Sweet Madness

by Trisha Leaver

  I knew that; I’d witnessed it several times myself, but until this moment, until I saw the creases around Mrs. Borden’s eyes and the heavy set of her shoulders, I hadn’t realized how much it pained her. Not once had I considered that this woman might actually care. Maybe that’s where my words came from—an overwhelming response to the pain I saw echoed in her eyes.

  “I can stay, Mrs. Borden. If you think it would be easier for Lizzie, then I can stay on here.”

  “No,” she said, her usual meek demeanor back in place. “You’re not the first maid Lizzie has taken a liking to, but you are younger and perhaps a bit naïve. She knows that, has gained your trust and made you feel important, like you had a friend . . . a sister in this new world.”

  I nodded, curious as to where she was going with this. “She’s been kind to me, ma’am.”

  “Kind.” She repeated the word back to me, but it didn’t sound so harmless coming from her.

  She got up and pulled a key from her dress pocket and bent down to the bottom drawer of the hutch. Her hands trembled and it took her two tries to fit the tiny key into the lock. The drawer scraped open, and I watched her sift through the fine linens she kept stored in there until she came up with a small, clear pot.

  “Do you know what this is?” she asked.

  I took the small jar from her hand and uncorked the lid. I didn’t need to bring it to my nose to know. The smell was so strong, the bitter, almost almondlike scent giving it away.

  “Prussic acid,” I said as I recapped the jar and handed it back to her.

  “The maid you replaced—Katie—she was a bit older than you and had been here in Fall River for quite some time. She knew the rumors that circulated about us and took the position anyway. Lizzie took a liking to her, as she has you, but Katie was married, set in her ways with no need for companionship. For months, Lizzie tried to pull her in. She helped her with the chores, would shun her charities in favor of going to the market for Katie, even went so far as to demand that Mr. Borden give her more than one day off a week. But Katie wanted none of it, told Lizzie she was capable of minding her own matters and didn’t need her interfering.”

  I thought back to the last few weeks . . . the last few months. Lizzie was always helping me out, even if it meant just sitting there in the kitchen keeping me company as I cooked or washed the dishes. I knew even then it was improper, but I missed my home, my friends, even Liam on the days he picked up extra shifts. Her idle prattle soothed my mind. There was no way around it, I enjoyed Lizzie’s company, probably would have chosen it even if I wasn’t so lonely.

  “Katie fell ill last fall. We all presumed it was exhaustion, but eventually her stomach turned on her, leaving her huddled over her bedpan for days on end. At Andrew’s insistence, I let her go. I gave her enough money to carry her through the month and then found her another job. She works for my sister now, hasn’t missed a day of work due to illness since leaving this house.”

  I followed her gaze to the tiny bottle she still grasped in her hand. She didn’t speak her next words; she didn’t need to. I knew what she was implying, knew what she rightfully feared.

  “Do you recall a few months back when someone broke into the barn?” she asked, and I nodded. I knew for a fact it hadn’t been broken into, that it was Lizzie pilfering things from her own father. “I begged Andrew to call the police, but he insisted on looking around himself first, seeing what, if anything, was taken.”

  “And?” I asked, trying to coax her along. I knew there were a few axe marks marring the back of the barn door, and that it appeared as if someone had tried to pry the lock off his trunk, but Mr. Borden never filed an official report, never so much as had the police question the local street kids.

  “He found this,” she said, her hand shaking around the tiny glass bottle. “It was hidden beneath a sack of seed for the pigeons.”

  I couldn’t still the shiver that burrowed through my core. The only one who loved those pigeons, the only one that ever fed or cared for them, was Lizzie.

  “Are you saying that . . .” I couldn’t even finish the thought. The idea of Lizzie doing such a hateful thing was impossible.

  “I don’t know what to think anymore, Bridget. I will speak with Mr. Thompson and explain to him the misfortune we have in losing you. I’ve no plans to tarnish your name and will tell them that it is I who has asked you to leave, that I feel John Morse has taken an interest in you that is inappropriate.”

