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—

Dear Molly,

It’s one thing to lose someone in the natural order of things but another entirely for someone to die before their time. I could not believe what I was seeing on the conservatory floor because it was so completely unnatural—Mrs.Mead, my beloved nursemaid, a kinder mother to me than my own had ever been, who just over an hour earlier had been serving me tea in the banquet room. Now, she lay lifeless at our feet.

What happened next is a blur, a series of tragic tableaux. Someone must have called the police—my father, perhaps, or John? Uncle Willy let them in. The officers, who were known to the Brauns, greeted Magnus and Priscilla with respectful tips of their caps. Notes were taken, details and stories logged. A coroner arrived, officially declaring what was obvious to everyone—Mrs.Mead was dead.

In the tumult that followed, no one seemed clear on how many shots had been fired. Was it one as Magnus and Algernon insisted or two as John and Uncle Willy had claimed? When questioned in the parlor, Uncle Willy revealed that he and Magnus had gone one way in the forest in pursuit of a noise in the underbrush. John and Algernon had each gone their own separate ways. Uncle Willy said he never fired a shot; neither had Magnus or Papa. But when John and Algernon were asked if they’d fired, only one of them nodded.

“I shot into the air,” said John. “Why kill a harmless animal? I wanted to scare it away.”

“And you, son?” an officer asked Algernon. “Did you shoot your weapon?”

“No,” said Algernon. “I…I don’t recall.”

The men explained what happened, each of their stories dovetailing. John heard a cry that sounded not at all like a deer but like a woman’s scream, and he ran toward it. When he arrived, he found Mrs.Mead collapsed and bleeding out in the underbrush. He dropped the rifle he’d borrowed from Algernon and knelt beside his aunt. Algernon arrived soon after, and Uncle Willy, Papa, and Magnus just after that. John and Uncle Willy tried to stanch the wound in Mrs.Mead’s chest, but it was too late. She was already gone.

After hearing everything, caps in hand, the officers asked the men to take them back to the forest. They ventured once more into the violent downpour, leading the police to the clearing in the underbrush where Mrs.Mead had fallen. They recovered two identical firearms in the vicinity—each missing one bullet. The truth of whose rifle was whose had been washed away by the rain.

Once the men returned to the manor, we gathered in the parlor. The officers again asked Algernon if he’d fired a shot, and this time, his answer changed.

“I think I fired, but earlier—way before the maid came running out of the woods.”

“This maid, Mrs.Mead,” one officer said. “Why would she run out like that? What on earth made her rush outside during a storm?” He surveyed the faces before him.

John and Uncle Willy were sitting side by side on a settee, shaking their heads, their faces pale and drawn.

“Heaven knows what she was thinking,” my mother said in an unsteady voice. “We have no idea what made her run off like that.”

“We were chatting with Flora right in this parlor,” Priscilla offered. “I didn’t even notice the woman run past.”

“I did,” I said. “But I don’t know why she was running.”

Algernon was seated across from me, between Priscilla and Magnus. His parents held protective hands on his back. He was mute throughout the conversation. He never looked up from his feet.

Only later did it dawn on me that someone had been absent during the officers’ interrogation. We thought so little of her that we forgot about her entirely. Had she been there, she could have answered the officer’s question, for she was one of only two people who knew exactly why Mrs.Mead had run.

—

We were all in shock in the days that followed, and I was in deep mourning for the very first time in my life. I’d never lost anyone massively important to me. Death before that had been remote and romantic—something in plays and fairy tales.

The grief I experienced upon losing Mrs.Mead was more than emotional. It was physical. It was hard to walk, hard to talk, to wake, to sleep. But my grief was nothing compared to whatever John and Uncle Willy must have felt upon losing this woman who was like a living hearth, bringing warmth and comfort to everyone who approached, and to her family most of all.

As the days passed, it became clear what the police were thinking. They’d returned to the manor several times with follow-up questions, mostly about John. Did he have a history of violence? Was there any reason he might have wanted his aunt dispatched? How long had he been a hunter?

Uncle Willy endured this line of questioning stoically. John wasn’t violent. His aunt was like a mother to him. Apart from the odd groundhog, he wasn’t a hunter at all.

“We all make mistakes,” the officer said when questioning John directly. “If it was an accident, you might as well say so.”

