15. Stella

15

Stella

P enelope helped me dress quickly and fixed my hair while my father apparently waited for us in the sitting room. I was shaking by the time I went out to greet him. He stood with his hands behind his back near the bay window that looked out at the street and beyond the park. I watched him for a moment, mesmerized by the slight sway of his body as if he were listening to music.

"Father?"

He turned to face me, his face drawn and pinched. Was it possible Mother's death had been a blow to him?

"Estelle, good evening."

"Would you like to sit?"

"Yes, that would be nice, thank you."

We sat across from each other, the coffee table between us. I set aside the needlepoint I'd started last week. How long ago that seemed now.

"May I offer refreshment?" I asked.

He shook his head. "I won't be here long."

"Why are you here?"

"I wanted to tell you in person that your mother's funeral will be held the day after tomorrow. She asked to be buried in the plot on our property. Next to Robbie."

"Did she leave you a letter too?"

"Yes. She mentioned she sent one to you and the police. Her confession seems to have done what it needed to do."

"I'm free if that's what you mean."

He appeared to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Your mother was only eighteen years old when we married. At the time our ten-year age difference didn't seem relevant, but looking back upon it, I can see clearly how young she was."

"What's that to do with anything?"

"Nothing other than to say we didn't really know each other well when we married."

"Were you surprised by what she did?" I asked. "Did you have any inkling about what she'd done to Mary?"

"Not a one."

"She said she did it for me, which baffles me."

"Isn't that what mothers do? Isn't that what you did?"

My breath caught. He was right. I had sacrificed for Mireille as naturally and instinctively as if it had resided inside me from the moment I was born.

"I suppose I came here to say this to you—if you're wondering why she did it and if she had any regrets, then don't."

"How do you know what she thought at the end? Before she…took her life." I couldn't bring myself to say how she did it. The images in my imagination were enough to bring me to my knees.

"Mothers—most anyway—will do whatever it takes for their child to be happy. Therefore, she died without regrets."

"But she murdered an innocent woman."

"Are we certain she's telling the truth about that?" Father asked.

I gaped at him and jarred into silence. "You think she lied? Just to help me?"

"When she discovered they'd arrested you, it set everything into motion. I don't think your mother was capable of murder. She is capable, however, of saving you from a wrongful conviction."

Oh, Mother, what did you do?

"If she didn't murder Mary Bancroft, then who did?" I asked.

"That I don't know. I know only that it was not I, as hard as that may be for you to believe. I've no interest in harming a poor woman like that—as sick as she was. It's not as if she could damage me or my reputation."

I took my hankie from my sleeve, twisting it around my fingers, thinking through what he'd said. Was it possible it had been an accident? Had Mary wandered outside without the staff seeing her?

"There's something else I must say before I go," Father said. "They jailed you to get to me. For that, I'm sorry."

"Do you think so, really?"

"The cops and I have been dancing for a while. They'd love to catch me, but so far they haven't been able to. I'd really like to keep it that way."

"Mother gave you a convenient way out, didn't she?"

"I doubt that was foremost in her mind, but regardless, they no longer suspect me."

"Did you tell Mother they had me jailed to get to you?" I asked.

"I'm afraid I did not have that opportunity."

"She might not have done what she did had she known." Fury rose within me without warning, nearly making me sick. I pressed my hankie against my mouth.

"We cannot change the past, my dear." He rose to his feet. "The funeral will be at two in the afternoon the day after tomorrow. I do hope to see you there."

With that, he turned and headed toward the foyer and was out the door before I could say anything further. Just as well. I had nothing to say to the man. Not today. Maybe never again.

The next morning, I walked to Percival's apartment with the sole purpose of telling the Bancrofts about the visit from my father. The moment I stepped out to the street, bitter wind nipped at my cheeks. More snow had come during the night, but by morning the cloud cover had departed, which made temperatures drop drastically. Thus, the roads were icy and treacherous. Although I wore a scarf, a hat, and my wool coat, and my hands were stuffed inside a muff, the cold crept into my bones.

Regardless of my low mood and icy weather, the city felt alive with the hustle and bustle of a weekday in the city. I joined the fashionable crowd, making their way down the avenue. Men in tailored suits and fedoras walked with purpose, their breath visible in the cold air. Women glided by in fur stoles, their hats pulled low against the chill. Children, bundled up in woolen coats and knickers, laughed and played in the snow and skated on patches of ice, their joy infectious enough to bring a smile to my face despite my troubles.

