CHAPTER TWENTY

The family returns an hour later, just as I return inside from my lunch. Elizabeth swoops me into her arms and says, "Oh, thank you, Mary. I'm so sorry to do that to you. I promise I'll make it up to you."

"She definitely deserves a bonus after putting up with that windbag," Christopher remarks. "How long did he stick around talking your ear off?"

"Oh, not long," I reply. "He had another engagement."

"I'm sure you learned plenty about columns and balustrades and Greek Revival versus Romanesque versus the hair on his ass," James grouches.

"Oh, James, enough," Elizabeth says. "Mary's dealt with enough today without having to hear your foul mouth."

You don't know the half of it , I think to myself. "It was no trouble, really. I taught middle school for a year once. Believe me, there is no man on Earth as annoying as two dozen thirteen-year-olds."

Annabelle laughs. "Was it the girls or the boys who were more annoying?"

"Yes."

They all laugh at that. "Still," Elizabeth says. "I think I will pay you that bonus. God knows I would have to be paid to listen to George Baumann quack."

"Oh, please, ma'am," I protest. "There's no need for that."

"It's done!" Elizabeth says breezily. "James, take care of it for me."

"Of course, my love."

I smile. "Thank you."

"Thank you ," Elizabeth insists. "You have truly saved our lives." She beams and says, "Would you like to join us? We're going for a picnic on Hutchinson Island across the river."

"Actually," Annabelle says. "I was hoping I could steal Mary for the afternoon. I'm not feeling very well, so I think I'd like to stay home."

Elizabeth's expression changes instantly to one of concern. "Oh no, Annabelle! Are you all right? Is it your stomach?"

"It's nothing, Mom," she says. "I'm just a little queasy. I'll drink some tea and get some sun. I'll be okay. I'm sure Mary has some wonderful home remedies for nausea."

"Peppermint tea," I say, "It'll soothe her straightaway."

I feel a little nervous about being left alone with Annabelle, considering the temper I've seen, but most of the staff is here at this time of the day, and I don't think she could dispatch me before I could scream for help. Anyway, now that George has presented himself as a threat to the family, I begin to wonder if the Greenwoods might be innocent after all. If nothing else, Annabelle may be willing to share more about the feud that seems to exist between George and the family.

"Well, if you insist, dear," Elizabeth relents. "But I expect you to rest. No traipsing about the gardens."

"Oh dear Mother, how will I ever resist," Annabelle asks drily.

"I think Mom forgets that children grow up," Christopher jibes.

"I'm only trying to take care of you," Elizabeth says, wounded.

"I'll keep an eye on her, ma'am," I say. I fix Annabelle with a playfully stern look and say, "There will be no frolicking or roughhousing on my watch.

Annabelle giggles and smiles gratefully at me. "Yes, ma'am."

"Well, I'm glad to know you respect someone ," Elizabeth says, not quite playfully.

Annabelle tenses a little but maintains her smile. "Everyone but you."

"What's all the noise down here?" Violet calls.

I turn to see her descending the staircase. She stops when she sees me, and her eyes narrow. "Why are you still here? Isn't Leah back already?"

"Leah's back, Mom, but Mary is still employed," Elizabeth explains tiredly. "She's another staff member, she wasn't covering for Leah."

"Hmm… I don't trust her."

"Mom!"

"She was snooping through your things."

"I'm sure that wasn't what she was doing," Elizabeth assures her mother.

"She was probably cleaning our room while Leah was away," James offers.

"Yes," Christopher confirms. "That's exactly what happened. Grandma walked in on her and thought she was snooping."

"You can never trust Irishwomen," Violet insists. Their paws are stickier than syrup."

"Mom, enough!" Elizabeth snaps. "Mary is English, and even if she were Irish, she's an honest woman. Christopher, will you take her to the car, please?"

Christopher hurries to Violet and escorts the protesting old woman away. Elizabeth sighs and presses her fingers to her temples. I can see her lips tremble, and I start to assure her that everything is all right, but James wraps his arm around her shoulders and says, "It's all right, dear. She's only having a moment." He looks at me and nods, and I take the hint and say, "Enjoy your outing, ma'am," before heading to the kitchen.

Annabelle follows me, and as soon as the door closes behind her parents, she sighs. "I'm sorry. Grandma's gotten really bad lately. She should be put in a home, but Mom won't do it. I guess I understand."

"It's very hard to watch loved ones suffer," I reply.

Her lips thin, and I recall our conversation on the balcony the other night that is almost precisely the same as this one. "Would it be horrible of me to say I wouldn't do the same thing?" she says. "For my mother, I mean?"

"No, it wouldn't," I say. "But perhaps we should have this conversation after you've drunk some peppermint tea."

"Oh, I was lying about that," she said. "My stomach, I mean. It's fine. I just…" she hangs her head and chuckles ruefully. "Actually, I wanted to apologize to you for what I said the other night. About Lila. I wanted to tell you that I didn't hate her. Now I'm telling you that I hate my own mother, so boy, I really am horrible, aren't I?"

Her lip trembles in an unconscious imitation of her mother earlier. I feel a rush of compassion for her. I know that seems odd. Only hours before, I believed she was conspiring with others to have Lila killed. If I'm being objective, I have to admit that it's still possible she's involved. She does have that letter from Lila hidden underneath her mattress, so she certainly knows more than she's letting on.

