Page 82 of A Madness So Discreet

“I suppose so, but I don’t see—”

“And we’d hate to have the hospitality of our town fail him, mad or not. It would reflect negatively, don’t you think?”

The bailiff shook his head. “I don’t know about that, ma’am. All I know is that I can’t let you go back to the holding cells.”

“Holding cells,” Adelaide repeated. “That sounds quite dangerous and exciting, doesn’t it, Madeleine? Of course, I imagine it’s all old hat to you, isn’t it? You must have such stories.”

“I do, ma’am. I do at that,” the bailiff agreed, a small smile blossoming at her admiration.

“I’d love to hear some,” Adelaide said. “I understand if we can’t take poor Mr. Mae the pie—after all I might have baked some instrument inside it, mightn’t I?”

“Oh now,” the bailiff said, shuffling his feet. “I’m not saying you did anything of the kind.”

“Good,” Adelaide said. “But nonetheless, if we can’t, then we can’t. How about you tell me a story or two over a slice while my friend goes back and has a word with the poor oppressed?” She leaned toward the bailiff, voice dropping conspiratorially. “She’s lost her husband recently, by his own hand. Told me she couldn’t live with herself if she were to hear that another such travesty happened here in our town. If she has a word or two that might settle the man’s heart, it can’t hurt for him to hear it, am I right?”

“I suppose,” the bailiff agreed, his attention more focused on Adelaide than Grace. “But I can’t let you back there no more than a few minutes.”

“One slice of pie, each,” Adelaide said. “Then we’ll both be quite out of your hair.” She nodded to Grace, who didn’t wait for permission from the debating bailiff before opening the door and slipping past him.

The hallway was short and empty, with two cells, only one occupied. Grace walked up to the bars and raised her veil before her courage failed. “Hello, Father.”

He came unsteadily to his feet, eyes wide and jaw slack. “I am mad then,” he said to himself as he stepped toward her, hands outstretched. “They said it was so, and I must be, to see the dead and talk with them.”

“I am not dead,” Grace said. “And you are not mad. It’s easier for Dr. Thornhollow to believe it, and I will let him. But I know better, don’t I?”

He reached the bars, his hands encircling them. “The dead know nothing,” he insisted.

“And the living have secrets.”

“Grace.” He said her name for the first time, and she could not help but flinch. “Grace,” he said again, reaching for her. “How can this be? You died.”

She smacked his hands away, and the physical contact brought the truth crashing home. His eyes, which had been wide in wonder, now narrowed. “What is this? What lies have been told to me?”

Grace laughed, the sound of her mirth jagged in her throat. “So many, Father. But they cannot match the ones you’ve told, accumulating over a lifetime to bring you here, face-to-face with the daughter you betrayed in the most shameful of ways.”

His face contorted, rage twisting his handsome features into a sneer. “That filth Heedson! I’ll have his job!”

“On the contrary, Father. Your very existence now supplies him with one. He’ll be in express charge of your care, I’m told.”

“Damn you, Grace!” he shrieked at her. “What have you done, girl?”

She leaned into the bars, her face a mask of anger. “What needed doing. You locked me away, Father, but had no key to my mind. I found it, there in the darkness. I found it and I’ve used it to your undoing, and I’d crow about it to the world if I could.”

“I will, by God,” he screamed, striking the bars in an effort to get to her. “I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done, you lying bitch!”

“Go ahead, Father,” she said. “Nothing you say will be believed. You’re insane.”

His futile wrath erupted in a wordless flow as she turned her back and left him behind her.

EPILOGUE

The wind whipped the pages in her hands as Grace stood on the west turret, the familiar handwriting of her sister no longer sending spikes of fear through her heart.

Dearest Fair Lily—

I worried that you would not know where to find me, but you are truly magic. Living with Aunt Beth is rather nice. I found a kitten in the garden, and she let me keep her. She has a saucer of milk each night and sleeps on my pillow. Aunt Beth says I can visit Mother on the seaside if I would like, but I think sand is itchy. She says that Father is gone and I will not see him, even at the beach. I am sad, but I pet my kitten at night and she purrs. I look for your letters and I know I am not alone.

Write Back—