That’s what she’d believed before Wendell had tried to leave. And no mention had been made of him by Dr. Hazzard or anyone else since that dreadful night.
She couldn’t bring the message to her appointment. If Dr. Hazzard saw it, she would put the pieces together, and if she ascertained Stella’s knowledge of the three dead patients—
That couldn’t happen. She must hide the note here and pray some kind soul would deliver it to the telegraph office. If only she could catch Margaret Conway alone. Such a sympathetic woman, and her care for Dora went beyond that of a faithful servant. She loved Miss Williamson, wanted the best for her. Too bad Dora believed Wilderness Heights was her best chance at health. Why wouldn’t she agree to leave? Dora was as thin as the wire in an incandescent bulb, and only since Margaret had taken to spoon-feeding her had she begun to look remotely human.
Please, God, let me cross paths with Margaret. She’ll help me send the wire. I know it.
She returned the letter to the table then snatched it to her chest. If Sam or Rollie searched her cabin again while she was at the main house for treatment, they couldn’t find her plea for help. They’d give it to Dr. Hazzard, and she’d be in the same quandary as if the doctor found it in her possession. Where could she hide it? All three Hazzards already gave her suspicious glares when she entered the house, so she could leave no clue to fuel their distrust.
Heart thumping, she scoured the small space for a hiding spot. Where would they not look? Surely they’d go through her bags again. She pulled open drawers in the bureau, and when she found nothing, her eyes caught on the framed picture on the wall. That horrible drawing had been here since the day she moved in, so the Hazzards may not give it another thought. She lifted it off the wall, and dust coated her fingers. The demonic cherub smiled at her as if he knew the dark secrets she guarded for the sake of life and limb. She flipped the frame. After inducing sleepless nights with his narrowed eyes on her, hiding her message was the least this goblin baby could do.
The paper backing peeled easily. Stella turned the picture over and kissed the child’s cheek. “Thank you, you scary demon. But this doesn’t mean we’re friends.” She secreted her folded note behind the paper and hung the frame back on the nail.
With any luck they’d have the same aversion to the picture and steer clear.
She hastened to slip off her nightgown then pulled a dress over her head. The fabric swallowed Stella whole, falling in saggy folds around her ankles. How much weight had she lost? One glance in the mirror above the washbasin reflected her haggard features. She touched her cheek. Even her skin felt frail. If she couldn’t find Margaret Conway or someone else to take her message to the telegraph office, she’d hike into town and carry it herself. Maybe beg for a slice of bread in the process.
Her gaze darted to the clock. Ten minutes until her appointment. She slipped into her shoes and raced out the door.
Breathing hard, she took the trail as quickly as her weakened legs would carry her. She threw the door open and strode into the house. The place was silent as a catacomb. Why did the doctor and her family seem to scatter like bugs under a light during the day? Were they nocturnal?
She started for the stairs, but stopped as she passed the dining room. Margaret Conway and Dora Williamson sat alone at a table. Margaret spooned broth into Dora’s mouth. “You must eat something.” She lifted the spoon and smiled. “You’re getting better every day.”
“I miss Claire.” Dora’s voice quavered.
“Me too. But she’d want you to build up your strength.” Margaret’s eyes glimmered. “You know she crawled into town to send word to me. She knew you were in trouble.”
Sunlight filtering through the window caught a tear as it slipped down Dora’s sunken cheek.
“She would want me to take you home.”
“But my treatments aren’t over. I’m not cured.” Dora rested a bony hand over Margaret’s.
Stella stepped into the room, and both women trained eyes on her. “Go with her, Dora. I’ve seen things. Awful things. I want to go home too, but my friend did not come for me. Margaret cares for you. Please, take the opportunity and go as far from this place as you can.”
Margaret stood. “What have you seen?” Her hand clamped the chair back until her knuckles turned white.
Would she tell Dr. Hazzard Stella’s secret?
Stella shook her head.
“You have to tell me.” Margaret strode to Stella and grasped her hand.
