by Blythe Baker
“What are your terms, girl?” Mr. Carter asked.
Francine hesitated. “My…terms?”
“You said that we needed to do as you asked,” Mr. Carter said. “What would that look like?”
“I – ” she said. “I – I want to be with my William.” There was a note of hysteria in her voice as she said his name.
“Has he written to you?” Mr. Carter asked.
“N – No,” Francine said after a pause, seemingly perplexed. “But it is only because he no longer dares – ”
“But have you written to him?” Nash asked. “And still received no response?”
Francine did not answer immediately. “I – ” she said. “That Sara must have intercepted my letters. She has always been jealous of me – ”
“My dear…” Lady Wilson said in a pitying voice. “…He did not write because it is as I said. He did not, and does not, love you.”
Francine’s whimpering grew louder. The shard in her hand wobbled. The grip of her other hand on my shoulder weakened.
“What is it that you wish us to do?” Mr. Carter asked again. “Surely you must realize that we cannot all stand here for the rest of our lives.”
Francine’s ragged breathing behind me sent chills down my spine as it spilled over the back of my neck.
“We can see how troubled you are,” Nash said. “And we can understand why you would feel hurt. But do you really want to follow through? To ruin your life in this manner?”
“She has already made that choice long ago,” Lady Wilson murmured.
Francine’s hand stiffened. “I will do it,” she said. “I will take her life.”
I watched as Mr. Carter, standing behind Lady Wilson, leaned over to Nash, whispering something to him.
Francine noticed it too. “What are you two talking about?” she demanded.
She tightened her grip on the glass. I stiffened, leaning as far away from it as I could. She held me fast, though, and I could not fully escape its bite.
“You do have the upper hand here, Francine…” Mr. Carter said. “Mr. Greenwood and I were just acknowledging that. Which is why it will be up to you how this will all play out. Now…do you still wish for us to get you back to your young man?”
“I – I don’t know,” Francine said. The piece of mirror moved ever so slightly away from my skin. Distracted, perhaps? “I do not believe Lady Wilson. I know William does love me, is waiting for me.”
Nash made eye contact with me and gave me a small, nearly imperceptible nod, so subtle even I was unsure if I had seen it properly or not.
“Very well,” Mr. Carter said. “I see no point in arguing about it any further. We shall take you to William.”
“Really?” Francine asked. The shard disappeared. “You won’t send me to prison?”
In that next moment, Nash and I were of one mind.
As soon as her grip relaxed and the glass moved away from my flesh, I leapt outward, away from her. The edge of the shard caught my shoulder but I cared little, even as it tore through fabric and grazed against my collarbone.
Nash, too, made a dash for me. In less than a heartbeat, I found myself wrapped tightly in his arms, well out of Francine’s reach.
Mr. Carter used that moment of distraction to cross the distance to Francine, colliding with the girl and knocking her to the ground.
Frightened as she was, wrestling the shard from her grip came easily to Mr. Carter. Soon, the dangerous encounter was over, almost as quickly as it had begun.
“It’s the powder,” I said, pointing to the jars on the vanity table. “The poison – it’s in there.”
Nash did not waste a moment. Still holding me, he scooped up the jars and shoved them into his pocket.
“Constable Brown will want to see these as evidence, no doubt,” he said.
As I clung to Nash, barely able to keep myself upright, I heard Francine say, “This can’t be happening! All I wanted was to be with the man I love!”
I gripped Nash’s arm all the harder and swallowed my fright.
I understand what you mean all too well, Francine. Love, it seems, can make us…or break us.
17
“…And Doctor Webb assures us my aunt will make a full recovery, as long as she keeps herself well away from any of the beauty products Francine might have tampered with.”
It was a bitterly cold December morning. Almost a week had passed since the ordeal at the Grangehurst estate. Francine had been taken away by Constable Brown, as soon as the snowstorm had died down enough for him to be summoned. Exactly what fate awaited a girl so young, who had attempted but failed in murder, I did not know. All I was certain of was that I had very nearly lost my life and was grateful to now have it back.
Nash and I wandered along the streets of Grangehurst, despite the chill in the air. Snow had settled over the town, blanketing the rooftops in glittering layers. Chimneys billowed hot, thick smoke into the sky, which seemed to be the same grey as the clouds they mingled with. The first signs of Christmas had begun to appear in shop windows in the form of holly berries and boughs of greenery.
“It does my heart good to hear that your aunt will be well,” I said, smiling up at Nash. “I had so hoped that after all she has been through, she might have the return of her health, along with the normalcy of her daily life…well, apart from the company of a former favorite maid.”
Nash nodded, a sad smile on his handsome face. “Yes, my poor aunt is perhaps saddest about that. Francine was with her for some time and she rather liked having her around…”
I sighed, my breath coming out in a billowy fog. “The poor girl…she lost her head and her heart all at once. She wanted so badly to be loved that she lost all sense of herself when the chance was taken from her…” I frowned. “And it is not unlike a young girl to react in such an extreme way. Their passions burn so brightly. But to then try and poison your aunt because of it?”
Nash nodded. “It seems she had been trying to for months, though could never seem to get the amount of arsenic quite right in the powder. With each new jar, she added more. I fear that the newest one she attempted to give my aunt might have been the one to kill her.”
I shuddered. “I’m relieved that she was stopped when she was.”
“You mean it was good that you stopped her when you did,” Nash said.
“Well, I did not do it alone, you know,” I said. “I did have the help of Mr. Carter.”
