something edible, but the tray bore no cookies or other delicacies. She set the tray down on a side table, and proceeded to pour two cups.
“Do you take milk?” she asked Sarah.
“No, thank you.”
“I hope you don’t mind. I sweetened the tea in the pot. I always do when I’m making it for myself, and I just forgot this time.”
“That’s fine,” Sarah said. “I like it sweet.”
Mrs. Walcott stirred Sarah’s cup, then handed it to her before filling her own.
Sarah took a sip. The tea was extremely sweet, making her empty stomach clench with happiness. She wanted to gulp the whole cup at once, but good manners prevailed. Waiting until Mrs. Walcott was seated again, she asked, “Would you mind telling me what really happened the night Anna died?”
Mrs. Walcott took a fortifying sip of her tea. “I wouldn’t mind at all, since I no longer have any reason not to. I was very upset with Anna that night.”
“Because the Giddings boy came to the house?” Sarah guessed.
“No, that was merely an annoyance. I was upset because I’d found Anna and my husband together that night,” she said bitterly. “I was furious, of course, and jealous and humiliated. I ordered Anna to leave. I know you’re thinking I should have been angry at Oliver, and I was, but I’m afraid I wanted to blame Anna for everything. She ran out into the night, and Oliver went after her. He wouldn’t tell me what happened between them, but when he returned, he had blood on his clothes, and he said Anna wouldn’t be coming back. He begged me to forgive him, and he promised he would never be unfaithful to me again.”
“And you believed him?” Sarah asked incredulously.
Mrs. Walcott’s pride was all that held her together. “I wanted to believe him, Mrs. Brandt. I know that makes me a fool, but he swore he’d never cared for her, not the way he cared for me. Of course, I didn’t know Anna was dead until the next morning, when the police came. I thought… Well, I don’t know what I thought. Oliver had left by then and asked me to say he hadn’t been home at all that evening. He didn’t come back for several days. I was afraid he’d never come back at all.”
Sarah took another sip of the tea, and this time the sweetness was cloying, making her feel slightly nauseated. That would teach her not to eat. “I suppose all of this happened later in the evening,” Sarah guessed. “After Miss Porter went to bed.”
“Yes, I’d retired myself, but something awakened me. When I saw Oliver wasn’t in bed, I went looking for him, and… that’s when I found him with Anna,” the other woman explained, her eyes clouded with the painful memories. “I was grateful Catherine slept through the whole thing. There was certainly no reason to air our dirty linen in front of her. Now, of course…” Her voice trailed off.
“Now you probably wish you had,” Sarah guessed.
“Perhaps if she’d known Oliver’s true character, she wouldn’t have run away with him,” Mrs. Walcott said sadly. “Of course, I realize he was probably dallying with her all along, too.”
“Did your husband admit to killing Anna?” Sarah asked, hating to cause the woman more pain, but knowing it was necessary. “Did he tell you how it happened?”
“Is your tea too hot?” she asked suddenly, her tone oddly insistent. “Or did I make it too sweet?”
“It’s nothing to be alarmed about, just those stray dogs,” Mrs. Walcott said reassuringly. “We can’t seem to get rid of them.”
But someone was calling Sarah’s name, the person who was shouting over the barking dogs. She was sure of it. She stood up, but she must have risen too quickly, because she felt dizzy.
“Mrs. Brandt! Get out of there! Come quick!” the voice was calling, and Sarah responded instinctively, moving toward the door.
Mrs. Walcott grabbed her arm to stop her, but she shook her off. “Someone needs help,” she said, her words sounding oddly slow to her own ears.
“Mrs. Brandt! Get out of there!” the voice was screaming, desperate now. It was vaguely familiar, the panic unmistakable.
Mrs. Walcott grabbed her again, her hands amazingly strong, like a man’s. Sarah shoved her away, panic making her stronger, too. The woman hit a table, lost her balance, and fell, but Sarah couldn’t stop to help her. She had to get to the voice.
She was running now, through the house, toward the kitchen, even though her feet felt as if they weren’t even touching the ground. The dogs, she knew, were in the backyard. They wanted to get in the cellar. Wasn’t that what had happened in her dream? She was so confused. She only knew she had to get to the backyard.
The gaslights were on in the kitchen. She saw the back door and made for it. Mrs. Walcott was behind her, shoes scuffling on the bare floor as she ran to catch up. Sarah threw open the door and launched herself out onto the porch. She caught one of the posts to keep from falling headlong down the steps.
Vaguely aware that Mrs. Walcott had followed her onto the porch, Sarah concentrated on trying to make sense of what she saw in the backyard. Harold Giddings was waving a stick, trying to chase away a pack of stray dogs who were, in turn, trying to get past him into the open cellar doors. He was alternately screaming at the dogs and screaming for Sarah.
An elderly woman, in her nightclothes and carrying a lamp, stood peering at the curious scene from the next porch. Other lights were coming on, and people were starting to shout complaints about the disturbance.
“Harold!” Sarah shouted over the din, and the boy looked up.
“Mrs. Brandt! There’s somebody dead down there!” he cried, pointing toward the open cellar doors.
She leaned forward so she could see into the opening. Someone had lit a lamp in the cellar, and there she saw a large brown dog, the one she herself had tried to shoo away the other day. He was digging furiously, and down in the hole he had dug was what appeared to be a mass of red hair.
Sarah wanted to scream, but the sound lodged somewhere in her chest. Behind her, someone gasped, and she turned to see Mrs. Walcott. Except her cap had come off in the struggle, and now Sarah could see what it was about her hair she’d been trying to hide. It was cut like a man’s. Now she was Mr. Walcott without the beard!
And whoever she was, she was running away. No,
Something in Sarah seemed to explode, flooding her with fury. Somehow she forced her sluggish body to move, and then she was running down the hallway after Walcott. “Help me, Harold!” she screamed, praying he heard her. Remembering the hands that had tried to hold her from answering Harold’s call, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to restrain Walcott by herself, but she’d do it as long as she could.
The woman’s skirts impeded Walcott’s progress enough that Sarah caught him as he was opening the front door. Not knowing what else to do, she threw both arms around his waist and fell to her knees. She wasn’t sure if she’d intended to do that or if her knees had simply given out, but her dead weight had stopped him, so she hung on for dear life, still screaming for Harold to help her.
Walcott struggled fiercely, and something struck her in the temple, sending stars streaking across her vision, but she didn’t let go. She wouldn’t let go, not until someone came to help. She wasn’t going to let Walcott get away with murder. Then Walcott was falling, and someone else was there. Arms and legs, thrashing around, and a stick rising and crashing down. Then everything was still.
17
SARAH PRETENDED SHE DIDN’T HEAR MALLOY SWEARING when he was out in the backyard, looking in the cellar. She held the cool cloth to her bruised forehead and closed her eyes, wondering if the
