10. Percival

10

Percival

D espite Wallace's instruction to stay put the night before, by the late afternoon, he'd said it was all right to return home so that I could begin to make funeral arrangements. Before I left, I spoke with Mrs. Mason about getting Mary's body back to the city so that I could bury her in her family's plot.

"We'll take care of everything," Mrs. Mason said.

"I can't thank you enough for your kindness. As horrific as this is, I can still appreciate everything you and your staff did to help Mary."

"It's very sad, no matter how you look at it."

"What do you think happened?" I asked. "Do you think it's possible an error was made by one of the staff? Perhaps a door left open on accident?"

"It's certainly possible." Mrs. Mason folded her hands on top of her desk and leaned forward slightly. "If it is, I'm absolutely devastated. On the other hand, it would be a better outcome than murder."

"Either way, she's gone."

"I know it's not been easy for you. You've been more loyal and dedicated than most husbands, I can assure you. It's too soon for you to think about the future, of course, but I hope that when it's time, you'll allow yourself to love again. Perhaps make a new life with someone else. Have another child. You did your duty, Dr. Bancroft. Kept your vows. Do not let guilt or regret keep you from a joyful life."

Touched by her words, I thanked her again and then, with a heavy heart to keep me company, headed to the train station.

When I arrived home, the apartment was quiet. The women were probably dressing for supper upstairs. Clara would be about to have her supper with her nanny. I'd not bathed or changed clothes for what felt like forever. Thankfully, Robert ran a bath for me and laid out a suit for the evening by the time I'd undressed.

I gratefully sank into the hot water and closed my eyes. I had to tell Clara about her mother. The mother she'd never met. God, how had my life ended up this way?

I had not let myself think about Stella or what this meant for us. It was too much—the guilt and grief all swirled around like a tornado in my head. Until they figured out who did this to Mary, I could hardly think about the future. Although, what if they never discovered the truth?

My thoughts zigzagged back to Sean Sullivan. Was Stella right that he had something to do with this? Had he become nervous, Mary would somehow come to her right mind and tell the police what she'd witnessed the night of her father's murder. But even if she had, which was incredibly unlikely given her mental state, it still couldn't be pinned on him. He'd had a professional killer perform the ugly act. Unless the police had put together all the crumbs and clues of Sean Sullivan's criminal activity because of Mary's death?

I thought about Mary. The young woman I'd met and fallen in love with over seven years ago now. At times, I daydreamed about what my life would have been like if I'd chosen someone else. But it was not a long daydream because, without Mary, I wouldn't have Clara. Therefore, Mary and I could never be seen as only a mistake.

She'd been beautiful when I'd first met her, although the roots of instability were there if I were truly honest with myself. Paranoia, for one, seemed to plague her even before she had the breakdown. One night after a party, she'd been convinced someone was following us. In hindsight, now that I understood more about her father's ties to organized crime, it was clear she had good reason to be afraid. For all I knew, she might have been right. What had she seen before our marriage that had made her so sure there were reasons to be afraid?

I would never know.

Grief overtook me. I sank further into the warm, soapy water and gave in to my grief. I wept for Mary and for the life denied her. I wept for my little daughter, who would never know her mother. I even wept for myself—for the utter loneliness that had come from a marriage I'd entered with such hope, but that had ended with the kind of pain that lived within my bones. Memories of all the visits over the years merged into one long, sad tale of defeat. They'd pushed out all the good remembrances of a time when I thought I would live happily ever after with my bride.

But it was not to be. Now I was about to enter a new kind of life. One I hoped meant freedom to find happiness again and not the gallows. I had to have faith that the truth would come out one way or the other.

For now, I had to pull myself together. Clara must be told. The detectives would continue to lurk and ask questions of everyone in this household. I couldn't blame them. This situation pointed to my guilt, even if it were far from the truth. Still, I must remain hopeful that it would soon be obvious that both Stella and I had behaved morally and with sacrifice for the greater good.

What happened next? I could not say with certainty, other than I would be on my knees praying for us all.

After I'd bathed and dressed, I took myself down the hallway to Clara's nursery. She was there, already in her flannel nightgown, sitting on her small bed looking at a picture book.