  I paled at her words. The excuse she planned to give them would indeed impair me, not to mention it was wholly untrue. It wasn’t even sound. Mr. Morse lived in another town, came into Fall River at odd hours. His behavior may have been peculiar, but he certainly had never propositioned me. “But that’s not . . . he never . . . I never . . .”

  Mrs. Borden chuckled at my inability to form a coherent sentence. The sound had me stopping abruptly as I strained to hear it again. It was pleasant, jovial, and I couldn’t help but wonder when the last time she laughed was.

  “Fear not, my dear Bridget. I’ve become quite adept at spinning assumptions and family history to my favor. I will assure Mr. Thompson that you have been nothing but proper and loyal in your work here.” She stopped for a moment, her laughter returning. “Plus, nobody in Fall River truly knows John Morse and the same goes for him of them. He won’t suffer as a result of this white lie, and I can assure you, you won’t, either.”

  We sat there in silence for a few moments, her staring at her hands, me wondering whether or not her entire plan would work. It wasn’t until the clock announced the top of the hour that I got up. Sitting here, waiting for one of us to speak, was making me anxious, my mind traveling a series of what-ifs as I replayed every conversation, every passing gesture between Lizzie and me.

  “Bridget,” Mrs. Borden called after me, and I stopped right there in the doorway. “I will write it all down on paper for you, the reference and reasoning behind your dismissal, just in case the Thompsons refuse you employment. You can use my written reference to secure a position somewhere else. In exchange, may I ask a favor of you?”

  I turned around then, surprised to see her still staring at her hands, not bothering to glance up and acknowledge me. “Yes ma’am?”

  “Lizzie is gone for the remainder of the summer. From what I understand, she will be visiting friends with Emma. I originally intended to ask that you remain here until she returns, but I now realize how unfair that would be of me. You have suffered enough already. I will ask that you stay at least two more weeks, however. I have some things I need to attend to, and I fear your sudden departure would put Mr. Borden in a questioning mood.”

  “Of course, ma’am,” I said as I turned to walk away. Right then, I think I would’ve agreed to anything just to get out of that room, away from the horrid implications that even I could no longer dismiss.

  “And one more thing, Bridget. I’ll address this matter with Andrew in my own time. You must keep it to yourself for now.”

  Chapter 27

  With Lizzie gone and Mrs. Borden tucked into the guest room attending to some seams in one of her summer dresses, I quietly made my way down the back stairs. With everything I’d learned today, I needed to see Liam. He’d sort through this for me, remind me that nothing mattered so long as we had each other.

  The house was dark, the candle Abigail Borden had left lit in the front window filtering through the rooms. She knew I was going out, even knew I was planning on meeting Liam. Her only word of caution had been to make sure he walked me home. Apparently, the streets of Fall River were no place for a young lass to be wandering about alone.

  Her concern warmed my heart. It made me think of my own mother back in Ireland, and then the mother Lizzie had lost. I’d seen a new side of Mrs. Borden today, the quiet worry she harbored for the girls. She seemed willing to do anything and everything to keep them safe, but Lizzie didn’t see that, or as her stepmother had put it, Lizzie’s excitable nature prevented her from seeing it.r />
  I made my way through the kitchen to the sitting room, was nearly clear across the room before a subtle intake of breath startled me. I quickly darted into the parlor and grabbed the lit candle from the window and held it up to confirm who I saw.

  I watched Mr. Borden for a moment, his hand tracing tiny circles across the mantel, each mindless movement carefully skirting around the brass key he kept there. I knew he saw me, the flare of light and my not-so-gentle steps had given me away. But he made no movement towards me, uttered no words of acknowledgement, not even a curt nod of the head.

  I put the candle down on the table in the sitting room. The narrow staircases in this house could be treacherous in the dark, and I saw no wick or flame in his hand.

  “Do you know why I lock my bedroom door at night? Why my desk, and Abigail’s wardrobe closet, even the china hutch housing my family’s silver, are all locked each day?” he finally asked, his words coming on top of a heavy sigh.

