Page 17 of One Last Breath

“I mean that Elizabeth and James need to face facts,” Violet explains. “They made a mistake. A bad one. It’s time for them to own up to it. The longer you wait, the longer they rot.”

“Who? Who rots?”

I’m no longer concerned with subtlety. Violet’s mind may be failing her, but some memories remain longer than others. If she knows something about the secrets this family is hiding, then I want to hear them before her mind wanders away. I have no way of knowing if it will ever wander back.

She mutters something under her breath, and I ask, “What? What are you trying to tell me, Violet? Who’s rotting?”

Her eyes snap back to me and wander up and down. “Who are you? Where’s Leah?”

“Grandma!”

Annabelle rushes into the room and puts her arm around Violet. “Grandma, let’s get you outside for some fresh air. Then I think it’ll be time for your nap, all right?”

Violet looks at Annebelle and grimaces. “You looked better before you put on weight, Deirdre.”

Annabelle sighs and gives me an exasperated smile. I return a hesitant one of my own and try to hide my disappointment at the interruption.

“Come on, Grandma,” Annabelle says.

She leads Violet from the room. The old woman casts a shrewd look back at me just before she disappears from view, and I am left to wonder if she is simply unsure what happened to Leah, or if there’s more behind those eyes than she chooses to show.

Oh, what a fool I am. Thinking about this with any sort of rationality should make it clear to me that she’s not well. Best to forget everything she said. It’s probably all nonsense.

But she spoke of burying things and planting flowers on top of them. Stains that couldn’t be washed away.

It could be nothing. Or it could be symbolic. It could refer to Violet’s own alleged scandal with Deirdre.

Or perhaps Lila Benson lies buried underneath Elizabeth’s geraniums, and it’s her that the mistress of the house pleads with on her daily excursions.

I know you know where they are.

I wonder what Lila found that frightened her so much she fled this house never to be seen again. Or maybe the question I should ask is, what did she find that frightened the Greenwoods so much they made sure she was never seen again?

CHAPTER TEN

When Thursday comes again, I decide to pay Clara Beaumont a visit. I learn from Wharton that the Beaumont estate can be accessed from the same private road that leads to the Greenwood estate.

“Most of the plantations in this quarter can be reached that way,” he says as he navigates the gravel pathway. I insist on walking, but he ignores my protests with the good-natured cheer of a man whose spent a lifetime in service and refuses to do things any way other than the “way they’re done.”

In this case, that means not permitting a lady to walk unescorted outside of the property when there are perfectly good automobiles that can convey her in comfort. I really don’t want Wharton to intrude on the conversation I intend to have with Clara, but I can’t think of a polite way to insist any more firmly than I have. So, I relent and allow him to drive me the half-mile to the entrance to her estate, thinking ruefully along the way that Annabelle was right about my unfailing commitment to politeness. I don’t mind snooping into a family’s private history, but I can’t refuse a gentleman’s offer to drive me. Odd how some social niceties take on great importance while other, more serious ones can be bent at will.

I catch a break when Wharton stops outside the gate to the Beaumont estate and explains apologetically, “I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you here. The Beaumonts and the Greenwoods aren’t on the best of terms. I’m sure the family won’t mind if you visit Miss Clara, but it would be better if I didn’t ferry you all the way to her door.”

Again, what a wonder it is that some social rules are inviolable while others are almost meaningless. In any case, I preferred to visit her alone, so I say, “That’s quite all right, Wharton. I shouldn’t be long.” Then, before he can offer to wait for me, I say, “I can walk home too, if you don’t mind. I am used to daily constitutionals, and I’m afraid I can be quite irritable when I don’t have the chance to walk through nature for at least a few moments in the day.”

“Of course, Miss Mary,” he says. “If you change your mind, give the house a ring, and I’ll come pick you up.”

I thank him, then wait until the car turns around before reaching for the call box. The gate begins to open before I press the button. Clara must have been waiting for Wharton to leave before letting me inside.

I walk up the drive and can’t help but compare the Beaumont estate with the Greenwood plantation. It is every bit as elegant as the Greenwood plantation, but far simpler in design. The tall oak trees of the Glens—visible to my left behind the Beaumont estate—are replaced here with rolling hills with carefully manicured lawns. The sprawling gardens with their Romanesque statuary are replaced with simpler flowerbeds arranged in a typical rectangular design with no hedge mazes or statuary to obscure any part of them from view. The courtyard has a fountain, but it contains no Gothic statues of angry prophets.

The home is in the same antebellum design, but like the estate, it appears sleeker and more modern. The pillars are a simple Doric design and not the more embellished Ionic design of the Greenwood house. They, and the home, are painted in white that lacks the yellow tint of the Greenwood home. The overall effect is to make the house appear newer, while the Greenwood home strives for timelessness.

It’s refreshing but at the same time it’s disconcerting. Refreshing because the estate doesn’t appear designed to conceal. Disconcerting because it makes the sense of concealment given by the place of my employment all the more obvious.

I climb the steps to the front door and reach for the knocker, but once more, the door opens before I can announce my presence. I expect a butler or a valet, but instead, Clara Beaumont herself greets me.

“Welcome to my home, Mary,” she says, smiling broadly. “I had a feeling you’d turn up sooner or later.”

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