Page 120 of Death at a Highland Wedding
Silence.
“As for Mr. Müller, he is being held in custody.”
Her head whips up. “Did he kill Ezra?”
“That is for a court to decide. But when he attacked me last night, he hinted at what they did to you.”
She shudders, her gaze dropping before coming back up. “He attacked you. Are you… all right?”
“He did not molest me,” I say. “He shot me, punched me, and gave me a head injury, but I was spared anything else.”
“I should have spoken,” she whispers. “I know that. I worried about other girls, the maids, and I feel sick for not saying anything, but I knew no one would believe me, not against Ezra. The sun shone on him, and he was adored.”
The bitterness in her voice slices through me. She continues, “He hadreturned to Edinburgh before I quit, and I thought the girls would be safe while others were here, but I was still deciding what to do when he died, and then I did not need to speak up.” Her gaze lifts to mine again. “Werethere others?”
“I do not believe so. Mr. Sinclair would not have acted with Mr. Cranston in residence.”
“My mother says he is a good employer. Mr. Cranston.” She sniffs. “I do not see it. He is a blustering boor who fired my father and brought in that… that man.” She looks out at the lake. “But it was Ezra who truly brought Mr. Müller, and Mr. Cranston has been kind to my mother. He told her that if any of his guests interfered with any of the maids, she was to tell him immediately. Perhaps he would have believed me, had I told him. Still, it was his dearest friend.”
“What matters is that we have no evidence that either Mr. Sinclair or Mr. Müller interfered with anyone else. So you had an affair, then. A romantic one? With Mr. Sinclair? Or Ezra, as you called him.”
Her lips twist. “That familiarity answered your question, I suppose. He seduced me with kindness. Men think it is flattery that will win a girl’s heart, but kindness works so much better. I thought I would not fall for that. Many people are kind to me, but…”
She inhales. “Outside my family, kindness can feel like pity. For this.” She lifts her leg. “To some, the fact I was not burned as a witch is kindness enough. Ezra didn’t see a lame girl. He only saw a girl. He talked to me as if I were his own age, his own class. An equal. He spoke of his situation, his parents’ deaths, the charity he endured as a child, the shame of that. He said one good thing came of it, though. His lack of family meant he could marry me.”
She looks at us. “You think me a fool, don’t you.”
Isla lays a hand, not on Lenore’s but beside it on the bench. “I married a man who claimed to love me and only loved my family’s money. I am as educated as a woman can be, raised to think for myself, and I still fell for him. Does that make me a fool? Most women almost have known some man who tricked them in that way.”
Lenore looks at me.
“Well, let’s see,” I say. “There was the fellow who courted me to make another woman jealous. The one who courted me whenever he visited town,and turned out to have a wife back home. And one or two who courted me only to get into my bed.”
Lenore’s brows knit. “You do not seem old enough for all that.”
“Mallory is older than she appears,” Isla says. “The point is that we do not think you a fool. We think you human. Women—and men—can be tricked. It is only a matter of finding the right bait for the trap. You are correct that kindness—and respect and consideration—can work far better than presents and flattery.”
“We do not think you foolish for falling for Ezra,” I say. “We also do not think anything if you were coerced—or even agreed—to what happened with Müller. When you’re in love, you agree to lots of things you later regret. As for any impropriety, Isla was only being polite. It’s not my age that explains my breadth of experience with men. It’s just me.”
Lenore sputters at that, even as her eyes glisten. Then she says, “As for what happened with Mr. Müller, I am not familiar with the word you used—coerced?—but I believe it means I was talked into it. There was no talking. I was not in a state to do that.” Bitterness sharpens her voice again, even as her hands tremble.
“You were forced into it,” I say.
“Can one be forced into something if one is not awake when it happens?”
“Oh!” Isla says.
“I am so sorry,” I say, my voice dropping. “You don’t need to tell me more if you don’t wish to, but I am here to listen if you want.”
“Ezra and I were drinking. He often helped himself to Mr. Cranston’s whisky, and he would share it with me. I knew how expensive it was, and I would feel fancy drinking it, but I did not care for the taste, so I never drank much. Yet even ‘not much’ always seemed to be too much, and I would fall asleep. Ezra teased me about that, how sweet I looked when I slept, how loath he was to wake me. I did sleep soundly, and when I woke, I felt…” She flushes. “Uncomfortable. Especially in my nether regions. I feared the pox, but Ezra wore something to prevent that and to prevent a child, which seemed to prove he was a good man.”
She goes quiet and then murmurs, “A good man. A man who let—” She breaks off. “I woke to find Müller on top of me and…”
“Having relations with you,” I say.
She nods. “I screamed, and as I was fighting him off, Ezra ran in,panting as if he had just arrived. He said he had stepped out. Only when I first woke, I saw him standing there. He was…” Her cheeks go bright red, and Isla squirms, as if wanting to tell Lenore she can stop there. I subtly shake my head. To stop Lenore implieswe’reuncomfortable with where her story is going.
“Watching,” she whispers finally, her gaze down. “Ezra was watching. He quickly left and pretended to have come in. He even tried to blame me, outraged that I was so drunk with whisky that I… I allowed that.” She looks at us. “I did not. He must have put something into the whisky. I thought back to all the other times I fell asleep and I realized what must have—”
