Sweet Madness

by Trisha Leaver

  “See to it that you find me when Lizzie returns.” He finished placing the items back in Lizzie’s bag, apparently content in what he’d found, or more accurately, not found. He closed the bag and took care to place it in the exact same spot it had been sitting in before, even adjusted the angle of the desk chair until it was just right.

  I nodded, quite aware he couldn’t see me as he headed down the front stairs. I had no intention of being here when Lizzie came home. If Lizzie found out that I’d spoken to her father, there would be hell to pay. And I had no intention of being here when she realized someone had taken money from her, either. Mr. Borden had left her barely enough for a piece of candy, never mind enough for another train ticket out of Fall River. I’d reckoned she wouldn’t be happy to discover she was even more trapped now than she had been before.

  Chapter 31

  The Smiths owned the largest pharmacy in Fall River. Every son had some stake in the business, each of their wives always hovering about, trying to catch wind of what little bits of misfortune they could. They’d spread the gossip around—hushed whispers after Sunday services, secretive conversations over tea—always denying their involvement in any such conduct whenever asked. Mr. Borden had warned me to keep my mouth shut in there. His family was no stranger to the Smiths’ gossip-addled minds, and I doubted he wanted me adding to his troubles.

  The bell above the door jingled as I walked in, alerting every wandering eye to my arrival. Usually, I went to Gallagher’s pharmacy on the Hill, but after Lizzie’s outburst there a few weeks back, I thought it best to come here instead.

  I kept my head down and made my way to the counter, ignoring the group of youngsters sitting at the soda fountain. It was Saturday, and they were all gathered around the counter, marbles in hand, as they sucked down what would’ve cost a day’s pay back home. Soon they’d be out front, crowding the sidewalk as they played.

  I saw Eli Bence in the back corner, restocking one of the shelves. I’d always liked him, appreciated his honesty and kind face. Despite the fact that I rarely came into the store when I wasn’t rushed or weary from running errands, the clerk always had a smile for me, always called me by my rightful name. It was folks like him who made living in Fall River bearable, almost pleasant.

  Eli smiled when his eyes met mine and he waved me over. “Mornin’, Bridget, what brings you in here today?”

  I need a bottle of Mrs. Pinkham’s vegetable oil,” I whispered, hoping nobody but Eli heard me. It wasn’t for me, it was for Mrs. Borden and the hot flashes she said interrupted her sleep, but I blushed nonetheless.

  He took it down off the shelf and wrapped it in paper before placing it in a bag. “Anything else?”

  I shook my head. There was a bottle of Crab Apple Blossom perfume sitting on the glass counter that I knew Liam would like, but I did not have the money to waste. “A bottle of peppermint oil,” I said, hoping that would work just as well.

  “How’s your brother Peter doing?” I asked as I counted out my coins. Liam hadn’t mentioned him since the night of the prayer vigil, and I’d forgotten to ask about him.

  “He’s well. Liam was by to see him yesterday, said he’d continue to cover his shifts ’til the spell passed.”

  The spell he was talking about was scarlet fever, and I doubted it would simply just pass. Liam had fallen ill as a child back in Ireland, and thus was one of Peter’s few visitors. Liam had gotten better, gone on with his life like the fever never happened, but for every boy like him, there were three others who died. The extra shifts were a blessing more than a favor, a way for us to move up our plans for building our own home and bringing Cara to the States.

  “I’ll keep him in my prayers,” I said as I looped my drawstring bag around my wrist and picked up my purchases. I still had to pick up the thread for Mrs. Borden’s mending so I didn’t have much time to chat. Plus, Eli had an odd look on his face, almost like he pitied me for some reason. I didn’t like people looking at me like that, not even Liam’s friends.

  “Bridget,” he called after me as I turned to leave. He’d tossed his apron down on the counter and gave a knowing nod to one of the other sales clerks before making his way towards me. “Walk with me for a bit.”

  “I can’t,” I said and looked around. The respectable people of Fall River may not have known I was spoken for, but three other maids I could see just outside did. The last thing I wanted was word getting back to Liam that I’d been flirting with someone else. Plus, Eli was married, had been for a few years.

