Chapter 19
I’d never in my life seen Liam Higgins speechless, never seen his color so pale or his eyes so filled with fury. He knew full well those pigeons weren’t there by accident, that they were Lizzie’s pets, ones she’d coaxed in and kept well fed. I’d told him myself. Complained to him on more than one occasion about having to go out to the barn and fetch something for Mr. Borden only to find their caustic droppings had eaten through the leather trunk, covering its contents with smelly, white slime.
“When did this happen?” he finally asked, his words hushed as if he too couldn’t fathom the depth of Mr. Borden’s cruelty.
I bowed my head and focused on the grit beneath my boots. It was embarrassing. I’d made my way from Ireland on a boat filled with death. I’d found my own jobs and earned my own way, listened as Seamus replayed the gruesome accidents that had taken place at the iron works, and passed my fair share of child beggars on my way to the store. But I couldn’t stomach the deaths of a few dirty street birds. With ten kids to take care of, my father would have slapped me silly for this kind of nonsense. Yet in the context of Lizzie, it all seemed so different. She needed those birds more than she needed a new corset or even a new charity to take on. They might have been filthy, but they were hers. The only thing in that entire godforsaken house that belonged solely to her. And now they were gone. Slaughtered. Dead.
“A few days ago. I know it sounds ridiculous. I know back home, we wouldn’t think twice about stewing them up, but he didn’t do it because they needed the food, Liam. He did it to hurt her.”
“Why? Why would Mr. Borden do that?” Liam asked.
“I don’t know!” I put my hands over my face, wishing for all the world I could just drown out this entire mess. Mr. Borden did it because he was a mean, vile man and probably as crazy as Lizzie.
This was my own doing. I had no one but myself to blame for not keeping my employment with the Remingtons, and for taking on a position in a house that was filled with so many secrets. But the houses on the Hill were too far away and my best friend Minnie worked right next door. I was only able to see Liam on my occasional day off, and I wanted to be closer to him. I’d moved because of him, and now I was stuck.
“She’s having more fits, too,” I said. “Muttering strange things about dead children in the well. She says that they are cursed, that eventually the madness will infect us all. I don—”
Liam held his fingers up to my lips, silencing me. “I’ve heard enough, Bridget. You know how I feel about you working there. I was willing to let it go so long as you were safe, but no more.”
I shook my head. I was scared, and lonely, and worried about Lizzie, but quitting never once crossed my mind. “I can’t quit, Liam.”
“Can’t or won’t?” he asked.
I saw the spark of frustration as he did his best to keep control of his anger. Funny how he could break up a pub fight or bail Seamus out of whatever mess he’d gotten himself into without batting an eye, but Lizzie, crazy old Lizzie Borden bothered him.
I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see the disappointment in his face, the worry I was asking him to continue to carry, but I couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter that the house was slowly consuming me from the inside out. I couldn’t go. I wouldn’t leave Lizzie alone to fend for herself. I’d already done it to my sister, and I wouldn’t do it again.
“Won’t,” I sighed.
“No friendship is worth this,” Liam said as he leaned over and dried my tear-stained cheeks. I hadn’t realized I was crying again, but the tears dripping down and soaking the front of my blouse were all the proof I needed. “Trust me, Bridget, this is for the best.”
I nodded, some tiny piece of me realizing what he was saying made perfect sense. It was ridiculous to sacrifice my own sanity for anyone, especially someone who wasn’t even family. Lizzie could help with chores and beat all the rugs in the world for me, but it wouldn’t change the fact that she was Andrew Borden’s daughter, and I was nothing more than a temporary resident in that house. One more maid in a long string of them.
“You can get another job on the Hill. I am certain Mr. Remington will put in a good word for you. Based on the gossip I’ve heard about your replacement, he’d probably beg to have you back there! And everybody knows how odd the Borden house is. Surely they wouldn’t blame you for leaving.” Liam took my hand in his, squeezing gently. “You can stay with me until you secure better employment. We’ll lie, tell the landlord you’re my cousin.”
