I rushed over and pulled them from the water with the tongs, but I didn’t put any more into the water. I had other things to deal with.
“I’m sorry, but—” I pointed at the picture frame. “I saw this picture, and your sister looked so much like Catherine.”
Abigail stiffened behind us where she was filling jars. Margaret frowned. “Does she?”
I looked at her, mouth agape. “Yes. They could be twins.”
“I’m not sure I see it,” Abigail said, wiping her sticky hands on a towel that was thrown over her shoulder.
“Maybe I can,” Margaret said. “It has been so long since I’ve seen Catherine that I’m not sure, but perhaps.”
“Perhaps?” I stared at the painting and shook my head. To me, the resemblance was exact.
“I actually think we can take the rest of the preserving from here,” Abigail said, dropping new jars into the boiling water. “There isn’t much else to do, and after this, us old women will likely go to bed.”
I looked out the window and realized the sun was starting to sink below the horizon. I’d eaten so many apples while slicing them that I hadn’t even thought about lunch, and now it was nearly time for dinner.
“I set out for a walk and never returned,” I said, hurrying to grab my coat from the hook behind the door. “My sister will be worried about me. Thank you both so much for letting me help, but I really should be going.”
“Of course,” Margaret said, holding open the front door. “But please do come back anytime.”
I made no promises and set out for the walk home.
By the time I made it back, the sky was dark. Charles looked surprised when I walked through the door. The rest of the house was business as usual. Catherine was asleep, Camellia and the nanny were in the nursery, and the rest of the household staff were going about their duties preparing dinner.
No one had realized I’d been gone at all.
8
Camellia didn’t come down for dinner the night I came back from the Wilds’ home, and she didn’t join us for breakfast, either.
“Where is Camellia?” Catherine asked.
We had very little to talk about as a group since Charles wanted to avoid all conversation of Catherine’s illness, Catherine wanted to avoid all conversation of the Wilds, and I wanted to talk about both of those things simultaneously.
I did not especially want to talk about Camellia, though.
She glared at me whenever we were in the same room, and I knew she was counting the days until I returned to London. That was not even a guess on my part. She had outright asked me when I would be returning so she could mark it on her calendar. When I told her I wasn’t sure, she let out a forlorn sigh and then claimed it was because she hadn’t slept much again due to Hazel’s crying.
I, for one, never heard any crying in the night.
My room was on the opposite side of the hallway, but I would still have heard a baby crying.
“My sister is in the nursery, I think,” Charles said.
Catherine’s brow lifted slightly, and then she nodded. “She has been helping Molly a great deal with Hazel’s care.”
“She enjoys it. I think it helps her.” Charles gave Catherine a knowing look that I did not understand.
As soon as breakfast was over, Catherine went back up to her room to rest, and I tried to stay in the sitting room and read. I tried to keep myself occupied and out of trouble. But life in the country was rather dull, and I had two options: walk the two miles to visit Margaret and Abigail Wilds again or stay at the house.
As much as the two women next door entertained me, there had been a strange energy there when I’d left the day before, and I did not want to overwhelm them with my company.
Anyway, I had things I needed to do in my sister’s home.
Namely, speak with Charles.
My brother-in-law was stooped over a letter on his desk, his hand pressed to his forehead in concentration when I knocked on the door. He looked up, and I could see the disappointment on his face.
He and I had never been close.
Honestly, there hadn’t been much opportunity for a relationship to form between us. When he’d first met Catherine in New York City, I was a young girl, hardly worth his time or energy. More than that, I hadn’t wanted to know him. I’d been far too busy chasing after boys.
Then, he and Catherine got married and stayed in New York City while I lived with my parents in London. When they did return to England, they settled in Yorkshire, where I had only briefly visited them.
So, no, Charles and I were not friends by any stretch. But he was my sister’s husband, and I needed to speak with him.
“I was hoping to talk with you for a few minutes.”
He winced. “I’m actually rather busy. Do you think it could wait until—”
“Thanks, I’ll come on in.” I stepped into his study and pulled the door closed behind me.
“Alice,” Charles warned, his tone deep and somber. “I’m starting to think this was all a mistake. Catherine wanted you here, but it seems like things are getting worse. I don’t blame you by any means, but—”
“That is good,” I said, interrupting him again. “Because none of this is my fault. It is yours.”
Charles opened and closed his mouth several times, looking for the words to respond to me. Whatever he’d thought I wanted to talk about, he clearly didn’t think I’d be so forthright. But based on what I’d seen going on in his house thus far, there wasn’t time for anything less than brutal honesty.
“I’m sorry, but I’ve noticed some troubling things, and I have a hard time thinking you haven’t noticed them, too.”
“Of course, I’ve noticed,” he snapped. “My wife is unwell. How could I