  Eli smiled, took me by the elbow, sat me down at the far end of the soda fountain, and handed me a tonic. He shook his head when I went for my coin purse, and nudged the glass in my direction, waiting for me to take a sip.

  “Lizzie was in here this morning,” he started in, and I nearly coughed up what little I had managed to swallow. When she’d left today, she headed for the barn. I’d presumed that’s where she still was, tinkering with her fishing line or checking the weight of her sinkers.

  “It was early,” Eli said, seeing my confusion. “I’d yet to unlock the door. She was waiting for me when I arrived.”

  I quickly ran through the times in my head. It was six-thirty when I came down to start the morning meal. I knew for a fact that Eli was an earlier riser, used to arrive for work before dawn some days to count inventory and study the books. He was trying to pick up what he could about the business in the hopes of opening his own pharmacy one day. So if she was waiting on the steps like he said, then she’d headed here directly after I’d spoken with her in the kitchen.

  “What did she want?” I asked.

  I was there when Mr. Borden went through her bag this morning, every pocket, every seam of every dress. He’d found nothing, not so much as a wad of lint. That meant whatever she’d sought to purchase, she still had with her, hidden from me and her father.

  “Prussic acid.”

  His whispered words carried with them an unsettling weight that left me gasping for breath. I recalled Mrs. Borden’s hands trembling as she held that bottle, the one she said Mr. Borden had found hidden beneath the sack of pigeon feed in the barn.

  “I didn’t sell it to her,” Eli quickly added as he reached out to steady my quivering hand. “I can’t sell it without a prescription, and she didn’t have one.”

  It took me a few long seconds to collect my thoughts, to steady my breath and still my mind enough to speak. “Did she argue?” I asked. “Did she get angry when you refused?”

  “She did get angry. She claimed she’d bought it here before and they never questioned her about a prescription before. But I know Mr. Smith; he would never allow anybody in his employment to sell Prussic Acid without a prescription.” Eli’s eyes trailing to the wooden file cabinet I could see in the back room. “I checked after she left,” Eli continued. “Mr. Smith’s records go back over ten years, Bridget, and I see to their organization myself every Friday eve. There is not one prescription in there for her. Never has been.”

  That didn’t mean she hadn’t bought it before. According to Mrs. Borden, she’d kept it hidden in the barn and used it on the last maid.

  “What did she say she wanted it for?” I asked, quite sure it didn’t matter. Whatever excuse Lizzie had fed him was most certainly a lie.

  “A seal coat,” Eli replied. “She said she needed it to clean a seal coat.”

  Eli adjusted the collar of his shirt, his face taking on that look again—the sad one that told me he’d seen through Lizzie straightaway this morning. Eli Bence knew exactly what I was dealing with, and rather than gossiping, he was quietly telling me. Warning me.

  I got up from the seat with nothing more than a nod of appreciation in his direction. I knew why he was telling me this, knew that whatever gossip he’d heard about Lizzie Borden, had him fearing for my well being. I also knew that Lizzie had no intention of cleaning a seal coat; she didn’t even own one. I had a year’s worth of seeing to her wardrobe to confirm that.

  Chapt
er 32

  I couldn’t bring myself to worry about the thread or the mending waiting for me at home after talking with Eli Bence. I couldn’t do much more than stand on Second Street and stare at the house as I listened to my heart pounding away in my chest.

  It was mad. The whole thing was absolutely mad. No longer could I separate the Lizzie I thought I knew from the one who could have done this. There were too many things that didn’t add up, too many moments when she was more of a stranger than a friend.

  My mind drew in on itself as I thought about the previous maids. I wondered exactly how many had lived in that small attic space. How many poor, desperate women had attempted to navigate Lizzie and the darkness that constantly threatened to overtake her?

  Setting my bag down on the small stoop outside the front door, I began digging for my keys. Before I’d even located them, I heard the locks shifting, the familiar sound of their metal sliding open.

  “Bridget? What are you doing just standing out there?” Mrs. Borden pulled the door open, her eyes scanning the street behind me as she gestured me in.

