Chapter 24
Twenty-Four
I wake in our bed, hours or days later—I’ve no recollection how much time has passed. A shaft of sunlight slices across my eyes. I blink, and then I see Kate, her form silhouetted against the window. “Ah, you’re awake,” she says.
Anger trammels through me. I sit up, ignoring the rush of dizziness. I brush the hair out of my eyes and look down at my chest, where she pierced me. A square of gauze, plastered in place, covers the top of my left breast, right below the neckline of my nightgown. “You hurt me,” I say.
“I had to,” she says, sitting on the edge of the mattress next to me. “You were breaking character, Lil. You nearly ruined our act.”
“So you did it to punish me, then?” I spit, seething.
“No,” she says steadily, as if speaking to a child. “To focus you. To bring you back into character.”
“You could have killed me!”
She sighs, crosses her arms over her chest. “You forget that I know the human body. Intimately. You were in no mortal danger. I was well southwest of your heart. Your plump little breast might have a scar. That’s all.”
I want to slap her, hard, across the face. But I lack the courage to do so. Instead, I turn my head, unable to meet her steady gaze. Tears prick the corners of my eyes. How I hate her in this moment! Her smug look. Her condescension.
“You ought to be ashamed, Lil.”
“Ashamed? Of what?”
“Of how you treat me. I’ve saved your life. Twice now.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Or is it three times? Yes. Three. Counting the search party who wanted to lynch you.”
“I trusted you! I trusted you not to hurt me.”
She scoffs, shakes her head. “It’s only a puncture wound. It will heal.”
“It isn’t just the wound. It’s so much more than that.” I push the covers back, scurrying out of bed.
Kate sighs. “I knew you would be upset. But you’re acting like a spoiled child. I saved your life, Lillian! Saved countless others. There hasn’t been another murder since our act. Not one.”
I clench and unclench my fists, my nails biting into my palms. “How . . . how long have I been asleep?”
“Four days.”
“It happened again, then. The catalepsy.”
“Yes. And I’ve not left your side. I’ve dripped water into your mouth with a sponge. Washed you. Held a mirror to your face, to check your breathing.” Hurt brims inside her eyes. “Come, let me make you something to eat. You have to be famished.”
I scoff, turning my back on her, but she’s right.
Hunger gnaws at my stomach, just as it did when I woke in the crypt.
She closes the distance between us and wraps me in her arms, resting her chin on my shoulder.
I stiffen at her touch. “Please don’t be cross.
We’re free now. Really and truly. Try to think of that. ”
“Don’t you ever become Winthrop in my presence again,” I say, whirling to face her. “Never. God help me, if you do, I’ll leave you, Kate. I’ll leave and I’ll never come back.”
“Do you know who Winthrop is, darling? Who I based him on?”
I bark a laugh. “The devil himself?”
“One would think. But I based him on Lionel.”
“What?”
“I became my monster to exorcise him. Just as you had to become yours.”
I still, horror and disgust running through me. I push away from her. “You . . . you bedded me as him. Twice. Can’t you see how that sickens me now, Kate? Knowing what that means?”
“Yes, and I don’t expect you to understand.
But becoming Ezra Winthrop helped me vanquish Lionel.
The memory of what he did to me. More than you could ever imagine.
Becoming him gave me power when I felt powerless.
Lionel inspired Winthrop. But I made him my own.
He’s my creation. Controlling him—even if it’s only in my imagination—cages the lion. ”
“He beat you!”
She flinches. “Yes. He did. And far worse. That’s the reason I can’t bear submitting. To anyone.”
The next question is sour, bitter as bile on my tongue, but I must ask it, all the same. “Were you . . . did you act like him? The things he did to you . . . did you do them with me?”
“No. And I never would. That was all me, sweetling. You were willing. You wanted it. What he did to you. My Winthrop, at least, is gentleman enough to require consent.”
I let out my breath in a rush. Grateful, at least, that I didn’t give myself over to something as evil as I feared.
“I promise you, Winthrop won’t ever return.
I understand why you’re angry. I do. I’ve compromised your trust.” Kate reaches for me.
I pull away at first, then melt at the insistence of her arms. She enfolds me, swaying me from side to side.
“Our performance was astounding,” she says, kissing the nape of my neck.
