Page 23 of One Last Lie

Tears are welling in his eyes, and his lower lip is trembling. Cecilia quickly replies, “Yes, she’s okay. She just needs to go see a doctor to get her hand looked at. It’s a minor burn, nothing to worry about.”

Isabella looks at the stove and says, “You forgot to put the soup on the burner.”

I look at the stove and see she’s right. I have the soup sitting on a cold burner while the burner responsible for searing my hand is red-hot for no reason.

“I was saving it for my hand,” I reply wryly.

Elijah chuckles at that, and Isabella glares at him. “That’s not funny.” She turns her glare to me, and she looks almost exactly like her mother. “Mom’s right, go to the doctor.”

I hesitate, unwilling to leave the kids alone, but then again, this is what I wanted. This is a perfect chance for Cecilia to rejoin the children’s lives. And do I really think she could have killed Johnathan?

I look at her face and see the genuine kindness and concern. No, I don’t.

I meet Elijah’s eyes. His suspicions remain, but they don’t seem particularly powerful.

“All right. Thank you all. I’m sorry to have to leave the soup unfinished.”

“I’m not so dependent on servants that I can’t boil soup,” Cecilia chides gently. “Get your coat and wait on the porch. I’ll call Javier to come pick you up.”

***

The Ashfords’ wealth comes with considerable perks. When we arrive at the hospital, I am ushered directly into the emergency room without needing to wait at reception. I am seen immediately by a nurse practitioner, who, like Cecilia, shows concern for my injury but also reproof.

“How did you manage to do this?” she asks.

Once more, heat climbs up my cheeks. I explain what happened, and the nurse sighs. “Well, you’re fortunate it’s only a second-degree burn. You could have lost the use of your thumb where this burn’s placed. I want you to rest it in some ice water for now. The doctor will be by in a few minutes to examine it, and then we’ll dress it and send you home with some instructions. I’ll give you one ahead of time: let the family cook be the cook. You make sure the children don’t suffer the same silly injury.”

She isn’t unkind with her reproof, even if her words are a little harsh. Besides, it feels nice to be mothered. At fifty years old, there are few opportunities for that left me.

“Thank you. I will.”

She leaves, and I keep my hand in the ice water bath as instructed. The television is tuned to a news channel. I get an odd sense of separation as I watch it. It’s as though it comes from another world. A few days in Ashford Manor, and I already feel like I’m part of a different life so that what happens beyond the forbidding walls of the estate doesn’t affect me.

I wonder if Johnathan felt the same paranoia. Could the reason for his fears be nothing more than claustrophobia? I certainly hope so.

The nurse returns, accompanied by the doctor. I smile at them, but the nurse’s expression causes my smile to disappear. The earlier motherly kindness is gone, replaced by a wary look that I can’t possibly believe is directed toward me.

She begins dressing my burnt hand wordlessly, and when I thank her, she musters a half-smile that lasts a brief instant. I look at the doctor and frown questioningly. She studies a chart—mine, I assume—and doesn’t meet my eyes.

The nurse leaves as quietly as she came. My hand is bandaged well, and I can already feel the pain-relieving ointment she applies working to soothe my palm, but my heart pounds with fear anyway.

Finally, I can take no more. “Is everything all right, doctor?”

The doctor meets my eyes for the first time. There is concern in her expression but no compassion. “Miss Wilcox, have you been experiencing any unusual dreams lately?”

I blink, stunned. “Dreams? N-no, not that I can recall.”

“Have you felt as though someone’s been watching or following you? Any paranoia of any kind?”

My suspicions of Johnathan’s death flit across my mind rapid fire, but… “No. There’s no… doctor, what is this about? I thought I was here for my hand.”

“Have you experienced any hallucinations in the past few days?”

“Hallucinations?”

“Yes. Hearing voices that don’t belong to anyone around you, perhaps seeing things that aren’t—”

“I know what a hallucination is, doctor,” I snap, “and know, I haven’t… what on Earth is going on? I have a burnt hand. Why are you asking about my mental health?’

---