  “I was looking for my keys.” I shifted in the doorway so I could see just beyond her into the darkened sitting room. “Is everything all right?”

  “Yes. Of course. Come in.”

  She shut the door behind me, immediately setting about the arduous task of locking and double-checking each deadbolt. Her eyes darkened as she retreated into the sitting room. It was then that I saw him, Andrew Borden, sitting in the corner. His suit coat was wrinkled, his face drawn into a tight look of concern. My eyes widened as I took in the woman sitting next to him. Lizzie’s best friend, Alice Russell. According to Lizzie, Alice hated Andrew Borden nearly as much as she. So why on earth was she here?

  Mrs. Borden took my bag and pulled out the bottles, staring at their labels. “Why Smith’s?” she asked. “We’ve instructed you to use Gallagher’s.”

  “There was an incident there a short time back. With Lizzie. I thought it would be . . . ,” I paused, trying hard to find the right word to explain my decision, “easier than dealing with Mr. Gallagher’s stock boys.”

  She nodded as if she was aware of the incident. Of course she was. The whole town probably was.

  Mr. Borden shifted in his chair, his gaze piercing and intense. “Lizzie has yet to come back today. Have you seen her?” His voice was hoarse, raspy as if he’d been shouting. Trouble with that theory, was that he hadn’t, at least not that I’d heard. And with walls as paper thin as the ones in this house, I heard everything.

  I took another quick scan of his face, noting the redness in his eyes and the shadows of exhaustion just beneath them. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’d been crying.

  “No, sir. Not since this morning when I got up.”

  “And she didn’t mention why she was home or where she was going at that time?” he shot back, his worry evident in the unusual slump of his frame. As a businessman, Mr. Borden prided himself on appearing confident. It was rare to see him like this—tired and unsure.

  “No. She left without saying anything to me.” I paused as Mrs. Borden slid the curtain open a crack and looked out. “She was headed for the barn. I’d presumed that she was still there when I left.”

  “She’s not.” He sighed, got up, and walked the few steps to where his wife stood. It was one of the few times I’d seen them this close; they looked like husband and wife as opposed to strangers housed under the same roof. He laid a hand on hers and nodded at Alice. “Lizzie’s apparently in the midst of one of her fits again.”

  Alice’s eyes met mine for a moment before flickering downward. Now that I got a closer look at her, I saw it—the exhaustion, the fear, the complete and utter confusion that came with being Lizzie’s friend. I knew that look because I’d worn it myself, countless times.

  “Lizzie came to me today,” Alice whispered. “She was ranting, crazed. She said bad things were happening in this house. That she was afraid something was going to . . . ”

  I sucked in a breath of hot air, wishing the temperature in the room would drop enough for me to breathe easier. “Going to what?” I asked, confused as to why this, out of all of Lizzie’s ramblings, would force Alice here, to speak directly with Mr. Borden himself. “And what kinds of bad things?”

  My eyes darted between Alice and the Bordens. Mr. Borden just stood there stone-faced, as if Alice’s fevered ramblings were nothing more than an annoyance. Mrs. Borden was trying hard to look unaffected, but I knew she was concerned. She kept straightening the front of her dress, her fingers grazing over the aging fabric repeatedly until it was smooth.

  “That things were changing,” Mrs. Borden mumbled under her breath.

  Mr. Borden caught her whispered words and turned to her, his stoic mask cracking for a second as a flash of fury darkened his eyes. With nothing more than a blink, he shook it off and returned his attention to Alice. “Go on,” he prompted.

  “She was talking nonsense when she first arrived, was completely hysterical,” Alice started, and I reached out my hand to steady her. She had begun swaying with her words, the color draining from her face as she replayed Lizzie’s visit in her mind. “I wasn’t sure what to say or what to do, so I just sat her down, gave her a glass of water, and waited until her nerves had calmed enough for her to talk with some sense.”

  Alice lifted her eyes from the rug, fixing her gaze on Mr. Borden. Tears stained her lashes, and her words came out in nothing more than a whispered hush. “Lizzie’s never happy, surely you know that, sir.”

