A few moments later, Esme emerged from Phoebe’s room and stepped into the hall. Deirdre took note of the redness in the corners of her eyes and the deep rivers her tears had cut through her powder and rouge. “The pastor asked me to leave, so that he might say prayers for Phoebe’s soul,” Esme said. “She’s no longer awake. It won’t be long.”
“Well.” MissMunro cleared her throat. “I’ll pay the orchestra and dismiss our guests before I notify the coroner. We can’t have all of Charleston gossiping about a hearse showing up during a party.”
After MissMunro swept downstairs, Esme’s quiet weeping became heaving sobs. Deirdre did her best to soothe her distress. “There, now. Don’t cry.”
“I can’t help it.” Esme hiccupped and wiped at her eyes with Deirdre’s offered handkerchief.
“I’ve never seen you so upset. I didn’t realize you and Phoebe were that close.”
“Well. We were at one time. I was her ...” Esme bit her lip and turned to the window.
“Herwhat, Esme?”
“Friend. Her first roommate.”
“You were more than roommates, weren’t you?” Jealousy and anger overtook her. She grasped Esme by the shoulder, turning her. “I might have known that was the reason she’s been so cruel to me. She was jealous!”
“Oh, Deirdre.” Esme sank onto the settee and rested her head in her hands. “Please don’t be angry.”
Deirdre sat next to her, holding the grimoire on her lap. She felt as if something inside her had shattered into a thousand brittle pieces.
“After Sam, I was terribly lonely. One night, Phoebe confessed that she’d never been kissed. One thing led to another, and—”
“I don’t need to hear more.” Deirdre put up her hand.
“Things went sour after that. I blame her religion, mostly. She knew her father would never approve of our friendship once he found out about my inclinations. Last winter, after returning from Christmas holiday, she started shunning me and took the room downstairs with Constance.”
“That hypocrite,” Deirdre said, seething. Her guilt over poisoning Phoebe thinned with her jealousy. “She threatened to tell MissMunro about us! Held it over my head.”
“I was afraid you’d be angry. And you are. I don’t love her. I swear it. But she’s dying. Am I not supposed to make peace with her and with myself for what happened between us?”
“Her bullying isn’t the worst of it. She’s been sending Constance to our room to snoop. She told MissMunro I have a witch’s book and that I poisoned Phoebe. I could be hanged for that, Esme!”
“Why, that’s ridiculous. You’d never do such a thing.”
Deirdre’s guilt once more pricked her conscience. Esme thought better of her than she deserved.
“It’s going to be all right. Just calm yourself and we’ll find a way through this. You’ve done nothing wrong.”
But she had. And then she’d trusted Gentry—put her fate in the hands of a liar and a demon. She could almost feel the noose tightening around her neck, choking the life from her. And what would come after? Surely hell awaited a murderer—especially one who had just sold her fate to a devil. Deirdre longed to run, to hide. But where could she go where Gentry wouldn’t find her?
“Esme ... I need to tell you—”
Just then, hasty footsteps echoed on the stairs. Likely the coroner. Panicked, Deirdre shut the grimoire and put it aside. MissMunro and Constance emerged from the stairwell, a man dressed in black following them. His round face was reddened by his climb up the stairs. He seemed quite agitated. “As I’ve said, MissMunro, I do not have a lay pastor named Gentry in my parish, and I did not send anyone else. I’ve no idea who’s in that room, but he is not from St.Michael’s.” He stalked down the hall, MissMunro and Constance bustling behind him. Esme and Deirdre rose as one to follow.
As they neared the death-shrouded room, Deirdre’s ears began to ring distantly. “Esme, what does the pastor in Phoebe’s room look like?”
“He’s tall, young. Good looking. He was very charming and gracious to me.” Esme gave her a puzzled look. “Why?”
MissMunro opened the door to Phoebe’s room and gave an astonished gasp. “Oh, my heavens.”
Had Phoebe expired? Deirdre worked her way forward until she could see inside, expecting the worst. The ringing in her ears became a scream. She thought she might faint.
There Phoebe sat, reclining against the headboard, a Bible propped on her lap with the bloom of life in her cheeks. “I’ve just had the strangest dream,” she said, stretching as if she’d woken from a long Sunday nap. “I dreamt that I died, but an angel came and kissed me and brought me back to life.”
TWENTY-FIVE
GRACELYNN
