“Please be careful,” I say. Because, despite her appearance, her swagger, her confident air as Alexander Mayhew, I know she’s still a woman beneath her clothes. And women are in danger in this city.
She dons a tall satin hat and winks at me. “Always.”
Though a wintry chill is on the air, I follow her onto the piazza and watch as she strides down the tabby path, to where our rowboat is moored in the marsh grass. I stay and listen until I hear the steady sweep of her oars, then go inside to try to distract myself with a book, to no avail. I wander about downstairs, dusting and straightening picture frames and trinkets, then go to Kate’s room. A low fire crackles in the hearth. My eyes go to the bottom drawer of her bureau, where the loathsome picture and letters are hidden. I’m tempted to take the picture out again, but it will only inflame my insecurities and betray Kate’s trust.
Katedidtell me to look through Lucrezia’s things—to choose anything I liked from her wardrobe. Apart from the periwinkle gown I wore the night of Barbara’s party, which is ruined, stained with Arabella’s blood, I haven’t tried on anything else. The thought of wearing Lucrezia’s clothes disturbs me. Not because she’s dead. But because of everything she and Kate shared together. Of the memories and love they made in this room. My envy is undeniable. I glance up at Lucrezia’s portrait, at her imperious, regal gaze. How could I ever hope to compete with this formidable woman? I’m nothing at all like her. I open the high Chippendale wardrobe and look through the gowns and petticoats. Most of them are in the mode of the last decade—with puffed sleeves in the slope-shouldered silhouette favored then. I take out one brilliant-blue dress, its bodice trimmed with delicate, beaded lace. I cross to the dressing table and hold it against myself, studying my image in the mirror. While my cropped hair does little to flatter my features, my cheeks are rounding out again, and the contours of my body have softened, thanks to Kate’s cooking. The blue gown brings out the violet color of my eyes. I take off the calico day dress I’ve favored since my arrival and slip the gown over my undergarments. The hem, on the shorter side given the era of its making, grazes the floor. With my petite frame, and a stiff, corded petticoat, it will be the perfect length for walking. The dress fits as if it were made for me, scooping low over the plump line of my bust and hugging my corseted waist.
I open the drawers in the dressing table and find paste jewels, gloves, and a pot of rouge. I take up the boar bristle brush on the dressing table and coax my hair to wave around my face and chin as becomingly as possible, then adorn myself with a chevron-accented necklace. I sweep through the room, twirling and dancing. I feel beautiful for the first time in years.
And then guilt strikes me. Here I am, dancing, playing at being a grand lady in a dead woman’s dress, while Arabella Meade lies in a morgue, her body cold. I left her alone, to die on that path. Did she expire before Dr. Broadbent arrived, or later? Yes, she betrayed me—liedto the court and told the judge that I was jealous of Rebecca, that Rebecca was frightened of me, and that she’d heard me threaten her. Arabella’s testimony destroyed my innocence. But she was so young then, like my sister—only eighteen.
And she and her family had remained loyal to us. Even when others turned Mother away from their doors when we went for Sunday calling, Mrs. Meade welcomed us into their home. Unlike us, they had Negro servants, but they were free men and women. The Meades paid them well and treated them with dignity. Captain Meade had traveled the world and witnessed the differences between cultures. He and Papa spent many an evening discussing the South’s future, and while Captain Meade wasn’t publicly an abolitionist, he contributed money to the cause.
All the same, I can think of no specific reason why the murderer targeted Arabella. She was well liked by all. And Denise George, the other murdered debutante, came from a respected family. So did Marjorie. The only other thing the three women had in common was their youth and their red hair. The first victim, Sally, was a redhead as well. It’s the only tie that binds all four of them together.
I pace through the rooms, going over the scene I witnessed in the park. That man. The way he’d moved was strange. He scurried away, like a startled animal. His eyes were so dark they didn’t appear to have pupils. What if ... what if he wasn’t a man, but a monster in the guise of one, an undead creature, as the papers claimed about me?
A chill walks between my shoulder blades, despite the warmth of the fire. All of a sudden the house is too quiet, the rooms too large, the space between each of my breaths loaded with fear. Kate is out there. And I’m here, alone. Defenseless. What if?
I jump as a shrill scream comes through the cracked window. It’s only a fox in heat—I’ve heard the sound before—yet I rush to the window all the same, peering out into the darkness. There’s no moon tonight. The sky is an unfathomable scrim of black, pocked with stars.In the shadows, I imagine all sorts of creatures. I slam the window shut and draw the curtains, my heart pattering.
I didn’t tell them. I didn’t tell them and look what happened.Youshould have told them, Lillian.
I whirl at the ghostly sound of Rebecca’s voice. I’m certain I heard her, but I do not see her. There’s no one there. My head spins, and I press the backs of my hands to my eyes. My mind is playing tricks on me. My anxieties, and my lack of sleep, have eroded my senses. “Please stop. Please leave me be.”
I crawl into Kate’s bed, not bothering to undress, but I don’t sleep. I can’t. All I can think of is Kate, wandering the streets alone. Vulnerable. And if I sleep, dreams will come. Dreams of Rebecca. Her haunted eyes. Her anger. My guilt.
When dawn breaks, I’m still awake. I lift my head from the pillow. In the distance, I hear the telltale swish of oars. I rush to the upper piazza, relief flooding through me as I see Kate’s tall form striding between the oaks, her hat in her hands. I fly down the stairs to meet her, flinging open the front door.
Red-gold light breaks over her, gilding her hair. “My god, Lil. Look at you,” she says. Her eyes rake over me, taking in the blue ball gown, the jewels. “Have you been up all night?”
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “I couldn’t sleep. I was too worried about you.”
She climbs the steps. Stands over me. “Well. Here I am. Unscathed.”
“Don’t ever leave me alone again,” I say. “Please.”
“Are you all right? Did something happen while I was gone?” She places her hat on the porch railing, and grasps my arms, her forehead wrinkling with concern.
“No. But I imagined all sorts of things happening. Toyou. Terrible things.”
She smiles. “I’m quite fine, I assure you. I can take care of myself.”
“I ... I know. It’s just ...” A tear snakes down my face, and I swipe it away angrily.
“Lillian. Are you sure you’re well?”
“No. Not really. But I’m better now. Now that you’re home.”
Kate stills, her eyes holding mine. She smiles slowly. Catlike. “You’ve fallen in love with me. Haven’t you?”
I peer up at her shyly, taken aback by her boldness, but no longer willing to lie. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes,” she says, laughing. She tips my chin up. “You look stunning, by the way.”
“I found this,” I say, anxiously grasping the blue dress’s skirts. “You told me to ...”
“I did.” She bites her lip, her eyes drifting down to my high, hoisted bust. “It fits you perfectly. As I knew it would.”
