CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

Theresa and I share a stunned look. Then we follow him.

Lord Edmund is already ten yards ahead of us, and he rapidly increases that distance. He cries out Cordelia’s name as he runs, and it’s the first time I’ve heard him show fear. Whatever else he might be, he truly loves her.

And what might he be? Up until a few minutes ago, I thought I knew, but now…

The evidence is there. Logically speaking, he must be the murderer. No one else has access to this place and no one else had a motive for the deaths of Lady Evelyn and Lady Alivia. Lord Edmund might dismiss the financial relief from their deaths as a pittance, but to a dying man in the desert, even a drop of water is worth killing for. As for Sarah? Well, she didn’t have money, but she had youth, and she was pretty enough. Not statuesque like Lady Cordelia, but the wealthy often feel they can have their cake and eat it too. It’s clear that no one is looking too hard for justice for poor Sarah, so if it wasn’t for us, Lord Edmund would have gotten away with her murder.

But his emotion was genuine, and Lady Cordelia shared a similar story about Lady Alivia’s drug addiction. Oliver’s birth defects are severe, and drug use during pregnancy could explain that. As for Lady Evelyn, it’s not illogical to believe that she was as fragile as Lady Cordelia. Lord Edmund’s story makes sense too.

But do I believe him? Can I believe him when so much hard evidence suggests that he is our killer?

I put those thoughts aside when I hear another cry. “They won’t leave me alone! They won’t leave me alone, Edmund, they won’t leave me alone!”

Theresa and I reach the top of the staircase. We are gasping for breath, but physical exhaustion is the least of our worries right now.

The library window is thrown open again. Standing outside of it on the stone ledge beyond is Lady Cordelia. She is barefoot and wears nothing but a cotton nightgown that is soaked through. Lord Edmund stands inside the window, his hand outstretched to her.

Two others are in the room. Dr. Thornton wears his own nightclothes and stands on the other side of the window, though a few feet back, out of the way of the rain.

The second person is Inspector Hargreaves. He has his gun drawn, aimed at Lord Edmund. He gives me a sober look and nods. I remember the pictures and realize that my phone must have sent them. Perhaps signal was briefly established when we stood on the platform exposed to open air.

Lady Cordelia presses her hands to her temples and shakes her head. She paces back and forth on the stone ledge, nearly falling off. Theresa cries out and drops to her knees, hands clasped in front of her. I might react the same way if fear hadn’t rendered me immobile.

I’ve never seen someone die. This fact hits me like one of the bolts of lightning that strike outside. I’ve seen dead people before. Some time ago in Switzerland, I saw the aftermath of my employer’s gunshot murder. The scene was gruesome, but I didn’t see him actively die. I don’t know how I’ll react if I see Lady Cordelia fall to her death in front of me.

“They won’t let me go,” she sobs. “I hear them all the time shouting at me, crying for me, begging me to join them, compelling me.”

“Lady Cordelia, please,” Dr. Thornton says. “Think about what you’re doing. Oliver needs you. He’s ill right now. He’s alone in a hospital, and when he awakes, he will be frightened. If he sees you there with him, he’ll know he’s safe. He’ll know he’s okay. But he needs to see you. You’re his mother now.”

“His mother just told me to jump.” Lady Cordelia laughs. The sound is mad, like the cackling of a hyena. “Did you hear that? She just told me to jump. Headfirst.” She giggles again, and that giggle devolves into a wail of pain.

“Lady Cordelia,” Inspector Hargreaves calls. “You can’t jump. Lord Edmund is wanted for murder. He’ll be taken to jail now. Oliver will have no one but you, and like Dr. Thornton says, he will need you. You have to come back inside.”

Lord Edmund frowns darkly at him. I confess I'm not pleased with Inspector Hargreaves's choice of argument either. Could he not have refrained from mentioning Lord Edmund's arrest until after we've assured ourselves of Lady Cordelia's safety?

Lord Edmund snatches for Lady Cordelia, but she shrieks and claws at his arm. Rivulets of blood well where her nails dig into his skin. “Don’t touch me !” she cries out. “ Don’t fucking touch me !”

She moans and looks out at the storm. She is shivering badly, and I don’t know if it’s the cold or her fear that causes it. “I can hear them all the time. They’re telling me to join them. They say they’ll hurt Oliver if I don’t. They say they’ll hurt Edmund. They’ll hurt me. I need to go. I can’t listen to them forever; it’ll drive me mad.”

This ends in an anguished moan that echoes throughout the room. She sounds already like a ghost.

“We can get you help, Lady Cordelia,” Dr. Thornton tries again. “We can help you stop hearing the voices. We have doctors who specialize in treating such nervous afflictions. They can—”

“This is not a nervous affliction, doctor,” she sneers, glaring at him with disgust. “I see them! I hear them! They’re out there!”

“They are not,” Dr. Thornton replies. “What you are hearing is not real.”

“Yes, it is,” she insists.

“It isn’t.”

“It is!”