"Papa," she shouted, bouncing off of the bed and into my arms.

I held her close, taking in the sweet scent of her hair and the warmth of her familiar bulk. How I loved her.

"Where were you all night?" Clara asked as I set her down.

I went to the window seat, patting the cushion next to me. "Come sit, sweetheart."

She scrambled up to sit beside me. "What is it, Papa? Has something happened?"

"I'm afraid it has." I rubbed my forehead, hoping to conjure just the right words. "Your mother's passed away. She's no longer with us."

"Where is she?"

"Heaven, I'm sure."

Clara searched my face with her round eyes. "What happened to her?"

"She somehow got outside in the cold and froze to death." I might as well tell her the truth. There was no reason to lie to her, although it was not necessary, she know about the animals who had gotten to her body.

"That's very sad, isn't it, Papa?"

"It is sad."

"I'm sad for her, but not for me. I didn't know her. Am I bad?"

"No, of course not. You cannot really mourn someone you didn't know." My voice broke, and I drew in a shaky breath.

She crawled into my lap. "I'm sorry, Papa. You loved her very much, didn't you?"

"I did. She gave me you, which I will always be grateful for."

"Even though I'm the one who made her sick?"

"You didn't make her sick," I said. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I heard the servants talk about it once. They said that having me made her sick."

"It was not you. She was ill. Please, do not give that another thought. She was sick long before you."

"Is it true she tried to hurt me?"

I closed my eyes against her gaze for just a second, the pain so intense I thought I might split apart. "She was not well, love. She didn't know what she was doing."

"All right." Clara rested her cheek against my chest. "Don't be sad, Papa. Now you can marry Stella."

I scrambled for the right words but came up with nothing. "The future will unfold as it should." It was a rather lame thing to say, but what could be uttered that didn't hold too many promises? It was no secret that Clara wished us to marry and become a family. The very last thing I wanted was for her to feel disappointed or be hurt by anything else the adults in her life had done.

"I know they will," Clara said in answer to my trite words. "I've known it for a long time."

I kissed the top of her head. "I love you. Don't ever forget it."

"I love you, Papa." She nestled closer. "Don't you ever forget it."

When I went downstairs after tucking Clara in for the night, Stella was alone in the sitting room. The sight of her almost had me bursting into tears once again. She looked so normal sitting there with a book open on her lap and Charlie at her feet. The light from the fireplace lit up her dark hair but shadowed her face.

She must have heard me because she looked up from her book to greet me. "Percival, thank goodness you're back." She stood, setting aside her book. "Penelope brought Charlie over a few minutes ago. She said he was despondent without me. How are you?"

"I'm holding up," I said. "How about you? Mother said the police were here."

She nodded, returning to her chair before realizing she'd left the book open on the seat cushion. Flushing, she reached under her skirt to lift the book out from under her and set it on the table. "Yes, they were here for quite some time."

"Did the police say you were to stay here rather than return to your apartment?" I asked, leaning down to give Charlie a few pets.

"No, but your mother asked me to. She didn't want me alone, and frankly, I would much rather stay here, even with Mrs. Landry and Penelope there to keep me company."

"Will they be safe, do you think?"

"It's not them who interest my father. How are you doing?" Stella asked, sympathy softening her expression. "I'm so very sorry about what's happened."

Her compassion reminded my eyes of their recent tears. I fought their escape with everything I could muster. "I shall not soon rid myself of the image of her lifeless, ravaged body. She deserved so much better than what she got in this life."

"She's free now. Healed and whole in heaven."

"I hope you're right." I rubbed my eyes, feeling more weary than I ever had in my life.

"What can I do?" She fell before me, her skirts fanning out around her, and reached for me but pulled back at the last moment. Instead, she remained on the floor, staring up at me with beseeching eyes. "I'll do anything. Anything at all if it were to help you."

"There's nothing you can do for me but thank you," I said.

"I'm so afraid of what's to come. Either or both of us could be hauled to prison at any time. More likely me, as the person they think may have lured her outside was a woman. They might pin it on me, even though I have an alibi here at the house. They're anxious to find someone to blame. It's not much of a leap. Not really. After all, they think I have a motive."

