“I won’t.”
There was no point confronting Hannah anyway. Matthew was the one who needed to know. When he heard what Hannah had done to Marjorie, he’d understand why I didn’t trust his mother. It might even be the first step in convincing him to move away from Lakecrest. Matthew was in Detroit, but I’d call his office; they’d know how to reach him.
Trembling from the cold—or was it nerves?—I rushed toward the telephone in the entryway. My heels echoed through the Arabian Room as I ran across the painted tile floor, and then suddenly, I was flying. My feet slid out from under me, and I fell with a disorienting thud onto my side.
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. My whole body was tense with shock as I made a mental inspection of the pain. Ankle, knees, shoulder, head. An odd pressure in my belly. God help me, what I felt first was relief. If something happened to the baby, I’d be free.
That thought was followed immediately by crippling guilt. What kind of person would wish for something so awful? Jerky sobs swelled up and out. I told myself it was Hannah’s fault for locking Marjorie up. And Matthew’s fault for not being there to comfort me, as I’d comforted him so many times in the dark. Most of all, it was Lakecrest’s fault, this mausoleum filled with shadows and dark corners and leaks that never, ever stopped. Lakecrest itself had reached out and hurled me to the ground, a punishment for my hatred.
Or maybe the house really had driven me crazy.
It felt as if I lay there forever, wretched and alone. In fact, it couldn’t have been more than a minute or two before Alice came in. She was young—no more than eighteen—but had a touching desire to please that made up for her inexperience, in my eyes at least.
“Oh, Missus!” she cried, hands fluttering. “Are you all right?”
I gingerly moved one leg, then the other. My stockings were wet, for some reason, and my left ankle felt stiff and sore. Alice took hold of my upper arms, and I managed to stand. Wincing, I shuffled to the nearest chair, a ridiculous silk-upholstered eyesore Marjorie jokingly called the sultan’s throne.
“I’ll get Edna,” Alice insisted. Though I dreaded facing the cook after our recent confrontation, I was grateful for her efficiency once she arrived.
“I’ll call Dr. Gordon,” she said. “He’s very well regarded in East Ridge. Won’t take him long to get here. Then I’ll bring in some tea. Alice, you inform Mrs. Lemont; I believe she’s in her dressing room upstairs. But clean that up first.”
I looked to where she was pointing. Water had seeped through the bottom of the French doors that opened onto the terrace. Though the puddle extended several feet into the room, it was almost invisible in the dim light. I watched numbly as Alice brought in a mop and began swabbing. All those tiny drips making their way through the nooks and crannies of this house had gathered here. Waiting for me.
“Is this yours, Mrs. Lemont?”
Alice held up the book I’d taken from the library. It must have tumbled out of my sweater when I fell.
“Yes. You can take it to my room when you’re finished.”
Alice was giving the floor a final inspection when a stocky man walked in carrying a toolbox. He paused when he saw me and tipped his head.
“Mrs. Lemont.”
I knew he was the caretaker, and his name was Karel, but we’d never spoken. Hannah seemed to like him—as much as she liked anyone—and she’d trusted him enough to leave him in charge of Lakecrest while the family was abroad. Though I knew I should say something polite, I was distracted by his dark, baggy coat and lumbering walk. I’d seen someone else move in that same distinctive way, leaning from side to side with each step. So much for my ridiculous illusion that Cecily herself had lured me out to the Labyrinth; it had been Karel all along, inspecting the property. Doing his job.
“Over here,” Alice told him.
Karel pulled off his coat and neatly folded it before joining her on the other side of the room. He watched Alice finish up, then examined the doors.
“I’ve heard leaks all over the house,” I said.
“Of course is water.” He had a strong, guttural accent, but spoke confidently. “Not well built, this house. Always repairs.”
I was surprised to hear one of the staff criticize the place they depended on for their livelihood.
“I thought Mr. Lemont—that is, Mr. Obadiah—hired the best workers money could buy.”
“Good workmens, yes. He make them do job too fast. Always hurry, hurry. Not careful, you understand?”
I nodded. Karel didn’t have the deferential manner of the maids, or even Edna, and I sensed he took great pride in telling the truth, even when it wasn’t what his employers wanted to hear.
“Did you know Mr. Obadiah?” I asked. It was hard to tell Karel’s age from his weather-beaten skin, though he looked to be in his sixties.
“Long time ago,” Karel said. He grunted and pressed his finger into a section of spongy wood at the bottom of the doorframe. “Here the water is coming. I will fix how I can, bring new wood tomorrow.”
He pressed a rag into the narrow gap at the bottom of the door. As he was securing it, Edna bustled in with a tray and announced the doctor was on his way. She hovered over me while Karel gathered his things and left. It was frustrating, not being able to ask more questions, but I planned to seek him out as soon as I was better. Karel had known Obadiah, which meant he’d also known Cecily. He might have seen or heard something on the night she disappeared.
Or was I just desperate to talk to someone who hated Lakecrest as much as I did?
Soon enough, the grandfatherly Dr. Gordon arrived. He pressed around my stomach and asked if I had any pain or cramping. I told him no.
“I do feel something strange, though. Like bubbles popping.”
“Why, it’s your child, Mrs. Lemont! Is this the first time you’ve felt it move?”
I nodded.
“Well, fancy that. He wants you to know he’s all right.”
Having been assured by the doctor that my ankle was twisted rather than broken, Edna and Alice helped me limp upstairs, where I lay in bed and pretended to be asleep when Hannah came to check on me. I really was asleep when Matthew crept in sometime in the middle of the night.
“I’m sorry, darling. Didn’t mean to wake you.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “How are you?”
My ankle was still throbbing, but not as much. “Better. No harm done. What are you doing here?”
“I caught the first train home. I had to make sure you were all right.”