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“So you specifically asked if it was her sister?”
“That’s a weird thing to do,” Archie says, finally piping up.
“Indeed,” Mrs. Baker says. “I can only assume you did it because you went through all of our names with Miss Hope and was told no.”
“That part doesn’t matter,” I say. “What’s important is that she said it was Virginia. Which we all know isn’t the case.”
“Why does she think that?” Jessie says.
Honestly, I don’t know. My best guess is that talking about the past has Lenora dreaming about it. Those humdinger nightmares that linger. When she wakes, she thinks they’re real. Just for a moment. And that her sister is with her still.
But saying that would reveal all. A tempting idea. Tell them everything and see what happens. Admit that I’ve been helping Lenora type her story, that Mary did the same thing, and that it’s why I think someone shoved her off the terrace. I don’t because it would also give away Carter’s secrets. Something the nervous ping-ponging of his eyes tells me he wouldn’t like.
“It’s the power of influence,” Mrs. Baker says, answering in my place. “Something in Kit’s body language or the way she spoke our names indicated to Miss Hope it wasn’t the answer she wanted. But the way she mentioned Miss Hope’s sister did. Miss Hope was merely trying to please her.”
Not knowing how to respond, I begin to smooth the skirt of my uniform.Mytell. “What are you suggesting?”
“That the culprit is you, dear,” Mrs. Baker says.
“Why would I type this?”
“Attention?” Jessie suggests while shooting a quick glance at Carter she probably doesn’t want me to notice.
I glare at her. “I don’t need anyone’s attention.”
“Then why are we all here?” Mrs. Baker tilts her head, staring directly at me, her blue eyes boring into me like the sunrise. “You’re the one who demanded we all come here so you could show us the words on that page and tell us Miss Hope claims it was her sister. Why go to all that trouble?”
“Because I want whoever did it to stop,” I say. “Please. And stop sneaking into Miss Hope’s room at night.”
Mrs. Baker’s body goes rigid. “Someone’s been doing that?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did,” I say. “The morning after my first night here. I told you I heard footsteps in Miss Hope’s bedroom and you said it was just the wind. But I heard it again the next night. And saw someone at that window. And watched a shadow pass the door between our rooms. That wasn’t the wind. So it was either one of you or it was Lenora.”
I stare at Mrs. Baker, silently daring her to chastise me for not saying “Miss Hope.” She doesn’t. Instead, she says, “Tell me immediately if it ever happens again.”
Then she leaves, thereby bringing an end to this melodramatic—and ultimately fruitless—household meeting.
Archie is the first to follow her out. Then Carter, who gives me a we-need-to-talk-later look before slipping out the door. Jessie, however, lingers. Remaining on the divan, she says, “Sorry about that. I don’t really think you did it for attention.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Jessie stands, steps closer, touches my arm. “What I mean is that I don’t think you did it at all.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lenora pretending she isn’t paying attention to every single word. Before Jessie can say anything else, I pull her into my room and shut the adjoining door behind us.
“Did you do it?” I ask her. “Did you type it and get Lenora to tell me it was her sister?”
Jessie drifts away from me, toward the bookshelf. “No way. How could you, like, even think that?”
Because she’s done this kind of thing before. In the ballroom. With a Ouija board. Like we’re in a goddamn game of Clue.
“If it was some kind of prank, I’d—”
“I told you it wasn’t me,” Jessie snaps. “How do you know it wasn’t Lenora? She can type, right?”