“Why?” Stella snatched it away. How could she trust this woman? Though she’d claimed her arrival was to remove Dora from Dr. Hazzard’s care, neither of the women had left. Dora stubbornly insisted on staying, but why didn’t Margaret make her see reason or forcefully drag her off the property?
“I need all the information I can obtain about the happenings at this house,” Margaret whispered. “I’m working with a lawyer in Seattle to build a legal case against Dr. Hazzard.” She bit her lip and cast a glance at the empty doorway. “Claire Williamson died here not long ago. Circumstances lead me to believe she may not have died of natural causes. I want her death avenged.”
Stella licked dry lips. The sincerity in Margaret’s eyes softened her distrust. Dr. Hazzard deserved punishment for the deaths of men and women under her care. This might be Stella’s opportunity to bring justice for Wendell and Sue, but she couldn’t testify from her secluded cabin. And Dr. Hazzard would shoot her and have Rollie drag her into the woods before letting her speak out in court. There was only one way to ensure her own safety and Dr. Hazzard’s conviction. “Come to my cabin tonight. If you help me get away from here, I’ll tell the lawyer everything I know.”
Margaret nodded slowly and swallowed hard. A smile touched the corners of her lips. “I will see you tonight.”
Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Stella turned to find Dr. Hazzard striding toward them.
A stiff smile turned her mouth, and she raised a brow. “Ready for your internal bath, Miss Burke?”
Stella peeked out the curtain into the darkness. Where was Margaret? Had she told Dr. Hazzard Stella was hiding something, that she knew more than she ought?
She dropped the curtain and stepped to the table. Her Bible lay open, and she sat down before it. Reading might keep her mind from floundering through frightening thoughts until Margaret arrived as she had promised.
Stella had left off with the children of Israel at the banks of the Red Sea. She could almost hear the clatter of the Egyptian horses and chariots as their slave masters pursued. Then the words of Moses to the frightened Israelites froze her finger on a line of Scripture. “Fear ye not, stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord.” The salvation of the Lord. Stella had read the account enough times before to know that His salvation had defied nature. For He controlled nature. God had more than vanquished the enemies of His people, but they hadn’t needed to lift a hand to help. All they had to do was stand back and watch His mighty power.
God, show me Your might. Please, let Margaret deliver my message and bring Jane to help me. Dora and I aren’t the only ones here. None of us are safe. Deliver us. Help me to stand still, because it isn’t easy. I don’t want to fight this battle on my own.
A knock sounded at the door, and Stella stood and opened it. Margaret bustled in, glancing over her shoulder.
“I don’t think I was followed.” She glanced around the cabin.
“I wish I had more suitable refreshment to offer you, but I do have water.” Stella motioned to a pitcher on the table.
Margaret shook her head. “No, thank you.” Determination glinted in her green eyes. “Please tell me everything. When did you arrive? Please, it’s very important.”
“Three weeks ago.” Stella grabbed the painting off the wall. “Before I share details, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything.”
Stella slipped her message from behind the paper sheeting and held it to Margaret. “See that this message is sent to Jane
Wallace. The directions are written at the top. Until I’m safely away, I’m afraid—”
“You’ve nothing to fear from me.” Margaret took the paper and tucked it into her handbag. “I understand your concern. But please know I’m not on Linda Hazzard’s side. I don’t trust that woman. When I arrived to tend to Dora and Cl—” She sucked in a breath. “Dr. Hazzard was wearing one of Claire’s dresses. And I’ve since seen her parading about in Dora’s earrings and her fox stole.” She lowered her voice as if the demon child in the painting would carry her secrets to Linda Hazzard if he overheard them. “Hazzard convinced Claire to sign legal documents that named her Claire’s sole heir when she died. I think she’s luring wealthy people here to take advantage of them. You’re not safe, and I won’t pry information from you before you’re ready to share, but would you answer one question for me? And I ask it only for myself, not the lawyers.”
Stella nodded. Something in Margaret’s eyes loosened the taut nerves between her shoulders.