“With you?” I looked up at him, shock pulsing through me at the mere suggestion. On more than one occasion, I’d thought about what it would be like to live with Liam, to lie down beside him every night and bury myself in his arms. But of all the things I’d be willing to sacrifice to stay in the States, my reputation wasn’t one of them. My da would curse me seven ways to hell if he knew I was even thinking about taking up with a boy without swearing my love before God.
I shook my head, the reality of my situation closing in on me again. “I can’t live with you. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Liam lifted my chin to face him. “Stayin’ in that house isn’t proper. You’re safer with me, and you know it.”
I thought about it, about what it would be like to wake up in a different house every day. One that was filled with laughter and smiles instead of darkness. Maybe one with proper refrigeration and electricity. A sensible privy, one that wasn’t located in the darkest, most frightening part of the house. Most of all, no whispers. No hushed cries or creaking stairs. Maybe I’d sleep then, a full night of peace without the constant chiming of that clock waking me. Warning me.
“I’ll talk to Minnie,” I said, guilt for what I was considering already consuming me. “She heard the Thompsons were looking for a new maid. I’ll go and talk to them, but I don’t know if Lizzie will even let me go.”
The moment the words escaped my lips, I knew it was the wrong thing to say. Liam’s face turned stormy, every last bit of softness vanishing with my statement. “She has no hold over you, you can be assured of that. I’ll come to that house and deal with her myself if that’s what it takes. Her and her father.”
“No!” I nearly screamed the word at him, overcome at the thought of Liam anywhere near Andrew Borden. I didn’t trust my employer. I wouldn’t put it past him to get so angry about me having a male caller that he’d do something irrational, make sure neither Liam nor I ever found employment in Fall River again. “You can never go there. You hear me? Never.”
“I will if that’s what it takes to get you out of their grip.” There was a hard determination behind his words. He meant it. Every word of it. If I didn’t find a way out of the Borden house by myself, Liam would do it for me. “I can’t do this, Bridget. I can’t watch you suffer like this anymore. Not when I know I could stop it.”
I flinched at the sheer pain darkening his eyes. “I’ll do it,” I said, “but I need a week to find proper employment.” And explain to Lizzie, I silently added to myself.
Chapter 20
The clock at Liam’s place read twelve forty-two when I finally pulled away from him and forced myself towards home. He’d held on as long as I let him, muttered the same set of promises over and over again in my ear. He’d make this right, see to it that I was safe and far away from the Borden’s hold.
I slipped my house key from the string around my neck, unlocked the door, and took care to step as quietly as possible over the threshold. I didn’t want to wake anyone and risk being subjected to a litany of questions about what I was doing out at this dreadful hour. All I wanted was to climb the narrow stairs to my room and fall into bed.
The kitchen was dim, barely light enough for me to find my way to the icebox for a glass of milk. But I could see Lizzie, sitting there at the kitchen table, waiting for me.
“Bridget.” Her back rigid and her face blank. She didn’t smile, didn’t so much as twitch in the chair she was sitting in. Just stared.
I sucked in a
breath and tried to remember the excuse Liam made me repeat back to him over and over before he let me leave. Something about a late-night Mass and a few special prayers for those in need. It wasn’t a lie, exactly.
“You should be in bed, Lizzie.”
“Couldn’t sleep so I decided to get up and wait down here for you.” She twisted her nightclothes around in her hands, the whites of her knuckles showing through the inky blackness. “I was worried, thought perhaps you met some trouble with that boy of yours.”
“No trouble. We were down at St. Patrick’s with some friends. The men were making some repairs to the church and the women—”
“In the dark?” Lizzie interrupted. “Must be hard to fix much of anything without the light of day.”
I shrugged. There was no point telling her that most people, the church included, had electricity. That would only set her on a tirade about how backwards her father was, and I was too exhausted—mentally and physically—to listen.