  “Lizzie’s happiness is none of your concern, Alice,” Mr. Borden replied.

  Ignoring her husband’s hand on her wrist, Mrs. Borden stepped forward, her voice going soft, pleading. “Tell us what she said, Alice.”

  I thought about Eli Bence’s concerned expression and the way he’d taken me aside in the store. Either he was wrong . . . either everyone in this entire godforsaken town was wrong about her, or Lizzie was truly going mad.

  “She was going on about problems you were having with some of your tenants. She said that you had kicked them out because they were using your property for unseemly purposes. That she was—”

  “My business dealing are not—”

  I don’t know whether Alice meant to cut him off or if she was so caught up in her own fear that she didn’t hear his interrupted warning, because she continued without pause. “Lizzie said they broke into this house in broad daylight, while she and Emma and Mrs. Borden were home. That they were so angry with you that they went after her pigeons.”

  I stepped back at those words. Lizzie knew fair well who had slaughtered her pigeons, and it certainly wasn’t an aggrieved tenant.

  “She was rambling on about the house burning down around her, then she said she feared someone would hurt you, Mr. Borden.”

  “Did she say who?” Mr. Borden asked.

  I searched his eyes for an inkling of fear, fear I wouldn’t have blamed him for harboring. Instead, I saw determination . . . something akin to intent.

  Alice shook her head and studied her shoes. “No, just that she feared your discourteous nature would bring you harm. Bring her harm.”

  Mr. Borden laughed, a full-blown chuckle that had us all backing away from him. “Nonsense,” he said. “Simply Lizzie’s paranoia influencing her thoughts again.”

  “I don’t think so,” Alice challenged. “She’s prattled on before, but never like this. She was frightened, sir. Deathly so.”

  Mr. Borden took a step forward and motioned Alice to the door. “Thank you for your concern,” he said formally. “I’ll look into it. I’ll have Mr. Morse ask around and see if there is any validity to her claims.”

  He opened the door and literally shooed her out. “And Alice,” he called after her. “You did right coming to me. It’s wise not to engage my daughter’s delusions. And please, for your own safety, don’t tell her we had this conversation.”

  Silenced by fear, Alice’s hand froze on the la
tch to the gate. I don’t know how long she stood there or when her composure broke. All I heard was the soft whimper of her tears as Mr. Borden slammed the door.

  Chapter 33

  I ran a fingertip over the worn headboard, every memory, every cramped and exhausting day I’d spent in this house rushing back to me. I hadn’t expected it to all come to an end like this. But here I was, trying to keep my mind from veering off into the darkness while preparing to clean a house that held more secrets than the priest at St. Patrick’s.

  On top of Alice’s words and the horrible, condemning thoughts that were swirling through my mind, I was sick. My stomach had been turning in on itself all day, and if I was right, Mrs. Borden was feeling ill too. Her face had been drawn into a tight knot last night after dinner, her hands repeatedly fluttering to her midsection as she swallowed back pain.

  I thought about Eli’s words and the prussic acid Lizzie had tried to purchase from him. About the bottle Mrs. Borden had locked away in the hutch in the parlor. About the unsettling calm hovering over this house.

  After the incident with Alice, Mr. Borden forbade any of us from leaving. That had meant no fresh oyster soup, rather leftover mutton stew. Sure, I’d left the mutton stew unattended; it took hours to simmer, and I had chores to complete. But she wouldn’t have . . . she couldn’t have. Lizzie would never poison me.

  A soft rap on my door drew my attention and I stood up, warily eyeing the handle. “Yes? Who’s there?”

  “John Morse.” His voice was loud, booming, and I backed myself into the window, half-contemplated jumping out. “Let me in, Bridget. I know you’re sick. Please.”

  It was the “please” that did me in, and I crossed the room, quietly unlocked my door, and opened it a crack. Mr. Morse was standing in the hallway, looking rumpled and tired. “Do you need something, sir?”

  John pulled the hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair. “I need to speak with you. May I come in for a moment?”