“Please, my lady,” Theresa cries. “Come back inside. I’ll make us some tea and some warm broth. I’ll bring you warm clothes and a blanket and put something nice on the telly for you. We’ll relax and get some good rest, and in the morning, it’ll all be better.”

Theresa’s argument is the simplest so far and arguably the most practical. Perhaps this is why Lady Cordelia seems to actually consider it. She stops for a moment and tilts her head. Her lips move, but she doesn’t speak aloud.

Lord Edmund makes a grab for her again. Lady Cordelia shrieks, her face screwed up in rage. She grabs his wrist and kicks hard, planting the balls of her foot into his nose. Even over the storm, I hear the snap as the bone breaks. Lord Edmund cries out and stumbles backwards.

“You never loved her!” Cordelia cries. “You only loved the way she did whatever you wanted! All you had to do was ask, and she’d give you anything you desired. She’s smile and moan and tell you she liked it even when her soul was rotting away!”

Lord Edmund takes a step back, staring at her with shock.

“And you never loved Alivia either. Even before she found the drugs. She was never smart enough, never prudent enough, never enough of a lady. She shamed the family, and when she needed you, all she got from you was disgust and hate!”

Her lips trembled. “And you never loved me. Just like Evelyn, I’m nothing more to you but a beauty who’s willing to let you use that beauty.”

“That’s not true, Cordelia,” Lord Edmund insists. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. Even Evelyn. You are all I’ve ever wanted, and I will spend the rest of my life proving it to you. Please, come inside.”

Cordelia laughs. She looks down at him and shakes her head. “You never listen to me. You never believe me. I’ve told you for days now that I can hear them, and all you’ve given me is judgment. ‘Stop being silly, Cordelia.’ ‘Stop being daft, Cordelia.’ ‘Cordelia, stop whining about ghosts and be a good little wife for me.’”

“I’m sorry,” Lord Edmund says, “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. You’re right. I should have listened to you. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. Come inside, and we’ll talk. Tell me what you need, and I’ll make sure you have it.”

Cordelia slumps. Her chest heaves, her breathing growing more rapid as another panic takes hold of her. “I need them to shut up! I need them to go away!” She runs to the end of the ledge, and we all cry out, but she stops, inches from the precipice, and screams into the storm, “Go away! Go away! Go…”

She drops to her knees, the movement shockingly graceful. “Go away.”

She buries her face in her hands and weeps, moaning and sobbing in an anguish that pours from the depths of her soul.

I can understand that anguish. It mirrors the anguish I saw in my dream, the memory of me as I was thirty years ago, weeping in front of Dr. Bradbury in the psychiatric hospital.

I approach the window, stopping short of Lord Edmund so he’ll have room to reach for her again if he gets the chance. “My lady, I see them too. I see the ghosts.”

All eyes in the room turn to me. Lady Cordelia lifts her head slowly and regards me as well.

“My sister’s ghost has haunted me for thirty years,” I tell her. “It’s as I said before. Her memory haunts me, as the memories of Lady Evelyn and Lady Alivia haunt you. But please listen to me. They are only memories. They aren’t real. They’re caused by our own guilt. That guilt is powerful, and it conjures images and words that convince us that we deserve to suffer, even that we deserve to die.

“You do not deserve to die, Lady Cordelia. You do not deserve to die for what happened to Lady Evelyn. Or for what happened to Lady Alivia, or to Sarah. That was not your fault. You are innocent, and those ghosts that demand your blood don’t deserve it.

“It’s hard. I know it is. My sister’s ghost still haunts me. To this day, I endure the self-accusation that tells me I am deserving of nothing more than suffering. But I ignore it because I know in my heart that I am a good person, and I deserve to be happy. You may hear the ghosts. They may demand that you join them. Tell them the same thing I tell my own ghosts. Tell them no.”

I extend my hand toward her. “Come inside, Lady Cordelia. Your family—your living family—needs you.”

She looks at me for a long moment. The others and I wait with bated breath. Finally, she stands and walks toward me. She places her hand in mine, and I lead her forward.

Cheers call from behind me, but she stops just before entering. I try to pull her, but she remains where she is. Her strength is shocking, and I can’t move her at all.

She smiles down at me, the tenderness in her eyes an odd and disturbing contrast to the strength of her grip. “I saw your sister too,” she tells me. “I saw Annie.”

A chill shoots through me. I’ve never mentioned my sister to her. How does she know her name?

You’re next, Mary.

“That’s not what she said.”

I stiffen. “What?”

“That’s not what she said. And that’s not what you said.”

I see myself sitting in front of Dr. Bradbury again, telling him of my nightmare. He asks me about the dream, and I reply, but the memory is fuzzy now. My vision is equally fuzzy. Reflexively, I try to pull my hand away from her, but she holds it like a vise.

“She wanted me to tell you that,” Lady Cordelia says. “Before I go.”

She releases my hand. Lord Edmund cries out, “No! Cordelia!”

He lunges for her, but it’s already too late. I see a look of peace cross her face. Her dress billows around her as she falls backward.

Then she is gone.