“How long have you been sitting down here?” I asked as I poured myself a glass of milk. I held the glass bottle up to Lizzie, but she waved me off.
“A few hours. Maybe longer. Long enough to know that you stayed out with your boyfriend far longer than you should have. Your work will inevitably suffer tomorrow.” She shifted in the hard wooden chair, her eyes settling on me. “Besides, what must the other employers think of our house girl wandering the streets at this hour?”
They will think no worse of me than they already do of you, I thought. “No one saw me if that’s what you’re worried about. I made my way through back alleys, and every lantern on Second Street was out anyway.”
I shook my head and pulled out the chair beside her, intent on resolving this right then and there. Lizzie couldn’t have cared less about what the others thought of me; she didn’t even care what they thought of her. This wasn’t about appearances, or reputations, or the quality of my work the next day. This was about me refusing to take her with me to meet Liam.
“I’ve decided to go to Fairhaven with Emma and spend the rest of the summer with the Brownells,” she said.
I nodded. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to spending any time alone in this house with Mr. and Mrs. Borden, but I wasn’t going to try and stop her. Perhaps what she needed was some time away from this place, away from her father’s heavy hand and the town’s insidious gossip. Plus, it would make my finding new employment easier without her around begging me to stay.
“Is that what you want, Bridget? You want me to go there and stay with Emma? You want me to leave you alone in the house with them?”
“I don’t want you to go, but if you need to, then I won’t stand in your way.”
I did my best not to sound too apologetic. Lizzie was already miserable, and I had no intention of adding to it. I’d certainly never imagined the time I spent with Liam would trouble her so, but I couldn’t change it. I wouldn’t lock myself into this dark home with her just to keep her happy and sane. I needed an escape, a sanctuary, a place where I felt safe, and for me, that was Liam. Perhaps the Brownells’ house could be that place for her.
I heard a tiny scrape of metal across the wooden table and looked down, wondering what item Lizzie was toying with now. She saw me staring and pulled her hand back, the outline of a key remaining behind.
“Lizzie? Is that your father’s room key?”
She nodded. “You’ll want to keep this hidden while I’m gone.”
I took the key and studied it, turning it over and over in my hand as I tested the weight. I knew Mr. Borden’s key well, could tell you where the back was scratched from Mrs. Borden shoving it in the lock upside down. I’d moved it more than once off the mantel so I could dust, had even polished it once or twice at Mr. Borden’s insistence. This key would fit the lock between Mr. Borden’s and Lizzie's room, the door she had barred shut with her bed. But I was even more certain that this was not Mr. Borden’s key.
“Where did you get this?” I asked as I slipped it into my dress pocket. Just yesterday, Mr. Borden had been carrying on about some missing papers, but he had his key on him and his door was locked. He’d had no one to turn his suspicions to. Not me. Not Lizzie.
“I had it made a few weeks back. Thought it be wise to have my own set of keys to every lock in this house.” She put her fingers to her lips indicating I should keep quiet. “You don’t need the rest, but this key . . . this key you’ll need.”
“Why would I need it? I’m not allowed in your father’s room, you know that.”
“He keeps a bit of money in the safe. The combination is 3-26-63. The date of my mother’s death. There is enough in there for the trolley to Swansea. Uncle John is there, tending to some business for my father. If things seem odd here or you feel sick, I want you to take the money and go to Swansea straight away. Uncle John will send word to me, and I will meet you there, keep you safe.”
I pulled back, astounded. I’d never stolen a thing in my life, and I certainly wasn’t going to start now. And keep me safe? From whom? And John Morse would be the last person I would turn to for help. His mere presence caused me alarm.
Lizzie reached out and closed my hand around the key, leaving her fingers tightly on mine for good measure. “Keep it. I’ll be leaving in a few days, and I need to know it’s safe.”
She stood as if to return to bed, but stopped short of the doorway. “Keep your wits about you while I’m gone, Bridget. You know how my father gets when I leave.”
I did know. And my blood turned cold in my veins simply thinking about it.
