Page 50 of One Last Smile

“Quite right, quite right,” Sebastian says. “You’re in for a treat. I remember when I first visited Madagascar—”

“Dear, perhaps we should save it for later,” Veronica says. “The brunch will start in less than an hour.”

Sebastian frowns. “Already? Then why are we eating breakfast?”

“Probably so Mother can have something to soak up the alcohol,” Oliver quips.

Veronica gives him a hard look, then says to Sebastian. “The meal won’t be served until at least noon, but if we show up too late, Georgia York will have taken the best table.”

“Can’t have that,” Oliver says dryly.

“Do you intend to be cheeky all day?” Veronica scolds him.

“We really should go, Mother,” Eliza says. “Let’s give Mary all the time she needs to take her pictures.” She turns to me. “I demand to see hundreds, no, thousands of images of all the wonderful plants Father has showered our estate with.”

I meet her eyes. “I assure you, you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’m sure I won’t,” she says with a bright, diamond-hard smile.

“Well, let’s go then,” Sebastian says. “We’ll leave our botanist to her work and bring your mother to her drink.”

Veronica slaps Sebastian’s shoulder playfully and says, “Enough out of you. Besides, I’ll only have one. Maybe two.”

“Or three,” Oliver says as the family files to the door. “Or four.”

Veronica slaps his shoulder too, a little less playfully, as evidenced by his “Ow!”

The door closes, and I wait until it’s been five minutes since the sound of their car quiets. Then I take a deep breath and begin.

It’s two miles to the village. The road there is mostly uphill, so I figure an hour for the walk and perhaps the same amount of time back due to fatigue. Dr. Chalmers is off today, so he won’t be in the office, and Eliza is out with her family for at least the next three or four hours.

Still, I don’t want to dally. Who knows if Eliza will find a chance to slip out and return to the estate to be rid of me?

Well, it’s a risk I’ll have to take. In any case, I’m still not convinced that Eliza was the one who actually killed Minnie.

Still, I’m sure she knew of the murder, and I’m reasonably sure she conspired with him. Today, I hope to gain the evidence I need to prove it.

As I walk to the village, my trepidation grows. I could be wasting my time. Eliza could already have warned Rupert of my suspicion, and he could have removed the medical report or destroyed it. He could be waiting along the road to waylay me and make me disappear as well. Despite appearances, I could once more be mistaken and simply exacerbating drama left behind by a very-much-alive girl who succeeded in her plan to leave and find a new life for herself free of her enemies.

I continue anyway. I’ve learned that I will always think of ways things can go wrong, or reasons why I should stop or let things go. I’ve also learned that for better or for worse, the part of me that’s capable of listening to those warnings is gone. Annie’s memory spurs me forward, and while it may be too late to do something for my sister, I can help this unfortunate girl as I helped Johnathan Ashford and his children.

I reach the village and find it bustling. There are dozens of people in the streets, and in typical English country fashion, all of them smile and greet me.

I return their greetings and smiles, cursing their presence silently all the way. I need to get into the doctor’s office unnoticed, and I can’t be seen climbing through a window or entering through the front door. They almost certainly know everyone who works for him, assuming he even has employees other than Eliza.

I need to get inside somehow, though. I’ll do my best to avoid being seen, but otherwise, I’ll just have to hope that I can enact the rest of my plan before word gets back to Dr. Chalmers that I’ve been snooping.

I reach the office and start by memorizing the phone number listed on the sign. That won’t help me for at least two days, but if I can’t find a better number for him, I’ll have no choice but to wait.

I reach the door and look around as casually as I can. No one’s paying close attention to me, but if I fiddle for too long with the door, I’ll be noticed for sure.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the bobby pin and letter opener I’ve taken with me, shielding them from view with my body. I have no idea how to do this, but it’s the best shot I have.

I stick the pin in the lock and slide the letter opener in between the door and the wall. My heart pounds as the bobby pin sticks inside. I look around and see someone smile at me. I return the smile and the greeting and pray they don’t pay attention long enough to wonder what on Earth I’m doing.

Breathe, Mary.

I do as I command myself and slow down, trying to feel the interior mechanism of the lock. I try to recall the instructions I read online for how to defeat locks with a bobby pin, but I have no idea if what I read is of any use. After all, it’s not like professional criminals would want to advertise their craft to the police, would they?

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