Her confession startled me to my very core. Here I'd been thinking only of myself without realizing how terrified she must be. "I would never let that happen."

"How would you stop it?"

"I'd confess to it myself if it were to save you," I said.

"They wouldn't believe you. Or they'd think we were in on it together. Don't you see? They want to make me the villain. It's easier that way. An angry woman kills her lover's wife in a moment of rage and jealousy. That's a story everyone can understand. When something senseless like this happens, it's human nature to want to find a reason why. Something that makes sense."

"But you're not my lover." I stifled a shiver. The idea of holding her in my arms made me feel almost dizzy. What was wrong with me? My wife had just died.

"No, but everyone thinks I am." She placed her hand on the arm of my chair to help herself rise up from the floor and went to stand in front of the fire. "Anyway, I would never allow them to blame you. Clara needs you. As does your mother. No one needs me. No one would miss me for long."

"That's not true. I need you. I would miss you for the rest of my life should you be taken from me again."

She sank back into her chair, wringing her hands. "My family's caused yours enough pain. Doesn't it seem that I'm a plague upon your life?"

"None of this is your fault or your doing. Please, you must stop taking your father's sins upon yourself. You're innocent in all of this. Over and over, you've done what's right for everyone but yourself. We simply have to get through the next few weeks and have faith that the truth about Mary's killer will come out. Also, we mustn't forget—it may have been an accident. A lapse in care at the asylum, and she walked out the door of her own volition."

For a moment, I sat there, thinking through the different scenarios. It seemed to me that one of the staff had to have been involved. Had they been offered money in exchange for their assistance?

My thoughts were interrupted when Robert came in to announce that the police were here. Before I could even gather my thoughts and instruct Robert to show them in, the officers had already forced their way into our sitting room, their heavy boots echoing on the polished wooden floor. The lead officer, a burly man with a stern expression, stepped forward, his eyes scanning the room with an intensity that made my heart race.

"What do you want?" I demanded, rising from my seat, but my voice wavered, betraying my fear.

The officer ignored my question, his gaze settling on Stella, who stood frozen by the fire, her complexion alabaster white. "Estelle Sullivan," he announced, his voice cold and authoritative, "you are under arrest for the murder of Mary Bancroft."

The words hung heavy in the air. Stella's face contorted in a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"This is wrong," I said. "She couldn't have done this. She was with me the entire evening."

No one seemed to listen. It was as if I were not in the room. One of the officers twisted her arms behind her back and clicked cold steel handcuffs into place. Stella winced, her gaze locking with mine.

Charlie, sensing his beloved owner in distress, growled and then barked. I'd never heard him make more than a peep, but Stella had never been in danger before.

"I'll hire an attorney," I said to Stella. "Don't worry. We'll get this sorted."

The lead officer turned to me, his eyes devoid of any empathy. "Let's go."

Charlie's barking grew even more frantic as he tried to follow Stella, but an officer held him back.

"It's all right, Charlie," Stella said. "Stay with Percival."

Charlie sank to the floor by my feet, whining.

Stella did not struggle but went meekly, turning only once to look back at me. The expression in her eyes broke my heart. Defeat, they said.

I stood there, helpless and horrified, as they marched her out of the room. Seconds later, the front door slammed shut behind them. Robert stood beside me, equally stunned, his face ashen.

"This is wrong," I whispered, more to myself than to him, my mind racing to piece together the nightmare that had just unfolded.

Charlie returned to my side, whimpering and looking at the door with sad, confused eyes. I knelt down and stroked his fur, trying to calm him as much as myself. "It's going to be okay, Charlie. We'll find a way to help her," I murmured, though my voice lacked conviction.

I swept Charlie into my arms and sank back into my chair. I wasn't sure which of us was trembling harder, me or the dog. Stella, accused of such a heinous crime—it was inconceivable. What evidence did they have? None whatsoever.

"Robert, call my attorney. Ask him to meet me at the jailhouse."

"Yes sir."

I'd do whatever it took to save her—no matter the time or cost. Stella's life depended on it.