John never wavered from his initial statement—“I shot that rifle into the air. I didn’t kill her.”

I wanted so much to comfort him, for he seemed a husk of his former self. His brown eyes were red-rimmed and downcast, his shoulders slumped, and whenever I tried to speak to him, it was as if he didn’t hear me at all. Like a specter, he simply drifted away.

Meanwhile, Uncle Willy allowed me to hug him and to cry on his shoulder, but his embrace felt distant and weak. He was so bereft, he lacked the energy to console me and I was so accustomed to the constancy of his generosity, the sudden loss of it compounded my grief. For the first time in my life, I realized that what I valued most in this world I could lose in a heartbeat.

Still, Uncle Willy never missed so much as an hour of work at the manor. He stood sentry at the door and did my father’s bidding. When he wasn’t there, he was at the cottage, wandering the grounds aimlessly or sitting at Mrs.Mead’s kitchen table, staring off into space.

My parents responded to Mrs.Mead’s death with their usual lack of tact. “We’ve talked with the Brauns,” my father announced two days after Mrs.Mead died. “Algernon’s fine, just a bit shaken. And they know the police well, so you needn’t worry, Flora. We’ll wear black for a few more days in honor of Mrs.Mead, but after the funeral, life will go back to normal. You understand,” he said.

But I didn’t understand. There was no going back. There was no normal to return to.

“It’s an awful bit of business, darling, a terrible shame,” my mother said, “but it could have been worse.”

When I asked her what she meant, she merely shrugged, but I knew. It was only a servant who’d died, not one of us. We weren’t equal in life, so why would we be equal in death?

In the days that followed, I spent as much time as possible away from my parents. The sight of them now revolted me, and yet I couldn’t have said why. I holed myself up in my room, crying in my bed, day and night. I half expected Mrs.Mead to walk through the door, to sit on the edge of my mattress and comfort me as she’d done so often in the past.

There, there, child. All will be well. Mrs.Mead’s here now.

But she wasn’t. She’d never be there again.

When the autopsy report arrived a week after her demise, the cause of death was no surprise—a bullet through the heart. But no bullet was found in her body, and subsequent searches of the forest turned up two shells but no clues.

The day of the funeral arrived, and for the first time in my life, I picked my outfit all by myself, weeping as I did so.

We met the Brauns outside the small chapel in town where many of the workers from the surrounding estates lived. It was the first time I was seeing Algernon since the accident, and somewhere in my heart of hearts, I suppose I’d hoped he would offer me some kindness, some comfort, some sympathy. But my hope was dashed when he could barely look me in the eye, as though the raw sight of my grief appalled him.

As we awaited our turn to enter the chapel, he wrestled with his black tie. “It’s strangling me,” he said. “I’ll wait outside.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” his father growled. “You will appear in that chapel as will we all. The whole town is watching, Algernon, including the police. You will show you’re grieving alongside everyone else.”

“But you already spoke to—”

“Grab Flora’s hand, Algie,” Priscilla ordered. “Offer her your handkerchief if she weeps. Do you understand?”

He took my hand as our families entered the church, and we sat in a pew at the back.

The small chapel was soon filled to bursting. It could barely contain all the people who’d been touched by Mrs.Mead and who felt compelled to honor her in death as she had honored them in life. There were maids and gardeners, farmers and grocery store clerks, chauffeurs and chefs. None of my parents’ associates were there—no captains of industry, no barons and baronesses, no lawyers, doctors, or real estate tycoons.

But everyone seemed to know Mrs.Mead. The ladies’ auxiliary enumerated her contributions—establishing a soup kitchen for the needy and a knitting circle that sold their wares to raise funds for the local children’s charity. The choir lauded Mrs.Mead for founding their quarterly concert series, and several adults stepped forward claiming she had raised them as her own. How was it that Mrs.Mead had known so many, touched so many, loved so many? How was it she’d made such an impact, sowing kindness and goodness wherever she went, and yet somehow I’d been woefully oblivious to her life beyond loving me?

There were eulogies by the various townsfolk, and the last person to speak was her beloved nephew, John. He walked up to the podium and looked out at the crowd. The ladies fanned themselves and dabbed their eyes with handkerchiefs. Something he saw gave him strength, and his shoulders drew back. He became the proud, tousle-haired boy I’d first encountered long ago outside his aunt’s cottage. He summoned a smile for the congregation, and when his eyes landed on me, I held them, sending all the love I had left in me his way.