“Did you know Claire Williamson?” Tears shimmered in her eyes. “I really must know how she was before—”
“I didn’t know her.” Stella sank onto the bed. Dr. Hazzard and Sarah Anderson had called the dead woman Claire on her first day here. Certainly it must be the same woman Margaret begged word of. “What did she look like?”
“She looked much like Dora. Same brown hair.” Margaret held a hankie to her eyes. “She didn’t want to come here. Dora convinced her.”
Stella closed her eyes. Poor Margaret. Poor Dora, to hold the guilt of bringing a sister to the place where she’d be killed. “I believe I saw Claire my first night here.”
Margaret’s brow puckered. “But you just said you didn’t know her.”
“I didn’t, but I came across a sight I wasn’t supposed to see.” She buried her face in her hands. “But I can’t unsee it now. I walked past a water closet, and Dr. Hazzard and a nurse named Sarah—she doesn’t work here anymore—were standing over—” She rubbed her temples. The throbbing was starting up again.
“What were they standing over?” Margaret held the handkerchief over her mouth.
“It wasn’t a what.” Stella chewed her lip. “It was a who. They called her Claire. Dr. Hazzard told Sarah to call Butterworth’s. But I saw her, lying on an ironing board above the bathtub before she was taken away. She was even thinner than Dora, if you can imagine.”
Margaret shook her head. “But she looked like Dora? The same hair color?”
Why was this woman so obsessed with the color of Claire’s hair? Why did something so petty matter now? Stella nodded.
“I knew it.” Margaret’s jaw hardened.
“I don’t understand.” Stella poured a glass of water to remedy the dryness in her mouth.
Margaret paced from the door to the bed. “When I went to Butterworth’s to view Claire’s body, the … person … they showed me looked nothing like her. After seeing Dora’s condition, I didn’t expect her to be plump and healthy as she once was, but her hair color was wrong, and the shape of her face. I knew it couldn’t be her.” She spun to face Stella. “Why all the secrets? Why show me the wrong body?”
Stella’s hand clutched her throat and her mind took her back to the washroom where Claire’s body had lain.
“What? You remember something?” Margaret knelt beside the bed and rested her hands on Stella’s shoulders.
“Her neck. There were bruises around her neck.”
Margaret’s jaw slacked. “You think she was murdered?”
“I can’t be certain.”
“Dr. Hazzard will pay.” Margaret raised a fist in the air. “I don’t want to hate her, but every bone in my body does.” She rose and moved toward the door. “I’ll see your message safely to the telegraph office first thing tomorrow. When you’re free, I will find you. Will you tell me everything then?”
“Of course. Everything.” Stella swallowed past the growing knot in her throat.
When the woman shut the cabin door behind her, Stella sank back onto the bed. Help was on the way. And Linda Hazzard would answer for her crimes. Stella sat straight as a board, pulling in a breath. That smell.
Vanilla.
Her heart rose into her throat. Sam Hazzard. Did the doctor’s husband know Margaret had come to her cabin? Had he overheard their conversation, deciphered their plans?
But he couldn’t hear through the cabin walls. Certainly not.
She glanced at the painting of the baby. The child’s eyes read her doubt, and his lips smirked at her discomfort. Stella blew out the lantern and crawled into bed, clothes and all.
She listened to her ragged breathing in the silence. Please, God. Help me to stand still and see Your salvation.
Chapter Twenty-Five
A scream ripped through the air, sending Henry out of bed like a shot. Not bothering to grab his robe, he stumbled out the door toward sounds of wailing. Dawn’s gray light bathed the corridor, helping him gain his bearings.
Sobs filtered from the cracked open door of Rose and Daisy’s room. He dashed inside. Rose sat on the bed, her back to the wall and knees gripped to her chest, terror scrawled on her little face. Daisy huddled in the corner, tears in her eyes. Her thumb in her mouth muffled her wails.
“What’s all this?” Henry scooped Daisy into his arms then settled on the bed beside Rose. “Did you have a bad dream?”
Rose shook her head, dashing her tears with fisted hands. “There’s a monster.”
Daisy took her thumb out of her mouth long enough to wrap her arms around his neck in a death grip.
