Chapter 37
Cold inhumanity,
Burning insanity,
Margaret sat on the settee while Lillian played a soft, mournful song at the piano. Neither woman had said much since discovering Mary's body in the scullery. Margaret seemed more struck with grief than Lillian. Not grief, Margaret corrected herself, there was no grieving for those who went on to a better place. It was the shock of it all, the shock of seeing the body, the life, by way of blood, pouring from her wound. How could her brother handle such scenes each day? He seemed so calm and collected, far more detached than she could ever hope to be. She had consoled the maid not hours before and now the girl was dead, never to be consoled again.
Margaret was so deep in thought she had not realized Lillian's song had come to an end and Lillian was now standing in front of her.
"Miss Margaret?"
Margaret jumped, startled from her morbid thinking.
"May I see Mary now?" Lillian asked. Margaret hesitated, wondering if she was obliged to grant such a request. The scene was not a pleasant one. She could not banish the images from her own mind and she could hardly see why Lillian would volunteer to partake in such a scene. Lillian must have seen her hesitation because she was quick to give an explanation. "She was a good servant to me during my illness. I would like to say goodbye before Mother forbids me. She did not allow me as much with Josephine."
Margaret saw a look of sincerity and knew Mrs. Lloyd was capable of such strict limitations. She nodded and agreed to lead Lillian to the body of the most recent murder victim.
At the scullery door, Margaret pulled the key from her bodice and unlocked the door, hearing iron scrapping iron as she did so. The door creaked as they opened it to reveal the now cold body of Mary. The scullery was as they left it. Mary's head was closest to the door, her feet pointed to the wall. She had been struck from behind, Margaret concluded, and the girl struggled for a step before falling close to the door. The blood that had spilled from the wound had congealed on the floor in a smooth pool, undisturbed and reflective.
Lillian stepped inside the room, apparently not as concerned as Margaret was with tampering with the evidence. "We must be careful," Margaret reminded her. "Peter will want to have a better look."
Lillian nodded but that did not stop her from stepping close to Mary's body and leaning over it with more curiosity than grief. Lillian began to stare at Mary's face, the wound on the side of her head gaping and shimmering with sticky, coagulated blood. "She almost doesn't look real," Lillian said. She raised her hand to touch the maid's face.
"Don't!"
Lillian ignored her and tucked a tendril of hair behind the girl's one intact ear. "She was a good servant to me," Lillian explained. She looked to Margaret from her crouched position. "She always did what she was told." Her gaze went back to Mary. "Never questioned me. Not once."
There was something about the way Lillian spoke that made Margaret uneasy.
"She looks at peace," Lillian continued. "Does she not?"
Margaret had seen dead bodies before. She had touched them, cut them and rooted around in their insides but never had she done so with a person she knew in life. It was so much easier to view them as less than human, and more animal. But Mary's body was different. As much as she wanted to comfort the girl, as she had done in the cemetery, she knew she could not. Mary was dead, and no amount of comfort could be derived from being held or rocked. Even still, Margaret stepped in the room and, crouching on the opposite side, she picked up the girl's hand and held it, cold as it was.
"She was so young," Margaret said after a while. "How could someone hurt another human being in such a way?"
Lillian said nothing. She stared at the body, using her finger to outline Mary's pale cheek. When she finally looked up, her gaze met Margaret's and they stared at each other for a long moment.
This was not the face of a dying girl, weakened by endless days of illness and tainted food. Lillian looked cold, heartless and unaffected by the bludgeoned body in front of her. It was calculated, all of it. Lillian had faked her illness to remove herself from suspicion.
"You did this," Margaret said. "You poisoned Josephine. You killed Dr. Bennett."
Lillian's face remained blank. She stood up and moved toward the door. It took a moment for Margaret to realize what was happening and when she stood up she saw Lillian pulling on the heavy wooden scullery door. "You are too smart, Miss Margaret. Fortunately Peter does not see things as you do."
The door caught the latch with a loud slam, and in that instant Margaret remembered she had left the key in the lock when she opened the door. "I don't share the applause," Margaret heard her yell from the other side. "And I will not share Peter's affection."
Hearing the key turn, Margaret ran to the door but it was too late. She was locked in the scullery with a corpse.