“You knew her as well as I did,” he began. “Aunt Maggie was a walking heart. She was capable of one thing only—giving of herself. She asked for so little in return, apparently fueled by vapors or whatever mysterious energy she received in exchange for so much giving. She was no withering daisy, though. She railed against injustice of all kinds, reserving her blistering tongue for those who deserved a dressing-down. Most of you never saw that side of her, but a few of you did.” He glanced at my parents, and they shifted in their seats.

“My aunt Mead defended the working class. She believed wholeheartedly in education, something she never had. When her husband died in the war, she made a dwelling out of an abandoned stone shed in the woods, proving that a home can be forged from anything. She knew that no matter how grand a lodging might be, if it has no heart, it is nothing.

“But perhaps the quality that made Margaret Mead so remarkable was her ability to see the suffering of others. She was drawn to it, and she was called to ease it. There was no pain that Aunt Maggie couldn’t make better or sometimes heal entirely. It was as though she was brought into this world to comfort all who sought solace.

“She wasn’t my mother, and yet she became that. From the heads nodding, I know I wasn’t alone in feeling this way. I ask you now to keep a corner of your heart for Margaret Mead’s spirit. Let it lodge there, for in that humble dwelling, generosity will take root and provide hope to many. Thank you.”

John left the podium and went straight to Uncle Willy, holding him tight. I felt myself rise from the pew, every instinct in me propelling me toward them.

“Sit down,” said Algernon gruffly as he gripped my wrist and held me back.

“They’re not your family,” Mama hissed between gritted teeth.

I sat back down in our pew, doing as I was told, obeying as I always did. To this day I regret it.

—

After the funeral and the burial, the Brauns escorted us back to the manor. Uncle Willy and John arrived as we were seated in the parlor, excusing themselves to go to the cottage.

I intercepted John in the conservatory. Uncle Willy was already out the door and heading to the garden gate. I grabbed John’s hand before he could leave. “Thank you,” I said as I looked into his gentle brown eyes.

“For what?” he replied.

“For knowing exactly what to say and how to say it. And for sharing Mrs.Mead with me for all these years. I never deserved her. And I never deserved you. I’m so sorry,” I said, erupting into tears.

Something in him shifted then. It was like he suddenly saw me again. He drew me to his chest, and I wrapped my arms around him. He nestled his face into my hair, his mouth so close to my ear. “Of course you deserved her, Flora,” he whispered. “And she had enough love for the both of us and for many others besides.”

Crying, we held each other for a long time, and I sensed that feeling return—the feeling I’d felt on the ballroom floor, of John and me falling into lock step, as though not everything between us had to be expressed out loud, for so much could be said without words.

Eventually, I pulled away. “You should be with your father,” I said.

He put his hands to my cheeks. He wiped away my tears and planted a single, warm kiss on my forehead.

He walked out the door and headed toward Mrs.Mead’s cottage. Everything in me told me to follow, but still, I let him go.

—

When I returned to the parlor, drinks were being served by Penelope, who’d suddenly found herself catapulted into Mrs.Mead’s role. Without a head maid’s guidance, she had very little idea of how to do the job. Her hands were shaking as she set glasses on a tray.

“Where’s the ice, Penelope?” my mother asked. “We can’t have whiskey without ice.”

“Apologies,” Penelope said as she ran from the room.

Algernon wrestled his tie off and threw it on a sofa, then plopped himself down. “That funeral service was unbearable,” he said. “I thought it would never end.”

“Audrey, if you’re looking for a new maid, I have a few names,” said Priscilla.

“Ideally, I’d like to hire a chef and a general maid,” said Mama, “and get rid of you-know-who.” She whispered the last part as she pointed to the doorway through which Penelope had disappeared.

“I’m going to check on her,” I said. “Penelope’s struggling without Mrs.Mead. We all are.”

Mama merely shrugged.

I looked at all of them—my parents, my fiancé, and my in-laws-to-be, and a bitterness rose in my gorge. I couldn’t leave the room fast enough.

In the kitchen, Penelope was removing ice from the freezer.

