“Surprisingly little. The maids were locked in the cellar when Mary sent them to fetch more cider for the morning meal.”
I let out a tremulous breath. At least he hadn’t hurt them. “And what of Mrs. Ryan? Is she also locked in the cellar?”
Edgar tugged indignantly on his waistcoat. “That would be most uncivil for a woman of her advanced years,” he huffed. “I gave Mary some mandrake powder to put in her tea. In a few hours she’ll wake up in her own bed, no worse for the wear.”
This explained my own sudden drowsiness. My wine must have been laced with the same powder. No wonder I couldn’t remember being carried up to my room or tied to the bedposts. And if Edgar spoke the truth, I could yell to high heaven without being heard.
My eyes darted to the mantel. Darkness shrouded the clock, leaving me to guess at how much time had passed since Henry and James had left. Thirty minutes? An hour? And what if they stayed longer than intended? At that moment, distraction became my best hope. In order to survive, I needed to divert Edgar’s attention until either the men returned home or I had devised another means of escape.
“Why did you kill my mother and grandmother?” I asked, blurting out the first question that popped into my head. Surely, Edgar could see that he owed me the truth if nothing else.
He shrugged. “It was the only way to break the curse.”
Why did he keep talking about a curse in connection to my family—unless he meant our gift? “What are you talking about?” I asked cautiously.
Edgar sat on the end of the bed and patted my leg in what he must have considered a comforting gesture. I tried to jerk away, but the binding held me in place. Ignoring my abrupt reaction, he gazed off into the darkness, letting his hand rest heavily on my calf. “I first met Sarah MacBres in 1690 when she came to Hopewell with her husband and infant daughter to start a small farm. Like most folks in town, I liked her at once, drawn in by her kindness and vivacious manner.”
While he talked, I started to pull gingerly on the bindings, testing how well they would hold. Edgar seemed oblivious to my efforts, caught up in his own story.
“She was also a skilled healer,” he continued, “which Hopewell lacked, being so far away from Philadelphia, and it wasn’t long before rumors were circulating about her unusual talent. Curious by nature, I became intrigued with the stories and began questioning anyone who had received care, no matter how insignificant. From what I could gather, her methods were not so different from other healers. Her success, though, was near perfect, exceeding any doctor in Pennsylvania, or even the Colonies for that matter.
“Being a healthy young man, I unfortunately had no reason to seek her attention to further my investigation. But that changed the day I climbed onto my roof to fix a leak in the chimney. The rain had been falling for more than a week and I soon lost my footing on the wet shingles. My wife found me lying unconscious on the ground with the back of my skull cracked open.”
His voice trailed off, and he shook his head from the memories. I stopped pulling for fear that any creak from the bedpost or tear of cloth would give me away in the heavy silence that descended. Lying still felt like torture as the precious seconds ticked away. My muscles remained taut with anticipation, waiting for him to speak again.
He coughed once to clear his throat. “All I remember from those first days was my wife crying while Sarah tended to my wounds. Not until I woke for good did I learn of the miracle your grandmother had performed. My head still hurt like the dickens from falling, but I could now hear out of both of my ears.”
Unease prickled my skin, but I kept quiet and waited for him to explain why his hearing signified any kind of miracle.
“You see,” he said, his voice growing more excited from the story. “I was born deaf in my right ear. Your grandmother healed the defect when she fixed my head.”
I bit my lip to keep from crying. Closing my eyes, I envisioned my grandmother placing her hands directly on Edgar’s head. Most likely his brain had swollen from the fall, was possibly even bleeding slowly, adding to the pressure that would have killed him. With so much damage to repair, the eardrum was by no means essential to sustaining his life—she had done it to be kind.
“When Sarah came by later that afternoon to check on my improvement, I confronted her about my ear. She claimed to have done nothing, said that it was due to the fall. No matter how much I argued, she would never admit to doing anything special, but I knew the truth. At that moment, I became her greatest admirer.”
“Then why did you kill her?” I sounded surprisingly calm considering the nature of the situation and my continued struggles. Sweat now coated my wrists, which had started to burn from the constant friction.
“About six months after Sarah had healed me, my wife delivered our first child, a healthy baby boy.”