CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

I sip my tea, but I don’t taste it. It’s still too hot, and I know it sears my tongue, but I don’t feel it. I set it down, and a little of it splashes onto my fingers. They are scalded, but I don't feel that either.

Theresa and I sit in the parlor on one of the three large sofas. There’s a tea service on the coffee table in front of us, made by Franny and Matilda before they went home. They somehow managed to sleep through everything that happened, so Inspector Hargreaves has no use for them, and with Lord Edmund already on his way to jail for the murder of those women, there’s no need for them to stay.

I keep replaying Lady Cordelia’s words to me before she jumped. She said my sister’s name. How could she have known that? I know that I never told her my sister’s name. I never even told her that I had a sister. How could she know who Annie was? And how could she know about the dream I had of being in the hospital? How could she know about the dream of her ghost telling me that I was next?

But she knew. Somehow, she knew.

And somehow, that isn’t what disturbs me the most. What disturbs me the most is what she told me Annie said to her.

That’s not what she said. That’s not what you said either.

I was so certain that I had unlocked a memory, so certain that I had found a little more closure to the mystery that has plagued me for decades, the ghost that—like the ghosts who plagued Lady Cordelia—just won’t leave me alone.

Now, I am left wondering again. What did I say? What did Annie's ghost say to me?

I sip my tea, and once more, I don’t feel or taste anything. I feel guilty that I’m having these thoughts now. I should be focused on my concern for Lady Cordelia. By some miracle, she’s survived, but Dr. Thornton told us that based on his initial examination while waiting for the paramedics, it’s unlikely that she’ll survive the day. If she does, it’s unlikely that much of her will survive. In his own words, “She might be able to make some noises and drink her meals through a straw, but there won’t be anything of Lady Cordelia left. Just a corpse that hasn’t realized it yet.”

Not the kindest way to describe it, but I can forgive him for his rudeness. He doesn’t mean it to be unkind, and he has enough presence of mind not to deliver it that way to Lord Edmund. He’s simply shaken by what he’s witnessed. We all are.

“Bugger this,” Theresa says. She sniffs and says, “Pardon me language, but this is all such shit. She was a lovely woman who didn’t deserve what happened to her. None of them did.”

Strange voices carry to us from the stairs. A moment later, two crime scene investigators in white lab coats pass us. They’re discussing the upcoming Manchester City match, interspersed with comments about girls they’ve dated and girls they hope to date. When they see us, they clam up and offer us nervous nods.

“Seems disrespectful,” Theresa observes. “I know it’s just their job and they can’t be emotional about it, but they could save their talks about football and fillies for after they’ve finished looking through the scene of a murder.”

I don’t reply. I think to myself that if one is to survive in a job like that, one must be able to separate themselves from the tragedy of the situation, but I don’t say it out loud. I am too numb to speak right now.

“Thank you for trying,” Theresa says.

My brow furrows. Confusion manages to break through my shock. “For trying what?”

“To save her. To pull her back inside. I saw you try to yank her in, but she had a demon in her. My mum used to say that when a person really wants to die, Lucifer plants a demon in them that gives them strength to find their death no matter what anyone does." She sniffs. "Cordelia had that demon, and there was no saving her.”

Her lips tremble, and she hangs her head forward, tears streaming from her eyes. “And me, I didn’t know what to do. I offered her tea and soup and the telly because that’s all I knew. That’s how my mum took care of us when we were sick. I just…" she chuckles through her tears. "I just grabbed at the only rope I could see. What a fool I was. Offering blankets to a woman gone mad."

“You did your best,” I assure her. “As you said, she had a demon in her. There was nothing we could do.”

She sighed. “Least we got Lord Edmund, right? He won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.”

I pause a moment. I still have doubts that we were right after all. The evidence is there, but his reaction was not at all what I expected it to be. And he could have easily killed both of us if he wanted to. I don’t believe we frightened him with our warning that people would suspect him.

I don’t have the energy to dwell on this right now, though. “No. He won’t hurt anyone.”

We hear more footsteps, and a moment later, Inspector Hargreaves walks into the parlor. He smiles wanly. “Mind if I join you?”

We shake our head, and Theresa heads to the kitchen for another cup.

“Oh, don’t trouble yourself,” he says. “I can get it.”

“Sit down,” Theresa commands. “I can still serve tea even if that’s all I’m useful for now.”

Hargreaves lowers his head. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you be mopey,” Theresa warns as she enters the kitchen. “Can’t handle everyone being down right now.”

The door closes behind her, and Hargreaves sighs and looks at me. “Well, we caught our killer.”

I frown. “Do you believe so? I’m no longer sure.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why’s that?”