  It wasn’t just the chests he kept locked, but everything. Every door, every window, every crevice of this house was sealed off with an iron key. And each night he tested them, over and over as if to make sure nobody had tampered with them. I could still hear the sound echoing through the walls of the house, the sharp, metallic smack of the lock sliding into place and then being undone again, and redone. It was like a ritual, a routine. God knows why he did it or how long it would last, but if I’d learned anything in that house, it was to pretend I saw and heard nothing.

  “Prowlers, sir?” I asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t afraid of the occasional hooligan. To be honest, the people in this town were too afraid of him and his “spinster” daughters to even think about entering this house unannounced.

  I saw the slight nod of his head in the glow of the candlelight. “Yes, prowlers. Thieves on the inside.”

  I knew what he meant; he believed the items stolen from him were Lizzie’s doing. That’s probably why he hadn’t summoned the police immediately when the barn was broken into. He alerted the police only after he’d searched the barn himself. That was probably a not-so-subtle cue to Lizzie that he was in control. That he believed her to be the culprit and that he would no longer tolerate her behavior. Fortunately for her, he found the prussic acid before the police arrived.

  “I owe you an apology, Miss Sullivan.”

  He turned to look at me then, and even from across the room, I could see the sincerity in his eyes, the strength and humility it took for him to utter those words. Sorry wasn’t a word I’d ever heard used in this home before, the words “my due” and “my right” often taking its place.

  “I shouldn’t have let this go on for as long as I have. I knew Lizzie had taken a liking to you and purposely ignored it. For that, I am truly sorry. With you occupying Lizzie’s thoughts, with her every action centered around you, Abigail and Emma had a reprieve, a brief chance to resume the semblance of a normal life. I selfishly wanted that for them and turned a blind eye to the unnatural fascination Lizzie has towards you.”

  “No need to apologize, sir. I am under your employ . . .” I went to say, but he cut me off.

  “Under my employment and, as such, under my protection.” His voice rose now, and I got a small understanding of how his business associates must feel and why he was so successful. His tone brooked no rebuttal, not even a hint that an alternate explanation was warranted or welcomed.

  “My first wife, Sarah . . . Lizzie’s mother, was a good woman, a good mother. She struggled with demons, but she always won. As each of my children approached their first birthdays, I could see the demons lifting, the spirit I fell in love with slowly coming back.”

  I’d heard rumors of such demons, seen them firsthand back in Ireland. Maggie O’Shea lived only a few miles away. She married my oldest brother Sean when she was barely sixteen. I had a niece, a round little thing with a shocking head of black hair. I remember Sean bringing her by the house for days at time, claiming Maggie had birthing fever and was out of sorts and talking nonsense. Even when the fever broke, Maggie seemed different—always crying, always mumbling to herself. I couldn’t help but wonder how Maggie was now, if she had borne my brother more children, or if the demons Mr. Borden spoke of had taken her mind, too.

  “My Uncle Laddy’s wife struggled with them as well, but she was weak, let her sickness claim not only her soul but the souls of her children as well. That’s why I did it. That’s why I killed the pigeons, Miss Sullivan.”

  I paled, my mind floating back to the image of Lizzie’s pets, mangled and headless. It had taken me hours to clear the crimson from the kitchen floor, the knots of the wood absorbing it, the color spreading through the rough grain of the wood all while the smell of blood pudding festered in the air.

  “I’m sorry, sir?” I didn’t understand how slaughtering Lizzie’s pets had anything to do with his first wife’s death or how he could possibly justify what he’d done that day.

  “Lizzie may not be a handsome woman, and no one, maid or master, has escaped the gossip that surrounds her. Regardless of how we live, no matter how much I try to portray this family as miserly and cheap, the enormity of my wealth is known. One day that wealth will pass on to my daughters. Any prosperity-seeking man would be more than willing to overlook Lizzie’s peculiarities in the hopes of securing her hand and in turn, my money. I cannot let that happen.”

  “But there are no suitors, sir. I am sure Lizzie would have told me if there were.”

