Page 95 of The Premonition at Withers Farm
“That could be a wild goose chase,” Molly countered.
“Or it could bust two old cold cases wide open,” Gemma concluded.
32
Perliett
For the first time since she’d met him, Jasper was wearing on her nerves. His dark confidence was smothering, as he’d posted himself at their house like an unwelcome guardian. It had been two days since Perliett’s attack and her mother’s dramatic engagement with Eunice Withers’s supposed spirit. Maribeth was doing well. Perliett, on the other hand, was curled into a ball at the end of the sofa, a blanket over her lap. She sipped tea with calming chamomile while she tried to forget that awful, leering face of the child and hoped to heaven she never heard the song “London Bridge” or the nursery rhyme “Cock Robin” ever again.
The all-consuming feeling that this wasn’t over and she wasn’t safe was only emphasized by Jasper’s presence. Her mother was accepting of him, too much so in some ways. She was feeding him lunch and dinner, serving him tea, and holding long discussions on the front porch about the movement of spiritualism, mediums, the impact of spirits on the living, and so forth.
And what about his involvement? George seemed to not trust him at all, while Maribeth absolutely did. Jasper hadraised questions in Perliett’s mind from the moment she’d met him, yet he’d also enchanted her with his enigmatic nature. His dark charm.
Detective Poll had only just informed them yesterday that he’d found no further insight as to who had left the dead robin on her porch, nor any connection as to why the Cornfield Ripper would leave a message outside Jasper’s door. That was perhaps the most befuddling part of it all. What had Jasper Bridgers to do with any of this? Whether innocent or guilty?
Perliett wanted nothing more than to have faith in her mother’s confidence and her own preoccupation with Jasper. But in light of George’s constant glowering and challenging, she found herself questioning all of them.
Now Perliett heard Jasper’s and Maribeth’s voices filtering through the open window, and she found herself nauseated. Perhaps it was from her head injuries. Seeing her reflection in the mirror had been shocking. A split lip, a black eye, a cut at her temple. That wasn’t considering the bruises on her arms and legs. Thankfully, she had only been battered. Murdered would have been final, and violated would have made living unbearable.
The screen door slammed, and Perliett heard footsteps. She looked up, fully expecting her mother or Jasper to enter, but instead it was George. The look on his face was one of irritation, and there was a glimmer in his eyes that Perliett couldn’t interpret.
“Your mother granted me entrance. I’m here to check on your wounds,” he declared, tossing his hat onto a chair and standing over her.
Perliett looked up from her cuddled position on the sofa. “I’ve already applied my ointments to the cuts. You know I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Of botching your own healing process with your quackery.” George pulled up a chair and sat down. He leaned forward,resting his elbows on his knees and lowering his voice. “If I could burn your apothecary box, you know I would.”
“Maybe you are a violent man after all?” Perliett quirked an eyebrow.
George narrowed his eyes. “I am appalled that anyone would accuse me of—”
Perliett waved him off. “Oh, I know it wasn’t you.” And she did. Her nerves would have tingled differently if she felt she was in danger. As it was, the tingling was altogether unwelcome anyway. For the first time today, she experienced a lift of her spirit, and it had occurred when George walked into the room, which was entirely unacceptable.
“Let me examine the stitches.” George pointed to the cut on her temple that he’d stitched. Not unlike her cheek when the glass in the study had shattered. He must find some sort of glee in sewing her up.
“I look like a science experiment.”
George’s small smile made her stomach flip unnecessarily. His face was close to hers as he examined his stitchery. This wouldn’t do. He never smiled. Why begin now? When he was inches from her?
“You don’t need to inspect the stitches.” Perliett resisted, pulling back. “It’s unnecessary.”
“Itisnecessary.” George ignored her and moved to the edge of the couch, his gaze falling on the stitches at her hairline. His fingers pushed back some errant curls, and Perliett shivered. He looked at her with concern. “Are you in pain?”
“No.” Perliett tugged the blanket higher against her chest.
They stared at each other. Silent. Then George dropped his hand and turned for his medical bag. “I am going to apply an ointment I feel will help with the healing and—”
“I have already put aloe on it.” Perliett pointed to the aloe vera plant by the window.
George eyed it, then Perliett. He grunted. “That’s what I was going to recommend.”
Perliett bit back a smile.
George did as well.
Silence again stretched between them.
“Your bruises?” George finally asked. “I would like to see them.”
