Oh no. This won’t do at all.
When his knock finally comes, it echoes through the empty rooms like a bell tolling. I draw a steadying breath and open the door just wide enough to meet them in the threshold.
“Virgil,” I say. “You shouldn’t have come. There’s sickness in the house.”
He removes his hat, polite as if he hadn’t abandoned me here with a strange man, as if he hadn’t beaten me bloody the day we left the courthouse.
“Always some ailment about, Alice. I won’t be long. Mr. Collier and I have unfinished business.”
My hand tightens on the door’s edge. “He isn’t receiving visitors. The fever has quite undone him.”
The younger man shifts behind him, uneasy. “Perhaps we might return another day.”
Virgil silences him with a glance. “Nonsense. A few signatures, that’s all. You’ve no objection to me stepping inside, do you?”
I hesitate just long enough to make the lie believable, then step aside.
“Very well,” I say quietly. “But please, don’t linger.”
He steps aside with a small gesture. “This is Mr. Brown, a notary from the county. He’ll see to the papers once we’re settled.”
The younger man bows, awkward but earnest. “Ma’am.”
“Lovely to meet you, Mr. Brown,” I reply, inclining my head.
They cross the threshold with the careful air of men entering a tomb.
I’ve left the lamps low and the curtains drawn. It makes the hall feel smaller, closer. The scent of carbolic and smoke clings to the walls, proof enough of “disinfection.”
“Apologies for the state of things,” I say, leading them toward the front parlor. “We’ve been doing what we can to cleanse the air.”
Brown presses a handkerchief to his face as though the contagion might leap from the wallpaper. Virgil, by contrast, seems invigorated by his own fearlessness, his boots striking the floorboards in bold defiance. His eyes wander over the room—the closed door to the kitchen, the fire burning low, the ledger waiting on the side table. “Mr. Collier’s up to bed, then? I should like his signature before the ink dries on my patience.”
“He’s resting,” I tell him. “The fever took him quite hard.”
Virgil seems to weigh how much truth I might be worth. “I imagine you’ve been playing nurse,” he says. “Always did have the constitution for it. But I’ll need to see him. I may be a respected man, but the bank won’t simply take my word.”
The tremor seizes my hands before I can still them. “He’s scarcely fit for company.”
“Then I’ll be brief.”
Brown shifts again, clearly wishing himself elsewhere. “Mr. Sherman, if he’s truly ill?—”
Virgil turns on him with a touch of ice in his tone. “You’re here to witness, not to diagnose. Sit yourself there and prepare the papers.”
The notary obeys, fumbling for his pen.
Virgil faces me. “Show me to him.”
Upstairs, Kodiak waits behind a locked door, Collier’s hat and coat laid ready on the chair beside him. The smell of lye is stronger up there. Even through the floorboards it bites the back of my throat.
I smooth my skirt and force myself calm. “If you insist. But you mustn’t linger.”
Virgil offers his arm with mock gallantry. “After you, my dear.”
I take a single steady breath and lead him up the stairs. The house creaks around us, old wood complaining as if it meant to warn him.Stop! Turn back!Every step sounds louder than it should, as though the walls themselves wish to betray me.
At the landing I pause, hand on the banister. The air is close, heavy with soap and smoke.
