I found a set of stairs leading directly from the attic. Clutching the banister for support, I eased myself down one step, then another. Fear made me clumsy, and when my foot nearly slid out from under me, I froze and curled over, keeping myself as still as possible until my breathing eased. The staircase came to an end after one flight on a landing somewhere above the second floor. Doorways opened to a series of cramped spaces: a storage closet filled with blankets and pillows, a room with ironing boards and hangers, another with a sink and buckets and mops. Places the servants could work out of sight that looked like they hadn’t been used in decades.
The workrooms led from one into another, always ending back at the same landing. I had no idea where I was, and there was no clear way out; it felt like the Labyrinth all over again. I felt a throbbing in my stomach, like a clock ticking, urging me out. Finally, I looked out one of the narrow windows to get my bearings. I saw the lake and the beach, which meant I was directly over the kitchen. So close! I went back to the stairs, certain there must be another way down. I examined the landing more carefully and at last I saw it: a door concealed in the paneling, all but invisible unless you were standing directly in front of it. I pushed against the door—it swung open easily and silently—and found myself in the second-floor hallway. Opposite Hannah’s bedroom.
I stood still and listened. Nothing. Could everyone be outside searching the grounds? Carefully, I moved along the hall. I’d seen Alice and Gerta bring sheets up to the linen closet from the laundry room below, which meant there was another set of service stairs at the center of the house. I found it easily and began walking down, taking each step as lightly as possible, alert to any sound. The kitchen was the only room at Lakecrest that never felt deserted; there was almost always someone there, cooking or cleaning or brewing tea. I passed through the laundry room, then the butler’s pantry. I peeked around the corner, ducking down to make myself less visible.
The kitchen was empty.
I hurried to the door. Pulled it open and did a quick check of the kitchen garden. No one. Ahead of me was the gravel path that curved around the side of the house. If I could get to the front drive, I’d be only a few hundred feet from the garage. Hank. The car. I tried to run, but my body fought against the effort, my stomach weighing me down. Don’t stop, I told myself. Not when you’re so close.
I turned the corner, and the garage appeared before me like a beacon guiding me to safety. Only a few more steps. Another. My feet stumbled on the uneven ground, and I nearly fell. I saw Hank, emerging from behind the car, staring at me. He rushed toward me, arms outstretched, and I collapsed into him, sagging with relief. He sat me down gently on the grass and took a step back.
“Mrs. Lemont? Are you all right?”
“Hank, you have to take me to the hospital. The baby’s coming.”
“Mr. Lemont’s worried sick. I was about to drive down to the Monroes’ to look for you.”
“We have to go, right now.” I reached into the sagging pockets of my robe. “Here’s a payment for your trouble. Jewelry, too; I’m sure it’s quite valuable. You can give it to your wife or pawn it if you’d like.”
The bracelets slithered from my hand to the ground. Hank looked at them as if they were poison.
“Please, Hank, you’re the only one I trust.”
He glanced toward the house, uncertain. I grabbed his hands, squeezing his fingers as I begged, and that’s what doomed me. Hank twisted out of my grip and stepped back, his face a mix of anguished sympathy and fear. Lemonts are never overly familiar with staff. Especially not their Negro drivers. I’d put his job and his family in danger, and I can’t blame him for putting his future over my own.
Hank looked behind me and shouted, “She’s here! I’ve found her!”
I heard thudding footsteps, and then hands were reaching under my arms, pulling me up. Matthew on one side, Gerta on the other, but all I could see was Hank, stepping back as ten-and twenty-dollar bills cascaded around my feet. As if in punishment for my disloyalty, a dull ache radiated across my lower back. It wouldn’t be long before my pains started. I began to sob, dreading the ordeal to come.
No one else made a sound.
Matthew and Gerta half carried and half dragged me into the house and up the front stairs. When we reached my bedroom—my cell!—I clutched at Matthew and pleaded with him to take me away, but my words were slurred and jumbled, and he simply looked ahead, his face pale. Gerta pulled off my robe and laid me back in bed. I saw Hannah at the bedside, watching. As always.
“No!” I shouted. “Matthew, please! Get her out!”
Matthew looked from me to his mother. Bewildered. “What should I do?” he asked. I couldn’t tell whom he was speaking to.
“You shouldn’t see her like this,” Hannah said. “Go call the doctor. Tell him it’s almost time.”
“Don’t leave me alone with her,” I cried. “She wants to kill me!”
I couldn’t have chosen worse words to evoke sympathy. Matthew looked furious.
“Don’t worry,” Hannah told him, infuriatingly calm. “Women say all sorts of nonsense during childbirth.”
Matthew stomped off, and any hope for escape left along with him. My arms and legs were quivering, and my nightgown was damp with sweat. Hannah’s face sagged, her usual self-satisfied smirk replaced by a wistful sadness.
“Do you really think I’d hurt you?” she asked.
I didn’t answer. Are executioners ever moved by last-minute pleas?
“Of course you don’t trust me,” Hannah said. “I haven’t earned it.” With a weary sigh, she sat down in Matthew’s armchair. “We have a little while before the doctor arrives. I’ll tell you everything. An offering, if you will. You wonder if I killed Cecily, don’t you? I suppose the answer is yes. I did.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I can’t blame you for being suspicious,” Hannah began. “All I ask is that you hear me out. Give me a chance, just as I gave you.”
She leaned over to fluff up my pillow. “That’s better, isn’t it? Honestly, you needn’t look so scared. You’ve heard too many stories—that’s the problem. Told a few yourself, haven’t you, Kate?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re such a smart girl—I can’t believe you never guessed I’ve known all about you from the start. As soon as Matthew told me about the charming young governess he’d met on the boat, I called Mr. Haveleck. Yes, the very same; he’s worked for Lemont Industries for years. He went to Ohio to investigate you, and even I was surprised by the depravity he found. Your drunk of a father wasn’t much of a surprise, given your heritage. A taste for alcohol is a common weakness among the Irish, isn’t it? I could even forgive your mother her murderous outburst, given her treatment at his hands. However, the line of work she chose afterward? That was a shock.”
All this time, Hannah knew.
“I was quite prepared to put a stop to your romance with Matthew after reading Mr. Haveleck’s first report,” Hannah said with a condescending smile. “Then he wrote a second letter, and that one gave me pause. He started with a glowing account of your aunt, Nellie—very respectable, in excellent health, the mother of four thriving children. He’d spoken to another woman as well, the housemother at your college dormitory. What was her name?”