“He could have killed us,” I tell him. “But he didn’t. And he seemed genuinely surprised when we accused him.”

"He did it," Hargreaves says firmly. "The evidence all adds up. No one else could have accessed that room or even known about it. He's got a motive for the other women. He needed Lady Evelyn's and Lady Alivia's money. Franny and Matilda told me that he’d had his eye on Sarah ever since she arrived.”

That fits with my earlier speculation, but…

“Why didn’t he kill us, though?”

The door to the kitchen opens, and Theresa returns with the extra cup. She serves Hargreaves tea and takes her seat again. She frowns at me. “What’s wrong, Mary? You look upset. I mean… more upset.”

“I just don’t know why Lord Edmund didn’t kill the two of us. He could have. You saw how easily he overpowered both of us. He could have thrown us both down into the ocean.”

“And how would he get away with that?” she challenges.

“The same way he got away with it before,” Hargreaves replies. “The evidence has been stacked against him for a while.”

“Exactly my point,” I insist. “It’s the one thing that doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, you said you had a friend. A private investigator, remember? He might have been afraid that he couldn’t get to your friend the way he could get to other people.”

Hargreaves frowns at me. “What’s this about a private investigator?”

Heat climbs my cheeks. “I… I’ve been doing my own investigation into Sarah’s death. I have a friend in Boston who’s a private investigator. I hired him to look into possible motives for her death. I sent him pictures of the chamber.”

That reminds me. I need to call Sean. He needs to know everything that’s happened.

Hargreaves sighs. “I really wish you had told me about that first, Mary. Scotland Yard takes a dim view of private investigators. It’s not my opinion, you understand, just Yard policy. We’ll have to be careful that it doesn’t come out that you were spying on Lord Edmund. Even if he’s convicted, you could still be charged.” He sips his tea. “That being said, if your friend uncovered any evidence, we would like to have it.”

“I’ll make sure you get it.”

“All the same,” Theresa interjects, “I think that’s why he didn’t kill us.”

“Yes,” Hargreaves agrees. “If your friend is based in Boston, then he’s out of Lord Edmund’s reach. He would discover that something happened to you and come forward with his evidence.”

I nod. “Right. I can see why Lord Edmund would want to avoid that. Still… if he leaves us alive, then we come forward with the evidence.”

“I’m sure he had a plan to silence both of you and make himself look innocent,” Hargreaves says, “but Lady Cordelia’s outburst caught his attention first.”

We fall silent a moment, thinking of poor Lady Cordelia. Hargreaves sighs, and I'm surprised to find tears in his eyes. He pulls out a cigarette, glances at Theresa and puts it back.

“Might as well smoke it,” Theresa says. “No lord or lady here to tell you otherwise, and I don’t care much either way right now.”

He nods thanks and pulls the cigarette out. After he lights it, he says, “This was supposed to be a celebration. Justice for my sister.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Your sister?”

“My sister,” he confirms. “Evelyn Hargreaves. The late Countess Blackwood.” He says that last with venom. “I told her not to marry him. I knew he was no good.”

“So Lady Evelyn was your sister,” Theresa says softly. “I didn’t know that.”

“She was. I never mentioned it because…” His lower lip trembles. “Well… I disowned her after she married Edmund. I hated the prick. I still hate him. I didn’t know that he was a murderer, but he always fancied himself better than everyone just because his ancestors had favor with old kings who did something of value hundreds of years ago.” He shook his head. “I never imagined he’d hurt her, though. God, I feel like such a fool. I could have helped her. I could have saved her life.”

I think of Theresa’s words about the demon in Lady Cordelia and our futile attempts at rescuing her. I’m not sure there was anything Hargreaves could have done for Lady Evelyn.

He sniffs and stands. “Well, I have to get back. Got paperwork to file, you know. Mary, if you can send your evidence as soon as you think of it, that would be appreciated. Miss Theresa… I’m sorry. You’ve been caught in the middle of all of this. Both of you have.”

She shrugs. “Would’ve been in the middle anyway. Like the saying goes: The elephants fight; the grass gets trampled.”

“Quite so.” He smiles slightly. “But not anymore. Not by this elephant.”

He leaves the room leaving both of us to ponder the future of Blackwood Manor now that its lady is comatose, and its lord is jailed. I suppose that future lies with Oliver now. What a cruel fate for a young, sickly child.

But then, fate's wheel turns with no regard for the people ground under it. I suppose, in that way, Oliver is no worse off than many of us.

Besides, he won’t be alone. There are still people alive and well who care for him. The sky is dark now, but the sun will rise on House Blackwood again.