But I feel strongly now that she isn't a killer. She is only a young woman struggling with a grandmother who has dementia, a mother whose grasp on reality is tenuous herself, and a father whose expectations stifle her. That, on top of the secrets she undoubtedly holds regarding Lila, must be weighing heavily on her.

Perhaps I can relieve her of some of that burden.

"You're not horrible," I tell her. "And I don't think you hate your mother."

"I don't," she says, "I just… Both of them, Mom and Dad… Appearances matter more than anything. They want to be so much like English lords. Sorry, no offense."

"None taken," I reply sincerely. "I've had my fair share of problems with English lords."

She sniffs. "Right. Mom mentioned something about that. She said you handled yourself really well."

"How much did she tell you?"

"Not much. Just that one of your employers in England murdered someone too. Just like the Ashfords." She gives me a sympathetic look. "You poor woman. You've had bad luck with bosses, huh?"

"You could say that. I'm fortunate to be working for your family now."

Annabelle chuckles with more than a hint of bitterness. "I wish everyone could say that." Her smile fades. "Poor Lila. She didn't deserve what happened to her."

I stifle the surge of emotion that runs through me and try to keep my voice nonchalant. "What happened to her?"

Annabelle doesn't answer. She looks out the window and says, "I think I will take some tea after all."

I am no longer interested in waiting for tea to brew, but it won't do to press her, so I say, "Of course dear. Peppermint, or something else?"

"Something else. What do you like to drink?"

"I suppose I'm a stereotype for this," I say, "but I absolutely love a Darjeeling or an Earl Grey in the afternoon."

"Let's go with Earl Grey. Then we can experience an aristocrat who isn't a pompous asshole."

"Hear, hear!"

She giggles and heads upstairs to change while I make the tea. I sigh, a little exasperated at having to wait, but mostly excited at finally getting an answer to the mystery I've been trying to solve for weeks. I prepare the tea with cream and sugar on the side in a traditional service, and somewhat absurdly feel gratified that I can finally enjoy tea the way it's meant to be enjoyed.

I carry the service outside, and a moment later, Annabelle meets me. She's wearing a light green sundress that looks absolutely stunning on her. The man who finally wins her heart will be lucky indeed.

She sits across from me and sips her tea, free of cream or sugar. She closes her eyes and sighs as the warmth pervades her, and I remark, perhaps a little smugly, "That is the way tea was meant to be taken."

"I can see why you like it," she says. "It's like instant calm. Is this why you're so even-tempered all the time?"

If only that were true. "It certainly helps."

She takes another sip, then takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. "I didn't hate Lila."

My shock this time isn't as great as my shock the last time we spoke, but it's hard for me to understand Annabelle. More to the point, the abrupt switch between indifference to hatred and now back to… whatever she's feeling now… is too much for me to adjust to.

So, I don't respond, and after a moment, Annabelle continues.

"I treated her like I did, though. She was boring, but it was the schoolwork that was boring more than Lila. I hated being here away from my friends, and I hated feeling like some sort of cloistered princess. I hated my life, and I took it out on her." She looks at me. "Did I say this the last time?"

"Yes, or nearly that," I confirm. "And I believe I chose to defend your parents rather than sympathize with you. I'm sorry for that."

She waves my apology away. "Don't be sorry. I get that older people want what's best for us. I just wish my parents weren't so concerned with everyone else's opinion. I wonder sometimes if that's why Lila had a falling out with them."

My ears perk up. "Falling out?"

"Yeah. Lila was nosy. She always wanted to know about the family's business. It got worse when she kept asking about our past, especially Grandma's past."

"Oh," I say. "I'm sorry to hear that." I sip my tea and say, "I hope you don't think I'm nosy."

She shakes her head. "Not the same way she was nosy. You're curious, but that's fine. Mom and Dad don't mind when people are curious. Like the garden. Mom doesn't really share the garden with people, but she isn't going to get bent out of shape because you happened to wonder what it was. It's when people start asking about scandals and secrets and skeletons that it gets annoying. Mom and Dad figured out that she was asking me a bunch of questions about the family, and the next thing you know, she's gone."

I struggle to contain my reaction. "You don't say? Do you think she was fired?"

"Well, yeah," she replies. "Mom and Dad told me she just left, but she wouldn't just leave without saying goodbye. I don't think she liked me any more than I liked her, but she would have said goodbye just to be polite. She didn't, and she left in a hurry because her stuff was in your room, so whatever Mom and Dad said, it was bad enough that they wanted her gone now. "

"Do you have any idea what could have made them so angry?"

"No idea. But they were really angry. They wouldn't talk about her anymore. When I asked what happened, they just said she was gone and not to worry about it."

"Oh dear."

"Yeah. Don't worry, though. They like you."

"That's good to hear," I say and mean it.

"Yeah, you're all right. Like I said, you're curious, but you know when to stop. Lila never did." She sips more of her tea and says, "But enough about us. Tell me about yourself."

Judging caution to be the better part of valor, I allow the conversation to turn away from Lila. I share anecdotes of my teaching years with Annabelle but avoid talking about my childhood of my sister. I have my own secrets I'd rather not reveal.

I am convinced now that Annabelle is innocent. Her parents, however, are squarely in the middle of my radar once more.

I have to be careful, though. Lila made the mistake of showing her hand. If I am to find justice for her, I must keep mine close until the proper moment.

But I will find justice for her. Lila was only trying to do the same for Deirdre. She didn't deserve to have her life taken from her. Someone must pay for her death.

And I will be the one to ensure that they do.