Chapter 21
The rapping of the wind against my windowpane woke me up long before the sun normally would have. I brushed aside the curtains and peered out. Still dark. Still quiet. That meant everyone in the house was asleep, and I could get a head start on my chores. Lizzie was leaving soon, and if I had a prayer of finding new employment while she was away, I needed to start looking today.
I opened up the top drawer of my dresser in search of a clean apron and saw the key Lizzie had given me last night. I’d stashed it there, figuring it would be the safest place to keep it. I knew for a fact Mr. Borden would never go through my things, and Abigail Borden . . . she had enough trouble with the temperature on the second floor, let alone the stifling heat in my cramped attic space.
I didn’t want that key, wanted nothing to do with the door that separated Mr. Borden from the rest of us. But if Mr. Borden found out Lizzie had one made—or worse, if he realized I was in possession of it—things would go from bad to dreadful. I quickly tucked it underneath my extra pair of stockings and closed the drawer, hoping eventually I’d forget I even had it.
The steps to the cellar were dim, the light of my lantern bouncing off the walls and sending shadows skittering out every which way. Despite Mr. Borden’s warnings against being wasteful with oil, I’d left another lit one at the top of the stairs. Should the cold air of the root cellar extinguish my light, I wanted another to guide my way out.
I kept my eyes glued on the steps in front of me, counting each one in my head to keep my mind off the task at hand. I hated the cellar, always had. It was dark. Unnaturally so. In fact, even on the coldest winter nights, I’d make use of the outhouse rather than come down here to use the house’s only indoor privy.
“Took a drop of the pure that keeps me heart from sinkin’,
That's the Paddy’s cure whene’er he’s on for drinkin’."
I gave up on counting and instead quietly sang the words I remembered Liam and Seamus singing, focusing on the notes and the memories of them banging their hands on the table in time to the beat. I might not have had the best singing voice and I undoubtedly missed most of the notes, but it kept my mind off the darkness swallowing me and the whispers I could hear building in the walls again.
“To see the lassies smile, laughing all the while,
At me curious style, ’twould set your heart a-bubblin’.”
The words rolled off my tongue as I reache
d into the stack of logs Mr. Borden kept for firewood. They were damp and I groaned, knowing exactly how difficult it would be to light the cookstove without dry wood. Blasted cellar. Nothing down there ever escaped the must and rainwater. Grabbing two logs, I tucked them into the folds of my skirt and quickly headed back towards the stairs.
I’d hit the second step when I saw a shadow cross the path of the lantern I’d left on the top stair. The lantern flickered once, twice, then vanished. Before I had a chance to call out, the door slammed shut, the force of it blowing out the lantern I’d brought down with me, leaving me alone in the dark, damp cellar.
I gasped and dropped the logs. “Mrs. Borden? Lizzie? Mr. Borden?” I yelled out, hoping someone was up and would hear me. All I got was silence. Eerie, empty silence.
The entire cellar was veiled in a deep, vicious darkness, and it was difficult to see the steps beneath my feet. I stumbled up the next few steps, feeling my way along the treads with my hands. “Help, please, somebody let me out!”
I reached the top, panting, my breath caught in my web of fear.
“Lizzie!” I screamed, rattling the doorknob. It was stuck. Or locked. I didn’t know which, but either way, I couldn’t get it open.
The door suddenly gave way, and I fell through, crashing in a tangled mess of arms and legs to the kitchen floor. I looked up, horrified to see not Lizzie but Mr. Borden staring down at me. His ice-blue eyes glanced from the cellar door to me, and back again.
“I assume you’ve got a good excuse for making enough of a ruckus to wake the whole household?” he asked.
I went to pull myself upright, and he extended a hand. “I’m sorry, sir. The door slammed shut on me while I was gathering the wood for the cookstove.”
“It’s not stuck,” Lizzie’s uncle, John Morse, said as he tested the knob. “Locked.”
Sweet Madness Page 10