Elijah urged her to wait until they could protect Naomi, the children, and anyone else hidden below.
“The first thing he will do is accuse me of putting her there,” he said.
“The second will be to move her.” Catherine struggled with the instruction because waiting felt like abandoning Lydia again.
Mrs.
Fenwick entered and heard enough to recognize the situation.
“A loud accusation is sometimes the shortest road to a locked door,” she said.
“Your sister survived this long by refusing to give him a clean opportunity.” Catherine nodded slowly.
“Then we need a distraction.”
They decided that Catherine would host a small gathering the next evening to thank Doctor Vail for treating her ankle.
Richard would dislike the interruption, but refusing a polite invitation might arouse suspicion among his business associates.
Mrs.
Fenwick would announce that the kitchen needed repairs, drawing Crowe toward the rear yard.
Elijah would enter the cellar under the guise of checking a leaking drain.
The plan depended on Richard believing that the injured mistress was occupied with guests and the carpenter was too frightened to do more than his assigned work.
Catherine knew he held that belief because she had helped teach it to him by staying quiet.
That night she opened the old box containing Lydia’s ribbons.
At the bottom lay a childhood drawing of two girls holding hands beside a bridge.
Lydia had drawn a small door beneath the waterline and written a sentence Catherine had not understood at twelve.
“There is always another way through.” Catherine placed the drawing beside her bed.
When footsteps approached she did not hide it.
She wanted Richard to see what he had failed to bury, even if he did not yet know the meaning.
Chapter 17: The Physician’s Account
Doctor Vail arrived early for the gathering and found Catherine seated beside the window with her injured foot on a cushion.
He checked the swelling and said she should avoid the stairs.
Catherine agreed with unusual politeness.
Then she asked whether he had attended Lydia during the fever that supposedly killed her.
His fingers paused on the bandage.
“I was not her physician,” he said.
“Did you sign the notice?” “I signed many notices in those years.” Catherine waited.
The doctor pulled his hand away.
“You should not reopen old wounds.” “My sister’s death was not a wound I chose to close,” Catherine answered.
“It was a fact my husband gave me.”
Vail tried to leave, but Catherine asked about his medical account book.
