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Still stinging from the way her laughter echoed through the sunroom, I gave her a hard stare and said, “Does my father?”
Miss Baker stiffened in her seat. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Your help.”
I listed all the ways in which I needed assistance, from procuring maternity clothes to accessing the proper amount of food. This needed to occur long enough for Ricky and me to plan our escape. I finished by telling her that it all had to be done in secret.
“That’s a tall order,” Miss Baker said. “What makes you think I’ll be willing to help?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell my mother everything.”
The corners of Miss Baker’s mouth lifted in a cruel smile. “Your mother already knows.”
“Then I’ll tell Berniece Mayhew,” I said, knowing full well she was the biggest gossip among the household staff. “About you and my father and what the two of you have been doing when you think no one is watching. Once that gets out, good luck finding another job teaching etiquette. Everyone will know exactly what kind of lady you are.”
Miss Baker stood in a huff, looking like she wanted to slap me across the face, storm out of the room, or both. I suspected the only reason she didn’t was because she knew she was trapped.
“I’ll help you,” she finally said.
We shook hands. She promised to see about buying me some new clothes in the morning, followed by arranging a visit from a doctor whose discretion was assured. I told her that Archie had agreed to set aside an extra plate of food at every meal and give it to her to bring up to my room.
“Who else knows about this?” Miss Baker said.
“Just Archie,” I said. “And now you.”
To her credit, Miss Baker refrained from mentioning my sister or my mother. She had been at Hope’s End long enough to observe that neither of them would have been of any help to me.
When we parted ways, I felt a newfound sense of optimism that my plan could actually work. It would require caution, of course,and perhaps a little bit of luck. But for the first time in weeks I saw a path that led me away from Hope’s End, away from my family, and into a bright, happy future with Ricky and our child.
The only thing I didn’t count on was that, no matter how cautious I was, luck failed to be on my side.
And that when I shook hands with Miss Baker, I was in fact making a deal with the devil.
THIRTY-TWO
I leave the dining room as Mrs. Baker pours another drink. The sound of wine spilling into her glass follows me across the kitchen, replaced by a loud, sloppy sip as I reach the service stairs. As I climb to the second floor, I try to piece together how she could have killed Mary.
First, Mrs. Baker got wind of the fact that Lenora was telling Mary her story. Most likely she was passing by, heard the typewriter, and realized what was happening. She could have even crept in at night and read what Lenora had written.
Maybe Mrs. Baker also knew about Carter’s quest to prove he’s Lenora’s grandson. It’s obvious she keeps a close eye on what’s happening inside Hope’s End. She likely spends more time observing than anything else. Which makes it equally as likely that she found out Mary and Carter’s plan.
Then, on the night Mary left the house with the suitcase, Mrs. Baker struck.
I can even picture it as I continue up the stairs.
Mary rushing across the terrace with a suitcase that contained dozens of typewritten pages and a sample of Lenora’s blood.
Mrs. Baker emerging from the shadow of the house.
Fast.
Grabbing the suitcase.
Breaking the handle.
Giving Mary a shove.
It’s possible Mrs. Baker had no intention of killing her. Maybe she just wanted to throw Mary off-balance long enough to get the suitcase away from her. But death was the end result. Mary slipped over the railing, fell to her death, remained there for days. And Mrs. Baker had no choice but to tell everyone that Mary left in the middle of the night.