“There are no such things as monsters.” He held out his arm, and Rose scrambled beside him and burrowed against his chest. “Did you dream it?”
Rose shook her head. “I saw it.” She pointed to the corner beside her chest of drawers. “When I screamed it hid under my bed. Told me not to tell you.”
Henry chewed the inside of his lip. A little too specific for a dream. The whole affair reeked of Robby. The boy had been almost too docile lately. And his failure to give details regarding the papier-mâché project he’d been laboring over added a fresh layer of mystery. “Is he still under the bed?”
Rustling of the quilt and a low groan confirmed the little sinner’s location. Rose nodded, eyes wide.
Henry untangled Daisy’s arms from his neck and set her on the bed. Her lip quivered, and fat tears dangled from her lower lashes. She held out her chubby arms to him. “Just a moment, Daisy.” He planted a kiss on her clammy forehead. Would she ever speak?
Henry knelt beside the bed and lifted the covers. There, between the floor and springs, lay a miniature goblin. The papier-mâché mask he wore resembled a misshapen clown. Its bulbous nose painted red, the dark eyes sunken, and a mouth so twisted by evil that it would frighten a grown man. But behind that devious grin hid a mischievous boy who’d better enjoy his last moments of freedom. Punishment must be swift and just. Despite their conversation and Robby’s assurances that he wanted to protect his sisters, not torment them, they found themselves in the same predicaments far too often.
“Robby, get out from under there.” Henry lifted the blanket higher.
The boy squirmed away from him. “I don’t want to.”
“You scared your sisters half to death. They thought you were a monster.” He glanced at the two little girls huddled on the bed, still crying softly.
“So I did pretty good, huh?” The grin in Robby’s voice made Henry bite back a smile. Robby had worked hard on the mask, and as far as frightening things went, he’d outdone himself. And he was just a boy. This was just another one of his pranks. But he’d terrified his sisters, and he had to be made to see that sort of behavior would not be tolerated.
“Robby, I know you’re only looking for a bit of fun, but you need to show Rose and Daisy that it’s just you under the mask. They won’t rest easy until you do.” And they’d never agree to go to sleep in this room again. Not after a creature from Hades had paraded around their
beds.
Jane bustled into the room, the concern on her face eclipsing the fear in the little girls’ eyes. “What’s going on in here?” Her clipped tone and the tear whispering down her cheek brought Henry off his knees.
“Robby frightened his sisters, and now he won’t come out from under the bed.” Henry wiped his hands on his pajama pants.
Jane planted her fists on her hips. “Robby, what are your middle and last names?”
“John Warner.” The defiance in his voice shrank to contrition as he addressed Jane.
“Robert John Warner, get out from under that bed this instant and apologize to your sisters. We haven’t time for your pranks today.”
The boy scooted from under the bed. In the daylight, the mask was even more grotesque than when Henry had seen it from the shadows of the bed.
Rose and Daisy screamed.
“Take the mask off.” Jane wagged a finger.
Robby grabbed the giant nose and pulled the mask over his head. He cast a fearful look at Jane. “I’m sorry, I—”
“You should be sorry. But don’t apologize to me. Look at Rose and Daisy. They’ll be afraid to go to sleep tonight. It’s them you must apologize to.” Jane motioned to his sisters.
Robby stepped beside the bed. “It’s just me. I’m sorry I scared you.”
Rose’s tears slowed. “You’re mean.”
“I said I was sorry.” Robby crossed his arms.
“Now, be off with you.” Jane shooed Robby toward the hall. “Get dressed. You’ve an extra list of chores today as penance for frightening your sisters.”
Robby skipped out the door, a smile on his lips as if the chores were an easy price to pay for the juicy bit of excitement he’d had.
Henry scrubbed a hand over his face. What would he do with that boy? What would he do without Jane and her commanding ways? He lifted Daisy off the bed. “See, girls, monsters aren’t real. You’re safe here.”
Rose glared at Robby’s retreating back. “He wasn’t sorry enough. He scared Daisy.” As if Rose herself hadn’t been the one screaming blue murder at the sight of the masked marauder.
The Purple Nightgown Page 18