Page 38 of Death at Morning House

The night of the deaths at Morning House

Unity did not look down to see what she had created on the stones below. The fall would be fatal. She had killed two of her siblings. One had been intentional. The second, improvised. Necessary. That one she would have to explain.

Below, screaming.

She returned the chair to its proper position and went back to her room. Clara had bloodied her nose and cut her lip and the blood had dripped down the front of her dress. She washed off the blood, changed her clothes. She could tell other people she fell, tripped up the steps looking for Max. No one would care. The house was chaos now.

Unity waited for Father to come to her. He would come—he had to come. He would realize that she had done what was necessary, had been brave and strong.

But he did not.

He was busy, of course. The police, the bodies. He would have to do something official to mark their deaths. She would go to him. She rose and walked out of her room, down the hall, down the steps. She felt tall. Grand. Complete. Unity felt like she was gliding on ice as she walked up to his study door and knocked. She opened it to find her father sitting at his desk, head in his heads. He looked up at her.

“Unity,” he said quietly. “Clara is dead.”

“Yes,” Unity said. “I know.”

“Clara,” he repeated. His voice was hoarse. Unity fought back the fingers of panic that were creeping around her neck. This should have been her moment of glory. Clara, ruining everything again, being the star of the show.

“I came to tell you something,” she said, primly taking a seat on one of the plush green chairs.

He looked up at her, his face gray. “I wish you would not.”

This was confusing.

“But I have to. You realize what I did, don’t you?”

Unity did not believe in spooks and spirits, but it seemed like something left Phillip Ralston, some animating impulse that kept him upright. His eyes hollowed.

“The household was asleep all day,” he said, his voice a rasp. “It was not natural.”

“Veronal.”

“Veronal,” he repeated. “That does explain things.”

“I’m sorry about that, but it was necessary. I was very careful about the dosages. I studied them from your books. I was extremely precise, as much as I could be. The dosage anyone took likely never exceeded twenty-five grains....”

This was familiar ground—telling her father her work. The look on his face was much more familiar. He was listening, following her calculations. She expected him to correct her on some of the methods she had used. Someone could have overdosed if they had had too much of something. But her plan had worked exactly as she anticipated.

Unity waited for the praise that was certainly coming—the speech of pride and gratitude.

“Did anyone else see you?” he finally replied.

A rush of relief spread through her. Her lungs expanded and she straightened up.

“I thought you were going to do it,” she said. “So many times. Or I thought you were trying to get Clara to do it. I thought she might succeed as well. She threw him off the boat. Victory pulled him out, because she’s sentimental, isn’t she....”

“Clara was trying to teach him to swim, Unity.”

“It could have worked. It would have been easy—just to say he fell from the boat and we couldn’t get to him in time. But it didn’t happen, so I did it. It was very peaceful. And Clara, that was an accident. She came after me and punched me, Father. I hit her back. She fell. That’s all that happened.”

Her father—the great Phillip Ralston—appeared to shrink. He sank into his chair and put his hands around his head and sobbed.

It was the most terrible sight Unity had ever seen.

“We will say Max drowned by accident,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “And that Clara jumped from the roof. Do you understand? This must be the story. To everyone. To Faye, to your brothers and sisters, to your aunt. Everyone.”

“But I did—”

“Tell me you understand, Unity,” he said. The tears were rolling down his face and his voice was thick. It was repulsive.

“Yes,” she said, turning away. “Yes.”

“Go. Go to your room. Go, Unity.”

Unity held her head high as she left the room and went up the stairs. She did not look behind her. Someone had been listening at the door. Of this, she was certain. She was glad. Someone knew of her triumph. Someone knew she was the brave one. If she didn’t know who it was, it would be anyone. It would be everyone.

She was the true Ralston.