“Where is that Mr. Carter?” Nash asked. “I thought I heard him mention the fact that he intended to stay in town for some time. Perhaps through the winter?”
“Yes, I believe so,” I said with a small smile. “He has also made a point of stopping by the shop several times, with increasingly transparent excuses each time.”
“Oh? How so?” Nash asked.
I grinned. “Well, the first time, he wished for my sister to repair a button on his favorite gloves. Reasonable enough, of course. Then he came in with a snag in his best silk tie. Still Lily thought nothing of it. Yesterday, however, he stopped by with a hat, asking for Lily’s opinion on a lining for its interior.”
Nash laughed. “She does not suspect he visits to see her?”
“No!” I exclaimed, laughing as well as we turned onto Church Street. Lights began to glow within the windows as the early darkness of night began to fall.
Nash changed the subject abruptly, staring up at the sky. “The snow has returned…” he murmured.
I stopped beside him, turning my face up to the clouds overheard. Tiny, silent flakes fell, gently landing on my cheeks, tangling with my hair, my eyelashes.
“Iris…” Nash said.
I looked down to see him staring at me with such intensity that I found it hard to return his gaze.
“I feel as if the time has come,” he said. “…To fully make my intentions known…to you.”
Right there, in the middle of the snowy sidewalk, Nash Greenwood bent down onto one knee. He took my hands in his own and
stared up at me with adoration.
“Iris Dickinson…” he said, his face flushed from far more than just the cold. “I may have only known you for a short time but it seems that from the moment I met you, I knew there was something rather different about you.”
My heart thundered in my ears and the small cut on the side of my neck throbbed slightly as my pulse quickened. My nerves sang, numbing any pain I might have felt.
“I have waited some time to ask you this, though now it seems silly. I should have asked you as soon as I knew I intended to do so. To have delayed…well, I suppose it was out of fear,” he said.
His fingers nervously rubbed across the backs of my hands, his skin cold to the touch.
“Iris, nothing could possibly make me happier than for you to be my wife,” he said, resolute, beaming up at me. “I have loved you for some time now. I have held it in my heart ever since that night we sat together in the tea room at the inn. I know it was not the most ideal of circumstances but it was that night that I knew for sure…knew that I would be an utter fool not to ask you to marry me.”
I did not let him go on any longer. I did not need to consider my response.
“Yes, Nash Greenwood,” I interrupted. “I love you…and I have wanted nothing more than for you to ask me to marry you.”
Nash scooped me up in his arms, twirled me around, the snow swirling around us as if in a dance.
“Very well, then…” he said, his eyes bright with joy as he set me back down. “Then let us be married.”
18
“You know,” Lily said with a grin as we crawled into our respective beds that night. “Nash came into the shop to ask me for my permission to marry you almost three weeks ago.”
“Three weeks?” I asked, my eyes widening. “Good heavens, so long ago?”
She nodded as she pulled the covers up over her knees. “Indeed. I believe he intended to ask you soon after. But then Mr. Shaw was found dead and Nash’s family became tangled up in that mess.”
“Oh…” I said. “And then his aunt’s health began to decline because of the poison…”
“Yes,” Lily said. She smiled, though, a bigger smile than she might typically wear. “Oh, Iris…I am so pleased for you. I had hoped that this might happen before Christmas, so we might be able to celebrate it fully. Have you discussed a date yet?”
“We were thinking early spring,” I said. “That way everyone could travel to be there with us. Nash has a great many cousins across the county and wishes all of them to come.”
I sighed happily.
“I never thought I could be this happy. Never in all my life.”
“Well, you deserve it,” Lily said.
I settled down into my bed, staring up at the ceiling. I felt weightless. Nothing could possibly dampen my good spirits.
I fell into an easy sleep. I dreamt of Nash and our future together. Everything seemed so perfect. It was just as I hoped it would be.
I walked toward the altar, until a voice behind me drew my attention.
“I only wish I could be there to celebrate with you, my dear…”
Slowly, I turned around.
Mother stood there, blood trickling down her face from a gaping wound in her forehead.
“…If only I hadn’t been killed.”
A flood of images washed over me, crashing against me like a wave breaking against the cliffs. These weren’t dreams. They were real. Or at least, some details were real.
Screaming, I sat up.
“Iris!”
I opened my eyes to see Lily standing over me, her bedraggled hair hanging in her eyes, fear clearly written all over her face.
I blinked up at her as my mind began to clear…and then the terror filled me once more.
“Lil…Lily?” I asked.
“Yes, I’m here,” she said, brushing some hair from my face, laying her hand against my cheek. “It’s all right. What happened?”
I swallowed but my mouth was dry.
I tried to push the images away but they would not leave me. I could not…they would not…
I stared up at her, realizing there was no turning back. Everything I had known – everything we had told ourselves –
“…I…” I said. “Lily…I know everything.”
“Everything?” Lily asked, her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“About Mother…” I said. “The past…what happened to her. I – I know everything.”
Read the conclusion to the mysterious adventures of the Dickinson sisters in
“A Stab of Dread.”
About the Author
Blythe Baker is the lead writer behind several popular historical and paranormal mystery series. When Blythe isn't buried under clues, suspects, and motives, she's acting as chauffeur to her children and head groomer to her household of beloved pets. She enjoys walking her dog, lounging in her backyard hammock, and fiddling with graphic design. She also likes binge-watching mystery shows on TV.
To learn more about Blythe, visit her website and sign up for her newsletter at www.blythebaker.com