The scent of roasted chestnuts wafted from a vendor's cart as I passed by. Cars and horse-drawn carriages shared the street with clanging streetcars, the cacophony of city life blending with the occasional jazz tune from a nearby street performer. Icicles hung from awnings, sparkling in the bright morning sunshine.

I loved this city, I realized. Somehow, even though I'd had troubles and frightening times since coming here, New York had crept into my soul and planted itself for good. Having been locked away, albeit for a short time, I had a renewed appreciation for the vibrant life that surrounded me in every direction. How good it was to be free.

As I approached Percival's building, I quickened my pace, a desire to see him like a physical pain. I used the knocker at the front door and waited, stomping my feet for warmth. Seconds later, Robert showed me in.

"Miss Stella, how are you managing?" Robert asked kindly.

"I'm not in jail." I smiled. "Thank you for asking."

"Thanks be to God."

"It gives one a new perspective, that is certain," I said.

"I, for one, am glad you're free and safe."

"You're kind to say so."

"I'll let Dr. Bancroft know you've arrived."

I thanked him again and while I waited, paced in front of the window.

"Stella?"

At the sound of my name coming from Percival's mouth, I turned around to see him standing there. The sight of him made me want to weep. I apologized for arriving without warning, which he brushed aside.

"How are you?" Percival asked. "Did you sleep?"

"Not much. You?"

"I slept better than expected. There comes a point when a body has to sleep despite all our worries." He stepped closer, his eyes warm and sympathetic. "Has something happened? What brings you by?"

"My father visited me yesterday. They're burying my mother tomorrow, and he asked that I be there."

"Do you want to go?"

"I'm unsure. However, there's more." I told him more about the conversation I'd had with my father. "All of which now has me wondering if my mother was truly guilty. She may have done this to save me." I paused, fighting tears. "Maybe she didn't want to live anymore, and taking the blame for Mary's death was her last act before she gave in to the darkness. But I really can't say. My head's jumbled and confused."

"It's to be expected." He took one of my hands and held it to his chest. "You and I need only to get through these next days and weeks. To reconcile everything that's happened so that we might emerge into a new life."

"Together?" I asked in a whisper.

"As terrible as it is to admit to this, I want nothing more than to be with you."

"But we mustn't act on our feelings. Not yet."

"It wouldn't be right. We're both too vulnerable. If we are to have hope for a future, we must continue down the moral path. Otherwise, guilt will ruin any possibility of a union between us. Do you understand?"

"I do. We must not feel as if we're committing a sin simply because we're selfish."

"As hard as it is, I think time apart will serve us well. Go and help to bury your mother. I'll do the same for Mary. Then, when we are done and our hands are still clean, we'll come back to each other."

"It's always been you and me since the first day, hasn't it?" I asked.

"It has."

Percival walked me to the door and gently kissed my hand. "I'll be thinking of you until we meet again."

"Take the time you need."

But not forever.

In the end, I decided to attend Mother's burial and memorial. I took the train up early the next morning, arriving at the church just as the service began. I didn't want to, but I sat in the front pew next to my father. I couldn't help but think that when we once were five, we were now only two.

As the service began, my thoughts drifted to my sister. I had not yet written to her, even though Pierre had given me the address before he left. It had been easier for me not to write. If I'd written to her with the truth of my new circumstances, she would have wanted to do something to help me. And I knew, deep down, that it was better for Mireille if I cut all ties.

But now? I had to tell her Mother had died. Although there was nothing she could do, it was her right to know what had happened.

After the preacher had finished the service, Father and I, in addition to most of our staff, went out to the burial plot and watched them lower her coffin into the cold ground. I took a rose from the bouquet someone had brought and knelt to toss it into the grave. "I'm sorry, Mother. For all your pain and loneliness. I hope you're finally at peace."

I put a different rose on the small grave of my little brother. They were together now. At least that gave me some comfort.

We all returned to the house, where the staff had prepared sandwiches and miniature cakes for the mourners. I did my best to play the part of a loving daughter, thanking people for coming and listening politely as they told me a story or two about Mother. Finally, everyone was gone, and I sighed a breath of relief. I found my father in his den, pouring himself a drink.

"Will you stay tonight?" Father asked.

As much as I'd like to have said no, I didn't have it in me to travel all the way back to the city at this late hour. "I'll stay in my old room if that's all right?"

He nodded, sinking into his favorite leather chair by the fire. "Your mother's maid will help you prepare for bed."