“Can I help?” I asked, startling her so much that she jumped.

“I…I can’t go back in there,” she said.

“Of course you can,” I said. “All you need to do is put the ice in a bowl along with silver tongs, and then leave the rest to me.”

She was wide-eyed, trembling, her eyes filling with tears. “You don’t understand.”

I felt it then, a jolt in the pit of my stomach.

“Mrs.Mead tried to warn you,” Penelope whispered. “And she tried to warn me, too. About him.”

Him. At first, I thought she meant my father. But as I looked in her eyes, realization dawned.

“By him, you mean…my fiancé,” I said.

She nodded.

“I know why Mrs.Mead was running,” she said quietly.

“What are you saying?” I asked as I laid a hand on her quivering arm.

“I told her my secret,” she said.

“What secret?” I asked.

“If I tell you, you’ll blame me. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“Please, tell me,” I said. “I won’t blame you.”

Penelope then revealed everything that had happened in the leadup to Mrs.Mead being shot. On Mrs.Mead’s orders, Penelope had gone to the basement laundry room, where she was sorting clothes when someone came into the room. She had her back turned when he entered, but she knew his voice. He told her to keep her back turned and to stay quiet and still.

“I should have screamed, but I was too scared,” Penelope said. “I swear to you, I didn’t provoke him,” she said through tears. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. You won’t believe me.”

“I believe you,” I replied. I remembered how Algernon had recognized her at tea that day, how she’d dropped a cup on the floor.

“Do you know him? Algernon?” I asked her.

She nodded. “I didn’t realize until the day of the hunt, but yes. Before I took this job, I used to work for a baron and baroness. I did their laundry, cleaned their floors. But things went missing from the estate, and they accused the staff.”

“Did they dismiss you?” I asked.

“They dismissed everyone,” she replied, “The entire workforce.”

Everything fell into place then, all the puzzle pieces aligning to form a terrible picture, and the focal point was the Fabergé. “Penelope, did the baron own an egg,” I asked, “a bejeweled egg on a gold pedestal? Was it one of the items that went missing?”

“I don’t know,” said Penelope. “They had so many fine things, so much art, it was like their home was a museum. But I remember him being there.”

“Algernon?” I asked.

“Yes. I found him alone in the art wing, all by himself in a grand room. He yelled and ordered me away.”

My mind and my belly churned. I couldn’t keep up with my thoughts. “When you took the job here, did Mrs.Mead know you’d been dismissed?”

“I’m ashamed to say I kept that from her. I was afraid she’d never hire me if she knew.” She looked down at her feet. “The other day, in the basement, when he grabbed me, he kept repeating, ‘You don’t know me.’ He said it over and over again—‘Squeal and you’ll pay.’?”

Her round, terrified eyes searched mine for solace. I held her hands and asked her what happened next.

“I don’t remember. I’m afraid it’s a bit of a blur. Eventually, he left, and I got myself together. I went upstairs looking for the only person I thought might help me—Mrs.Mead. She was in the kitchen. I told her everything. All of it.”

I recalled Penelope’s pale face in the doorway of the parlor. I thought she’d seen a ghost, but I was wrong—she was a ghost.

“Mrs.Mead was so angry. ‘My brother and nephew won’t let this happen,’ she said. He won’t get away with any of this, not again.’ That was the last time I saw her alive. The next time I laid eyes on her was when they brought her into the conservatory and placed her body on the floor. And then, at the funeral, after I paid respects to Mr.Preston and his son, young Mr.Braun drew me aside. He knew I’d told Mrs.Mead everything. He said if a deer keeps quiet in the forest, it won’t get shot. Only the noisy ones get the bullet. That’s what he said.”

It’s hard to explain what I felt in that moment—the shock, the horror, the impotence, the outrage. And there was something else, too. It was as if a spell had been broken, as if some veil of enchantment had been fully cast aside. I saw everything clearly for the first time—who the Brauns really were, the lengths to which they’d go to protect themselves and their abominable son. I was a hair’s breadth away from being Algernon’s long-term partner and CEO of alibis. Marrying him would mean condemning myself to a lifetime of cleaning up after his crimes.

“Mrs.Mead was right,” I said. “He won’t get away with this.”

“But he’s your…your…”

“My fiancé?” I said. “No, he’s not. Not anymore.”