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“I told you. Mr. and Mrs. Renquist brought me to America, they gave me a job. If they’re displeased, they could send me away. I love Rose. I don’t want to lose my little girl.”
“How long have you worked for them?”
“Five years. Rose was only a one-year-old. She’s such a good girl.”
“What about her parents? Are they easy to work for?”
“They . . . they are very fair. I have a beautiful room and a good salary. I have one full day and one afternoon off every week. I like to come here, to the museum. I’m improving myself.”
“Do they get along? The Renquists?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do they argue?”
“No.”
“Not ever.”
Sophia went from looking terrified to desperate. “They are very proper, at all times.”
“That’s hard to swallow, Sophia. You’ve lived in their home for five years and have never witnessed an impropriety, never overheard an argument.”
“It’s not my place—”
“I’m making it your place.” Five years, Eve thought. At the going salary rate, the woman would have a reasonable financial cushion. The vague possibility of losing her job might upset her, but not frighten her. “Why are you scared of them?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” It was in her eyes now, too easily recognizable. “Does he come to your room at night, when the girl’s asleep? When his wife’s down the hall?”
Tears welled up, spilled over. “No. No! I won’t talk this way. I’ll lose my job—”
“Look at me.” Eve gripped Sophia’s busy hands, squeezed. “I’ve just left the hospital where a woman is losing her life. You will talk to me, and you’ll tell me the truth.”
“You won’t believe me. He’s a very important man. You’ll say I’m a liar, and I’ll be sent away.”
“That’s what he told you. No one will believe you. ‘I can do whatever I want because no one would believe it.’ He’s wrong. Look at me, look at my face. I’ll believe you.”
The tears had to blur her vision, but she must have seen something, seen enough to have the words come flooding out. “He says I must, because his wife will not. Not since she learned she carried a child. They have separate rooms. It is . . . he says it is the civilized way of marriage, and that it’s my place to let him . . . touch me.”
“It’s not the civilized way of anything.”
“He’s an important man, and I’m just a servant.” Though she continued to cry, her voice held a cold finality. “If I speak of it, he’ll send me away, away from Rose, in disgrace. Shame my family, ruin them. So he comes to my room, and he locks the door, and he turns off the lights. I do what he tells me to do, and he leaves me again.”
“Does he hurt you?”
“Sometimes.” She looked down at her hands, and the tears that dripped on them. “If he’s not able . . . not able to, he becomes angry. She knows.” Sophia lifted her drenched eyes. “Mrs. Renquist. There is nothing that happens in the house that she doesn’t know. But she does nothing, says nothing. And I know, in my heart, she will hurt me more than he could if she finds out I spoke of it.”
“I want you to think back, to the night, the early morning of September second. Was he home?”
“I don’t know. I swear to you,” she rushed on before Eve could speak. “My room is at the back of the house, and my door is closed. I don’t hear if someone comes in or goes out. I have an intercom for Rose’s room. It’s always on, except . . . except when he turns it off. I never leave my room at night, unless Rose needs me.”
“The following Sunday morning.”
“The family had brunch, as they always do. Ten-thirty. Exactly ten-thirty. No minute sooner, no minute later.”
“Earlier than that. Say eight o’clock. Was he in the house then?”
