighing the value of my words before he responded. “People are always talking about the Bordens. You know that; you’ve always known that. Why the tears over it now?”
He was right. Normally, the local prattle didn’t bother me; I would shrug it off and go about my business. But the morning I’d seen Lizzie sitting in the kitchen, completely destroyed by what some stupid shopkeeper had said . . . well, everything shifted. The woman I saw as idiosyncratic, spoiled, and callous suddenly became real.
“Lizzie is my friend.” I choked out the words, praying Liam would understand and let me be. Let me sit here unquestioned and cry until I felt better. “I can’t stand to see them treat her that way. Not anymore.”
Liam’s hold tensed around me before he pushed me to arm’s length. “Lizzie’s not your friend, Bridget. She’s the daughter of the man who employs you and nothing more.”
That was the way it was supposed to be. The way it was at my previous places of employment. The way it was for Minnie. But Lizzie had a way of inserting herself into people’s lives, drawing them into her own cracked world. Even Emma had cautioned me about getting too close, said it was one thing to be Lizzie’s friend and quite another to live in the same house as her, to be her only escape.
“But you don’t understand, Liam. She’s lonely and Mr.—”
“The hell she is,” he said, cutting me off. “She’s neither lonely nor ill-treated, Bridget. What she is, is spoiled and m
anipulative, with hands as sticky as glue. Any problems she has with local prattle, she’s brought upon herself.”
I dropped my head into my hands, fully aware that there was some truth to Liam’s words. If I wanted to keep my wits about me, if I wanted to outlast the countless other maids who’d cycled through that house, then I had do my best to keep my distance from Lizzie.
“She’s not well, Liam. That whole house, that whole family isn’t well.”
I didn’t need to clarify what I meant by “not well.” Liam knew straightaway what I was implying and that this had nothing to do with a sour stomach or a bout of fever and everything to do with the smoldering, unnerving sense that something bad was about to happen. About to make things even worse.
“Has Mr. Borden—”
“No,” I cut in. Mr. Borden had never shown an interest in me, never looked at me in that way even once since I’d started there. In fact, most days Mr. Borden seemed irritated and resentful that I was even in his house. It was as if my mere presence were a concession he made to his wealth, that deep down, having a maid seemed too preposterous for his miserly ways.
“Then what? Lizzie?” he asked.
I thought about where to begin, what odd display of behavior I should tell him about first. The mere idea of putting words to my fears had me shivering, fighting off a chill that made no sense given the balmy night air.
“The pigeons,” I said, hoping that if Liam saw the cruelty Lizzie was raised under, then perhaps he’d see her differently, understand why it hurt so much to see her broken and sad.
“What about the pigeons, Bridget?” Liam asked, coaxing me along. I’d gone silent again, trapped back in that moment, combing through each wretched second of that day. “Tell me what happened to the pigeons.”
“He slaughtered them. Killed every last one of them, then wanted her to sit alongside Mrs. Borden’s sisters at dinner and eat them.” I swallowed hard. “He made me cook them. Told me I had to save the blood for a pudding. They were her pets, Liam. He killed them, then expected her to sit quietly by as I served them up for the evening meal. What kind of man does that . . . to his own daughter?”
Sweet Madness Page 9
