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Given that the Other had used her image to communicate. I nodded and squinted to read. The letters swam in my vision, but I gritted my teeth and forced my eyes to focus.
Mary’s presence in the house continues to be a distraction. Dr.Raymond treats her like a clever pet; he even permits her to mix the tincture of foxglove extract he employs to treat his dropsy. I do not like her sly eyes and endless silence, though, and take care to avoid her.
There is something wrong with that woman. There is something wicked about that woman...
...Mary walks the halls at night. I hear her footsteps. I hear her whispering my name. I begin to conceive of her as a devil sent to taunt me, to tempt me from my path. I wake from dreams of her lithe body against mine, her slim hips beneath my hands...
“Oh,gross,” I said, making a face. “Isn’t she a teenager?”
“Seventeen or eighteen, I think,” Desmond said. “But it’s hard to tell.”
There was one more piece of translated text, scribbled down like an aside.A procedure to divide the c, it said.
“What’s this?” I asked, finger trailing under it.
“It was scrawled on a page by itself—there was more to it, but it was water damaged or something. It looked like it was made in a hurry,” Desmond said. “I don’t think it was written at the same time as the entry, but it seemed weird, so I translated it.”
I peered at it. What could the rest of it have said? I couldn’tmake sense of it, but the earlier entries... “Foxglove again. What’s dropsy?”
“It’s an old term for symptoms of heart failure. Foxglove was one way of treating it,” Desmond said. “What do you mean, again?”
“The figments keep showing me foxglove. I think...” I took a deep breath. “I think that Leopold might have been poisoned with foxglove. I think Jessamine might have been, too.”
“Helen, you can’t joke about that.”
“I’m not. I think that’s why the figments look like them.”
“You didn’t tell me you’d seen Grandpa.” It was like he was suddenly much farther away, a gulf opening up between us. His features were set, expressionless.
“I wasn’t hiding it from you.” Was I?
“But you think he was murdered. Which means you think that one of us murdered him.”
“Notus. I don’t think you did it, obviously. Or Celia—but maybe Roman or...” I trailed off, realizing what I was saying and who I was saying it to.
Desmond might not be his stepfather’s biggest fan, but he didn’t look amused. “Roman has nothing to gain,” he said angrily. “No one does. Except you and your mom.”
“She didn’t have anything to do with it.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “If you’re going to be throwing around suspicions, be careful where they land.”
“Look, let’s forget that for now. Can you just finish the translations? Please?”
“Fine.” He stood, gathering up the pages and the journal.“Even if someone killed Grandpa, no one would have hurt Jessamine. She was just a little girl,” he said.
“People do terrible things to little girls all the time,” I replied, but he was already gone.
—
I found Bryony by the pond, sketching in a leather-bound book. Cattails sprang from the curve of the sketched shore with each flick of her pencil.
“Hey,” I said. She jumped, then smiled, relief breaking over her face.
“You’re looking better,” she said. “Upright, at least.”
“It’s progress,” I agreed. “And the fresh air is nice.”
“Then let’s enjoy it,” she suggested. She started out along the shore and caught my hand as she went past. I startled, but let her guide me, our fingers lightly hooked together as if it were completely natural. As if it didn’t make my whole world narrow down to that point of contact.
