“I do. Whether he pushed her or she jumped, she wasn’t in her right mind because of him.” He looks away from me, then back. “Marguerite asked me to burn the painting after Sybil died. I did, but the next day, it reappeared, right where it had been. I’ve seen a lot of things I can’t explain in my life, but that painting trumps them all. It’s cursed. Evil. That’s the reason it’s locked away.”
“That’s quite a story,” I say, lifting my chin, despite the tingle of fear dancing on my skin. But the jump in logic is a bit too much for me. Burned paintings don’t reappear on their own. I’m still unsure of Beckett, of his intentions. It’s possible he’s only trying to frighten me away. It’s obvious he wants me gone, and despite his protestations otherwise, I have a feeling it’s not over any concern for my safety, nor any supernatural reason, but because we’re at odds over Marguerite.
Last night, after Marguerite’s violent spell, my first inclination was to leave. But now, my stubborn streak rises—the strong Irish will I inherited from my father. If Beckett thinks telling me scary stories willdrive me away, he has another thing coming. Marguerite is my family, not his. I have a right to be here.
“Have you given any more thought to leaving?” he asks, confirming my suspicions. “I can take you to the station anytime you’d like. I’m going into town tomorrow. The depot is on the way.”
I take a step back, regarding him coolly. “Thank you for the offer, Mr. Hill, but I’ve decided I’m not leaving. Marguerite had a bad spell last night. She threatened me with a knife.”
“That hardly sounds like an argument for your staying.”
“Itwasfrightening. But I can’t just desert her. What might have happened if I hadn’t been there?”
He sighs, removing his cap and swiping his chestnut hair back. “You’re determined, I’ll give you that. Do you need anything, when I go to town?”
“Actually, I wondered if Marguerite and I might ride in with you. The outing would do her good, I think.” I lower my defenses a bit and smile, doing my best to convey we’re on the same side. That we both care deeply for the woman under our charge. “I’ve talked her into getting a radio.”
He laughs, returning my smile. “Really? I told her we should get one years ago. It seems you’re much more convincing than I am.”
I resist playing smug, although his concession on this small, insignificant thing feels like a victory all the same. “You should come to the house in the evenings, after you’ve finished your chores. Have a listen with us.”
“I might, at that.” His eyes soften, the chipped edges of his demeanor falling away, just a bit. “I’m off to mow before the rain comes.”
“How can you tell it’s going to rain?” I ask, casting an eye toward the sun-drenched window above the stairs. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“I can feel it in my bones, Miss Halloran,” he says with a wink.
His wink leaves me flabbergasted and a bit off my feet as he walks away. I can’t get a read on him, which is unusual. Normally I can readthe intentions of men rather quickly. His story about Sybil and the painting has me rattled, but not enough to diminish my curiosity. I fetch the chatelaine from the attic, and I’m in the process of trying the keys on the studio door when I hear Harriet come in and call for me. I pocket the chatelaine and go down to greet her. She seems out of sorts this morning; her uniform wrinkled, as if she rushed out the door to get here quickly.
“I won’t be able to stay all day, Miss Halloran,” she says. “My mother-in-law is sick and can’t watch my boys.”
“I’m sorry. I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“I’m sure it’s not, but I’ll need to leave around noon. How was Miss Thorne last night? She seemed a bit agitated before I left.”
I hesitate a moment before telling her the truth. I don’t want her to think I’m incapable, but she should know what happened, all the same. “We had an ... incident. I managed to calm her, but she came at me with a knife.”
Harriet’s eyes widen. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine.”
“Where did she find a knife?”
“The hutch in the dining room.”
“Oh, I must have missed it. I thought I took away everything she could use to harm herself or anyone else with, the first week I came here.”
Harriet’s tone isn’t defensive, only matter-of-fact, but I touch her arm lightly to convey I’m not blaming her. “I didn’t know it was there, either. She might have hidden it.”
“They do that sometimes. We’ll need to be watchful. It’s the dementia. It makes her unpredictable. Especially at night.”
“The brandy may have also been to blame.”
Harriet hooks an eyebrow upward. “Brandy?”
“We were listening to records, and she asked for a drink. She had too much. We both did.”
Harriet sighs. “Where is it?”