“They believed it as if it were gospel. Your catalepsy was the real miracle of it all. The coroner came forward, took your pulse, listened to your chest. Pronounced you dead. It was perfect. No one questioned it. You should have heard the cheering, Lillian. We brought the house down. Men came up to shake my hand and congratulate me. One girl wanted a lock of your hair, as a souvenir. I obliged her, of course.” Kate grins.
“I’m a hero, sweetling. It’s really something. ”
A sickening tumble of horror runs through me. They cheered my death. Applauded my would-be executioner as a hero. Even though I know it was all an act, my feelings are hurt by Kate’s glee.
“And what do we do now?” I ask, my mouth dry.
“After you’re fully recovered, we’ll pack our bags. We’ll leave for London.”
“And what happens when they discover you aren’t who you said you were? You were supposed to report your findings to the coroner, remember?”
“By the time he realizes it was all a hoax, we’ll be long gone, making our new life together.” Kate nuzzles my shoulder. “I’m sorry I hurt you, Lil. Do you forgive me?”
“You frightened me. Terribly.”
“Look at me.” She turns me in her arms, fixing me with her eyes. “I’ll never hurt you again. Ever. In any way.” She shakes me gently. “Do you hear me? I love you. You’re my wife. My North Star, my light.”
“I . . . I love you, too,” I say.
“All is forgiven then, eh?” She grins at me playfully, raising a brow.
Though I accept her apology and stifle my bitterness, my feelings are in tumult.
We have breakfast together in our room, and then Kate goes out to do the chores, leaving me bundled beneath the covers.
By evening, I have a fierce headache, and my mood has soured even more, though I do my best to hide it.
After Kate falls asleep, I sneak out of bed, and go up to the library.
Ruby’s tablet is still there, with her name written across the slate in looping, even letters.
She was so proud that day. She’d practiced writing her name, over and over.
Tears spring to my eyes, unbidden. I miss her sweet smile.
The way she bit her lip when forming her letters.
This can’t be all there is for me—becoming Kate’s doting wife.
I reach up, feel the stubble at my temple, where she sheared off a lock of my hair to give to some pretty girl as a trophy.
A souvenir. Kate didn’t consider how that would make me feel.
How my hair is one of my few vanities. She didn’t care about anything other than their applause. Their praise.
We spend the following days preparing for our trip.
We pack two trunks with Kate’s favorite costumes, a few of Lucrezia’s altered dresses for me, and enough cookery and utensils to set us up in a new home.
We give the chickens to the Gullah Geechee elders and learn that Ruby and her father successfully stowed away on a ship bound for Canada. It’s a relief to know they’re safe.
The day before our departure, Kate goes to town for a few necessary supplies for our journey, and I wander the house, poking in all the rooms, taking stock of the memories we’ve made here.
Finally, I make my way up to the widow’s walk.
Kate forbade me from going there, alone, due to the danger, but I want one last view of the marshes to capture in my memory forever—my place of salvation, where I discovered my first taste of freedom.
I climb the rickety stairs and emerge atop the roof as the sun sets.
The view takes my breath away. The creeks and rivulets cut through the spartina, lit up like twisting roads made of molten gold.
From here, I can see the hammock island where I built my hermitage, the lights of Mount Pleasant winking on in the dusk, and past that, the glittering sea beyond the harbor.
I take a deep breath, leaning over the wrought iron balcony.
It creaks under my weight and then gives way under my elbows, the iron rusted and weakened by the salt air.
I step back as a section of it falls to the ground, far below.
My heart gallops. If I’d leaned against it with my full weight, I’d have lost my balance and toppled over.
Regretting my folly, I descend to the attic on shaky legs and stay there until I reclaim my senses.
Once night falls, I begin to worry. Kate told me her errand wouldn’t take long—that she merely needed to go into Mount Pleasant to pawn some of the jewelry I’d stolen and shop for supplies.
But as midnight passes, suspicion seeps along the edges of my mind.
What if she’s double-crossed me? Tricked me?
What if she’s already left for England, and never intended to take me with her at all?
When dawn breaks and she still hasn’t returned, I hastily dress and hide my face with my cloak.
She’s taken our skiff, so I walk to the nearest wharf, hoping that one of the fishermen plying the morning waters will take me down to Mount Pleasant.
It’s risky. And with the rising temperatures, my cloak will draw attention.
But I cannot sit idly at Angel’s Rest, pacing the floors and worrying that Kate has betrayed me.