  Mr. Borden shook his head and took a step closer, the same pity I’d heard earlier in Mrs. Borden’s voice when she’d shown me the Prussic acid now mirrored in his expression. “You are young yet, Miss Sullivan, too young to decipher reality from fiction, to understand the things Lizzie chooses to tell you are not always true. There are young men, one in particular. My associates have seen Lizzie talking to him in town. I’ve heard his voice myself in the barn. He delivered the feed for her birds once a month, but she meets him nearly every week in town.”

  “But Lizzie married to a man of good standing . . . isn’t that what you want?” Isn’t that what every father wanted? I added to myself. That is why I was sent here, why my own parents gave me what little money they had to buy my passage. They wanted a better life for me, one with a good man with a solid reputation.

  “Most fathers would want that, yes. I mourn the loss of the grandchildren I will never know, the name and wealth that will never be passed on. But I would gladly give away all my wealth and position if it meant not passing the illness that curses this family on to my grandchildren.” He straightened up and looked me in the eyes. “I’ll keep Lizzie alone until the day I die, if that’s what it takes to keep this curse from consuming another generation.”

  My memories circled around that night, around the story Lizzie had told me the evening I’d found her wandering the kitchen in her day clothes. Andrew Borden’s great-aunt, the one who’d dropped her own children into the well. She was the one he was referring to, the illness he was desperately trying to avoid. Lizzie swore her mother suffered the same madness, was convinced it was afflicting her as well. I struggled to swallow as I remembered Lizzie’s face in the pale glow of my lantern as I tucked her in, how she confessed she was afraid the curse was coming for her. Blood or marriage . . . it didn’t matter; anybody who bore the Borden name was cursed in her mind.

  She wasn’t the only one who was afraid of that. Her father was, too. And he planned to keep Lizzie a spinster her whole life to avoid it.

  Chapter 28

  “I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it was that easy,” Liam said, pouring a spot of whiskey. “You were so worried, and I thought there was a chance I was going to have to come over there and tell them myself.”

  He handed me the glass, and I sniffed it, nearly keeling over at the biting smell. I hated the smell of whiskey, always had, but being from Cork had sealed my fate years ago. Any celebrating there was to be done began and ended with whiskey.

  “To the most beaut
iful girl in all of Fall River—to Bridget!” Liam shouted, raising his glass high above his head. He drank it and slammed the glass back down on the table, tossing me a sloppy, carefree smile. Watching him like this—celebrating and worry-free—made me wonder how long he’d been waiting for me to leave. How many nights he’d hovered on Second Street long after he dropped me off, and how many times he’d warred with himself over me working there.

  “I wouldn’t say it was easy. I’ve not told Mr. Borden yet.”

  “Why not?” Liam asked as he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Haven’t you got to give him some time to replace you?”

  I nodded. I should have told him, but Mrs. Borden seemed so insistent that I keep it to myself. Besides, the only time I would have been able to bring it up it just didn’t feel right, not when Mr. Borden was so upset about Lizzie. He’d spoken more to me in those ten minutes than he had the entire time I’d worked there, and it shocked me. Hearing him confess about the pigeons and apologize for saddling me with Lizzie took the wind out of me, made me completely forget about my new post.

  “Thompsons, eh?” Seamus downed another shot and pulled Minnie close. “Sounds right fancy to me.” He made his way down her neck, kissing and nipping like they were the only two in the room. Minnie laughed loudly, hiccupping as he stopped at her neckline.

  I snuck a glance at Liam, his bright blue eyes and strong hands reminding me of our future—our plan to eventually get out of Fall River and get married. It couldn’t come fast enough. Leaning into him, I smiled as he dropped a kiss to the top of my head.

  “I’ll stay on at the Borden house a couple more weeks. Mrs. Borden needs me and with Lizzie gone . . . well, things seem calmer, quieter,” I said.

  “For what?” Liam asked, pulling me in for another quick peck. He grinned when I kissed him back, a broad smile that reached his eyes. “Can’t she just get a replacement now? Let you spend the rest of your summer in a house that’s not so damn bleak?”