Perfect in My Sight (19 page)

Sarah’s heart tripped. “You take too much liberty, Mr. Holland,” She informed him.
“I should like you to return my spectacles at once!”

“Open your eyes for me, Sarah,” he urged her.

She squeezed them tighter. “No! I will not. I am uncomfortable doing such a thing,
and I would appreciate it very much if you would return my spectacles to me, Mr. Holland.”

“I live with a blind son,” he reminded her. “It is nothing I have not seen before.”

“I am not your son, I should remind you, and neither am I your wife to be ordered
about!”

“So you are not,” he agreed, and slid his hand beneath her chin, raising her face
for his inspection.

Sarah was at once too confused to respond. His thumb caressed her cheek, and she held
her breath at the sensations that jolted through her.

Dear God, what would she do if he bent to kiss her now?

What would she say if he tried?

Her hand came up at once to grasp at his arm. She dug her fingers into his sleeve,
desperate to be away.

“Good night, Miss Hopkins,” he said, and there was a smile in his voice.

Sarah didn’t know whether to be relieved by his dismissal or dismayed.

He wasn’t going to kiss her?

She hadn’t truly wanted him to, had she?

Lord, she was becoming so confused.

She knit her brows. “G-g’night, Mr. Holland,” she stammered. He released her and she
turned to go, dazed.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Sarah stopped but didn’t turn to him. “Forgetting something?”

“Your spectacles,” he said, coming up behind her and reaching around her to press
her spectacles into her hand.

Sarah held her breath at the feel of him behind her. Her heartbeat quickened painfully.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered against her nape, his breath hot against her neck. Her
knees went weak at the hand he placed on her shoulder.

“And to you,” Sarah replied. Straightening, she inhaled a breath and walked quickly
away before she could disgrace herself and melt at his feet.

CHAPTER
20

From the journals of Mary Holland:

January 5, 1880

I don’t know what to believe.

Peter and I don’t even talk anymore—he spends all his time with Cile. And Cile can
no longer even look at me. She comes into the house and runs back to Peter’s office
to see him, hardly sparing me a word or a glance. Guilt? Anger? Does she loathe me?
I cannot even tell what sentiments she harbors toward me, but it seems to me that
the two of them would love nothing more than to have me out of the way. I want to
confront her, but am afraid to. What if she should tell Peter?

What if they are innocent?

What if they are not?

Should I stand idly by and watch my family
torn
apart?

That is hardly the daughter my father raised.

I should talk to her
...

Someone was watching outside the window.

Sarah was beginning to feel her time was running short. If she didn’t uncover Mary’s
journal soon, she was going to lose everything.

She had a terrible feeling she was going to lose everything anyway.

It had occurred to her earlier that if Peter was not guilty, and he discovered her
ruse—and even if he didn’t—she was never going to see Christopher again. Having come
into Peter’s home as she had, so deceptively, especially if he was innocent, she was
going to end with no recourse but to leave. Surely he would never allow her to see
Christopher again.

Dear God, she did need him to be guilty.

But she didn’t want him to be.

What a terrible mess she had woven for herself!

She went to the window once more, shoving the curtains aside and peering out. No one
there, and yet there had certainly been someone watching earlier from across the street.

If Peter was not guilty, who was trying so hard to remove her from this house?

Someone was guilty.

Who?

Cile Morgan had yet to return to visit. Sarah had seen not a hair of her, and yet
she was very aware of the anger she had borne Peter the night she’d stormed into his
office. Her angry shouts had reverberated throughout the house. Why? Were they truly
lovers? What had he done to make her so angry?

Impatient now, Sarah drew away from the window and began to pace the room. She’d called
for Mel to come and awaited her now. Sarah only hoped no one spied her, because there
was something she wished to do—something she needed to do before she ran out of time.

She put out the lights as she waited, hoping her silhouette was all the watcher could
see from outside her window.

When the knock came upon the door at last, her nerves were on edge. She snatched the
curtain closed and hurried to the door, opening it, dragging Mel quickly within.

“Hurry!”

“What the devil are you doing?” Mel asked her. “I think that accident has left your
brain quite addled!”

“That is entirely possible,” Sarah admitted. “You should know the things I have been
thinking. If they are not mad, I don’t know what is.” That she must prove Peter guilty
if she ever wished to see Christopher again—and yet, dear God... she just didn’t want
it to be true.

“Why are the lights out?”

“Don’t turn them on!”

“Sarah,” Mel began, tilting her head as she peered through the darkness. “You are
beginning to frighten me. Why are you sitting in the dark? This is hardly good for
you. Something is going on here, surely, but I think our time in this house is done.
I’m quite concerned about you.”

“Not yet,” Sarah begged her. “Someone has been watching my room, Mel. I have spied
them from my window. Someone is watching now!”

“I am beginning to get a terrible feeling about this place, Sarah. I don’t think we
are going to gain anything by remaining. I have found absolutely no evidence of Peter’s
guilt. In fact, everyone I have spoken to here is convinced of his innocence. And
yet something is very, very strange in this house.”

“I agree,” Sarah said.

“So let us simply pack our bags and go,” Mel begged her. “There is no reason to remain
in this house another night.”

Sarah’s shoulders slumped with regret. “Mel,” she began, “I cannot yet. One more night,”
she beseeched her. “Let me try just once more to find that journal and then I promise
we will go in the morning.”