"Thank you." Mother's maid, Molly, had greeted me earlier, her eyes puffy from crying. I'd felt sorry for her. Who knew what would happen to her now? There were no women to care for in this house.

"Would you like a drink? Your mother often had a sherry this time of evening." He said it as if I hadn't lived here for most of my life.

"No, thank you. I'll retire shortly. It's been a long day."

"She would have approved of the service and the way the staff handled the wake, don't you think?" Father asked.

"I do, yes."

We were interrupted by James informing us that the police were here. "I've shown them into the library, sir."

Father and I exchanged a quick glance. Why were they here?

"May I join you?" I asked.

"If you must." Father got up, a soft groan escaping his lips.

It was Chief Wallace who waited, warming his hands by the fire. He stood to greet us, but Father told him to remain sitting as he and I sat together on the sofa.

"I've come with news of the case," Wallace said. "Call it an old cop's instinct, but I didn't believe it was Mrs. Sullivan who did this despite her confession. Thus, I returned to the asylum and poked around, asking questions of the staff. Finally, I found an orderly willing to speak to me. The vow of silent loyalty among staff members is a serious thing but not completely unbreakable. They look out for one another and cover mistakes if they have to, but I managed to get the truth out of him. He said one of the other orderlies left the door unlocked. Not on purpose, mind you, but because he was new to the job and simply forgot. He didn't want to tell the truth for fear of trouble for himself and his friends. However, he saw Mary Bancroft walk outside of her own volition. At the time, he thought a nurse was going with her."

"They didn't think to tell you this before they arrested my daughter?" Father asked angrily. "Or before my wife took her life?"

"As I said, he was afraid. These men work for paltry wages, yet they're happy for the work and don't want to lose it. The young man in question told me Mary Bancroft asked to go outside almost every evening. If there was a nurse available during warm weather, sometimes they would take her out and walk with her on the grounds. When I asked Mrs. Mason if this was true, she confirmed that Mary had an obsession with being outside whenever they would allow her to do so. She also said they indulged her if the weather were decent, mostly because it helped Mary to sleep better. With exercise, she had fewer outbursts in the middle of the night and that kind of thing."

"Then who was the strange woman who came to visit her?" I asked.

"She didn't exist," Wallace said. "The orderly made her up as a distraction."

"Who else knew about the unlocked door?" I asked.

"According to the orderly, no one but himself and a few of the others. The young man who left the door open didn't show up for work this morning, which is why the orderly was willing to tell the truth. From what he said, everyone was intimidated by him. He's large and violent, apparently. This was told to me by several of the staff."

"And this orderly's gone?" Father asked. "The one who left the door open?"

"We can only assume he's fled." Wallace scratched behind his ear, cocking his head to the left. "This has been a strange case, I must say. My colleagues in New York City were convinced it was you, Miss Sullivan, but I didn't think so."

"It was an accident," I said, speaking more to myself than the others.

A voice whispered to me. She did it for you.

She loved me, after all.

Poor Mother. She must have felt alone.

"I came to tell you what I learned but also to apologize for my colleagues in the city. If it led to your mother taking her own life, then I'm truly sorry."

"My wife's suffered from hysteria and unexplained sadness for decades," Father said without emotion. "Doing something for Estelle gave her peace. She left the earth knowing she'd saved at least one of her children."

"Her sadness wasn't unexplained ," I spoke more forcefully than I thought I had in me. "She wasn't the same after we lost Robbie. He died when he was only two," I said to Wallace. "Mother never fully recovered."

"The loss of a child is not something one recovers from," Wallace said quietly. "The wife and I lost one of our precious daughters when she was only four. My dear wife's found a way to go on, mostly because our other children need her. Regardless, for both of us, it's a hole in our heart that will remain until we meet her again in heaven."

"That will be lovely," I said, smiling at the thought of seeing Robbie again.

"I imagine this has been a trying day," Wallace said. "I'll take my leave."

We all stood. Father shook the detective's hand before walking him into the foyer. I stayed behind, gathering myself. When I'd been here the other day to see Mother, I thought it would be the last time. After tomorrow morning, I'd have no reason to return. Father and I would not have a relationship if we'd ever had one at all. Although I'd never be able to prove it, he had killed Connie. For that, I could not forgive him.

Later, before I slept in my childhood bedroom for the last time, I sat down at the desk to write my sister a letter. It would take me more than a page or two to tell her everything that had transpired since I saw her last. I was sorry to have to share with her the tragedy that had become our family, but she must know that our mother was gone.