Page 36 of One Last Breath

Annabelle giggles and smiles gratefully at me. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you respect someone,” Elizabeth says, not quite playfully.

Annabelle tenses a little but maintains her smile. “Everyone but you.”

“What’s all the noise down here?” Violet calls.

I turn to see her descending the staircase. She stops when she sees me, and her eyes narrow. “Why are you still here? Isn’t Leah back already?”

“Leah’s back, Mom, but Mary is still employed,” Elizabeth explains tiredly. “She’s another staff member, she wasn’t covering for Leah.”

“Hmm… I don’t trust her.”

“Mom!”

“She was snooping through your things.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t what she was doing,” Elizabeth assures her mother.

“She was probably cleaning our room while Leah was away,” James offers.

“Yes,” Christopher confirms. “That’s exactly what happened. Grandma walked in on her and thought she was snooping.”

“You can never trust Irishwomen,” Violet insists. Their paws are stickier than syrup.”

“Mom, enough!” Elizabeth snaps. “Mary is English, and even if she were Irish, she’s an honest woman. Christopher, will you take her to the car, please?”

Christopher hurries to Violet and escorts the protesting old woman away. Elizabeth sighs and presses her fingers to her temples. I can see her lips tremble, and I start to assure her that everything is all right, but James wraps his arm around her shoulders and says, “It’s all right, dear. She’s only having a moment.” He looks at me and nods, and I take the hint and say, “Enjoy your outing, ma’am,” before heading to the kitchen.

Annabelle follows me, and as soon as the door closes behind her parents, she sighs. “I’m sorry. Grandma’s gotten really bad lately. She should be put in a home, but Mom won’t do it. I guess I understand.”

“It’s very hard to watch loved ones suffer,” I reply.

Her lips thin, and I recall our conversation on the balcony the other night that is almost precisely the same as this one. “Would it be horrible of me to say I wouldn’t do the same thing?” she says. “For my mother, I mean?”

“No, it wouldn’t,” I say. “But perhaps we should have this conversation after you’ve drunk some peppermint tea.”

“Oh, I was lying about that,” she said. “My stomach, I mean. It’s fine. I just…” she hangs her head and chuckles ruefully. “Actually, I wanted to apologize to you for what I said the other night. About Lila. I wanted to tell you that I didn’t hate her. Now I’m telling you that I hate my own mother, so boy, I really am horrible, aren’t I?”

Her lip trembles in an unconscious imitation of her mother earlier. I feel a rush of compassion for her. I know that seems odd. Only hours before, I believed she was conspiring with others to have Lila killed. If I’m being objective, I have to admit that it’s still possible she’s involved. She does have that letter from Lila hidden underneath her mattress, so she certainly knows more than she’s letting on.

But I feel strongly now that she isn't a killer. She is only a young woman struggling with a grandmother who has dementia, a mother whose grasp on reality is tenuous herself, and a father whose expectations stifle her. That, on top of the secrets she undoubtedly holds regarding Lila, must be weighing heavily on her.

Perhaps I can relieve her of some of that burden.

“You’re not horrible,” I tell her. “And I don’t think you hate your mother.”

“I don’t,” she says, “I just… Both of them, Mom and Dad… Appearances matter more than anything. They want to be so much like English lords. Sorry, no offense.”

“None taken,” I reply sincerely. “I’ve had my fair share of problems with English lords.”

She sniffs. “Right. Mom mentioned something about that. She said you handled yourself really well.”

“How much did she tell you?”

“Not much. Just that one of your employers in England murdered someone too. Just like the Ashfords.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “You poor woman. You’ve had bad luck with bosses, huh?”

“You could say that. I’m fortunate to be working for your family now.”

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