“Once more? What are you going to do?” Mel asked, wary now. “Sarah?”

“I need your help,” Sarah began. “Someone is watching this room. I need to leave,
but I need you to make my presence known here... in case they are still watching.”

Mel shook her head. “You are making absolutely no sense at all.”

“Listen to me,” Sarah begged her. “I only need you to stay here and to keep the lights
out; pretend you are me.”

“Whatever for?”

“Because I’m going to search his office and library, that’s what for.”

“Sarah!” Mel protested. “That is entirely too dangerous! What if he discovers you?
What if he is guilty? How can you be certain?”

“I can’t be, of course, but I need to search that office, Mel. I must! What if he
is not guilty?” Sarah dared to ask.

“You are getting quite mad, I think. Whatever does that mean? If he is guilty, then
you are a dead woman tonight!”

“No,” Sarah persisted, “not that. It occurred to me to worry about something else
entirely, Mellie.”

“Good Lord!” Mel exclaimed. “I’m getting so confused. What the devil are you talking
about?”

“Mel,” Sarah began, “if Peter is innocent... what happens after tonight? How do I
go to him tomorrow and say ... ‘Oops! I am not who I said I was and guess what. I’m
Mary’s cousin and I wish to be a part of Christopher’s life.’ How do you think he
will react to that?”

Mel’s shadow moved across the darkness to the bed. She sat down. “I see what you mean,”
she sighed. “I imagine he would not react very well.” “No,” Sarah agreed. “Not very
well at all.”

“What a mess we have made for ourselves,” Mel told her, reaching out and grasping
her arm.

“Mellie,” Sarah appealed, “I truly thought he was guilty of murdering my cousin. When
I made this plan, I didn’t consider the possibility that he might actually be innocent.
It honestly never occurred to me. And now I stand to lose Christopher entirely.”

Mel nodded in the darkness. “Yes, I see.”

“What am I going to do, Mellie?”

“God, Sarah, I don’t know. Find that missing journal!”

There was an uneasy silence between them.

Then Sarah admitted, stomping her foot, “But I don’t want him to be guilty!”

“Sarah,” Mel began.

“No, don’t ask it.” She shrugged free of Mel’s grip. “I don’t know what I feel. I
just don’t know, but I do have to know for certain if he is guilty or not. I’ll deal
with the rest of my life tomorrow. Tonight I need to search for Mary’s journal, and
I hoped you would sleep here in my bed just in case someone is watching to see if
I leave this room.”

“Of course,” Mel said without hesitation. “That’s a simple enough thing to do, but
I’m concerned about you. What if he catches you in his office?”

“He won’t!” Sarah swore. “I’ll make certain of it. I shall be careful. Are all the
lights out yet? Is the house sleeping?”

“I... I think so,” Mel replied.

“Good Lord, you took long enough to come,” Sarah complained.

“I... I’m sorry, I was bathing when you called for me.”

“It’s all right,” Sarah said, feeling at once contrite for her outburst. “It may have
worked for the best, at any rate. It’s late enough now that perhaps I can go straight
to it.”

“Wait just a bit,” Mel suggested. “Just in case. The night is young.”

“Very well. But when I go,” she said, “whatever you do, do not use a light in this
room.”

“I won’t.” Silence fell between them. “Sarah?” Mel prompted.

“Yes?”

“What is going on between you and Peter?”

“I don’t know,” Sarah confessed, and then added, “but something is, Mel. Dear God...
I cannot breathe when he walks into the room, and I cannot think!”

“Fear?” Mel asked her, mistaking her meaning. “Are you afraid of him?”

“Only of myself,” Sarah admitted, turning her back to Mel. “Mellie... oh, my God...
I have these wicked, wicked thoughts...”

Across the street, the watcher watched from the darkened corner of a building, dressed
in men’s trousers and coat, and with her hair pulled into a hat. No one could tell
her gender; she looked just like a scrawny boy.

Sarah Hopkins wasn’t alone in that room, and the possibility that it might be Peter
with her made the watcher sick to her stomach. She was too late. If he married the
witch... if he brought her into his home... where would that leave her?

She couldn’t let it happen.

She mustn’t be afraid to take a stand.

It was time for her to take matters into her own hands, and not delegate to idiot
men who failed at every task, lest their pricks or their pockets were at risk. Something
needed to be done, and something needed to be done tonight before this went any further...
before she lost everything...

Before someone suspected these accidents were not accidents at all.

Peter was beginning to: She’d spied the look on his face as he’d knelt over Sarah
in the street. Once he’d been certain she was all right, his gaze had lingered in
the direction the driver had vanished, and his expression had been much too thoughtful.

Tonight she had to do something...

Within the darkened window, two silhouettes moved toward the bed. The watcher waited,
shuddering at the sight of them. She strained to see their faces, willing the shadows
away.

She willed Peter out from the room—didn’t dare blink her eyes, lest she miss his leaving.
He couldn’t stay. Damn! She had to be alone. She needed Peter to leave. What the devil
were they doing with the lights out?

She held her breath until the door opened once more, and then she watched as one shadow
slipped from the room and Sarah was alone once more.

The watcher loitered some time longer, with squinted eyes and unbroken concentration
as the remaining shadow prepared for bed, and then she moved closer to peer into the
window when all movement ceased.

Inside the room, Sarah Hopkins lay upon Mary Holland’s bed. It gave the watcher a
strange sense of deja vu.

Tonight she would not take a passive role...