Chapter Text
Edith’s fine, gold pen hovered over the signature line of the document that would end her usefulness to the Sharpe siblings. Her ears pounded and her hand quivered as all the revelations of the last few hours washed over her.
Her husband and his sister were murderers. They had killed at least three women.
It was almost impossible to believe, especially of Thomas. But she could not unsee the things he’d done. He’d put a knife into Alan, ended his life.
Lucille, it was easier. She’d scared Edith before, been distant, positively unnerving at times, but never like she did when she’d pushed her over the rail, plunging her to the hard floor of the main hall. That hinted-at danger was on open display now.
Edith looked up again, Lucille’s stark white face was stern, the knife did not shake in her hand. The eerie calm that had settled about her once she had Edith in her lair remained.
Edith’s eyes shifted to the paper again. It was unbearable to look on the woman who had her husband in thrall. Her utter madness was clear now, how could Edith have missed it?
There had been such tenderness in her voice when she spoke about Thomas as a child, about the fruit of their abhorrent union.
A baby. She had clearly wanted it more than good sense and reason would permit. As if a child from Thomas would make up for all the horror they had done.
As if having a child could redeem her.
“What are you waiting for? You’ve nothing to live for now,” said the woman glaring down on her.
As Edith touched pen to paper, a thought occurred, one that might save her, if only for the moment, to buy some desperately needed time. The idea might enrage Lucille and incite her to end it all right now, but at least the papers wouldn't be signed and the Sharpes would not benefit from her death. On the other hand, if Lucille wanted it badly enough…
Edith took a few steadying breaths. Ink had seeped from the nib into an small, ugly blotch on the paper. She looked up from the document, eyes traveling from the stiletto-like knife up the flowing sleeve and into Lucille's pale, vicious face.
"And as soon as I sign, you'll kill me and my baby too?"
Lucille's jaw twitched, her eyes bulged and she said through clenched teeth, "What did you say?"
Edith schooled her face into a frightened, lost look; hopefully that of a young, confused girl. She was terrified, it was not difficult.
"My baby,” she said quietly. “Thomas's baby. I hadn't even had a chance to tell him." The knife shook in Lucille's hand as she stepped nearer.
"You're lying! He only fucked you once! And you couldn't possibly know yet, you stupid little girl…"
"I did lie—When you showed me that book, I was embarrassed," she said, truthfully, trying not to stutter in her fear. "My mother died when I was very young, I had no sisters, I had never spoken about such things before."
Lucille's shoulders sunk as if a sack had been thrown over them. She slumped onto a chair, all the while staring at Edith, her own eyes unfocusing, beginning to water. Her teeth clenched again.
"When?" she spit out. “When did he fuck you?” She demanded.
Edith dropped her eyes to the desktop, the crudity making her flush.
“When?” Lucille shouted.
"Our wedding night," she offered, hoping it didn’t sound like a question.
When she dared to glance up again, Lucille looked quite broken sitting in the tattered chair, tears streaming down her cheeks, hands clenched into fists.
The knife, where was the knife? If she could get it…
A metallic screech out in the hall made both women jump—the sound of the elevator coming up and squealing to a stop.
Thomas was coming. What would he do?
To Edith, the way he looked at her, it seemed he loved her. He’d tried to help her. When she was trapped in bed, Lucille hovering over her like a spider swaddling her prey to save for later, he'd driven her away. He'd kept her from drinking the tea. His whispered hint had seemed a lifeline. But was it all a lie or part of some sick game?
Quick footsteps on creaking floorboards brought Thomas to the doorway moments later, out of breath his desperate face shiny with sweat. His shirt sleeves were drenched scarlet with Alan's blood.
"Lucille, wait, please!"
Both women turned to face him. He’d stopped short, as if expecting the scene before him to be more fraught. The unexpected calm shook him. He barely had a moment to look between the two of them when Lucille launched herself out of the chair toward him, sobbing violently, her face buried in his chest.
"How could you?" she said through her sobs, pounding a fist on his sternum. "You lied to me, you said you would never lie to me!"
"Lucille—" He tried to calm her, grabbing her wrist and vying for control. His pale blue eyes fixed on Edith’s. She saw so much in them, confusion, betrayal, exhaustion, love?
Edith returned his gaze silently, trying to keep her breaths even and her mind clear. If she was to survive, she had to take the chance he would help her. No matter what she suspected he had done, her heart told her that he loved her, or was at least beginning to.
Slowly standing, she set the pen down and placed a hand on her stomach, low, where a child would swell it. She nodded her head ever so slightly, silently asking him to confirm he understood. The answering dip of his head reassured her but little. It was a scrap of a message, she only hoped that the nod meant he would do what he could to help her.
Lucille had quieted but was still shaky, her white fingers clutched at his shirt when Thomas tilted her head back so he could look into her eyes. One of his large hands cradled her neck. She calmed slowly, her breathing steadied and they stood wrapped in each other's arms, eyes locked. "Lucille, my darling? What’s happened?”
It stung Edith to hear him call her that, hear him soothe her in the voice he used to soothe her when she cried for her father. As she watched them, the easy way his hands and body comforted Lucille's, it was obvious they were closer than any family Edith had ever seen. Had she missed the signs? Had they hidden it so well? Or had she not wanted to see?
"How could you lie to me, Thomas? You had her in New York? How could you?" She sobbed.
This was the moment. His gaze shifted back to Edith and then to Lucille once more. "I—" He let out a deep breath, overcome with all that was happening. Closing his eyes, he said, "I couldn't help myself, Lucille. I'm so sorry."
"Why did you lie?" She stamped her foot, regaining his full attention.
"I didn't know what you would do to her, I couldn't risk it," he pleaded.
"You protected that harlot?" she yelled at him. "You wanted her from the beginning!"
"I did. I wanted her," he said, the words tumbling out rapidly as he tried to mollify her. “I couldn't stop myself. I was weak, I was alone. We were apart, and I was weak without you," he said and kissed her forehead. “Yes. I wanted her. But I love you, I need you."
It disgusted Edith to see them entwined, looking into each other’s eyes but she couldn't help feeling her heart and hope go out to Thomas still. He had put his faith into her lie and sold it like it had been true.
When Lucille eventually composed herself, she stepped away from him, straightened up and turned back to Edith. In a voice thick from crying, she said, "Your wife has some news for you. She's going to give us something much more important than money."
"What are you talking about?" Thomas’s brow furrowed, he looked like he was waiting for an ax to fall. "Edith?”
"Edith?" mimicked Lucille with false sweetness.
Now it was Edith’s turn. She had made it convincing when the knife was practically at her throat, but that was over now and she hoped her courage had not deserted her. She took a deep breath, and a real tear formed in the side of her eye. "Thomas, I'm going to have a child."
Thomas gasped for breath, his chest swelling. He looked between the women uncertainly.
An eerie calm settled over the attic room, as if a great cataclysm had been predicted but never materialized. He started towards her but Edith stepped back as he neared and he halted, crestfallen.
Edith started again, desperate to be out of this room, out of this house, away from both of them.
"And I th-think I need to see the doctor now, whatever you’ve been d-doing to me isn't good for the baby." Edith said tearfully, backing away from the siblings even farther, favoring her aching leg.
Thomas sighed. It sounded like relief. "Of course. But right now you’re hysterical. I'll take you to your room. We’ll send for the doctor as soon as the storm has passed."
He turned back to his sister, "And once she's settled, I will return. We have things to discuss."
Lucille looked ready to protest, but he silenced her with a soft gesture and reassuring eyes. He leaned down, and kissed her, lingering on her lips. She nodded, giving him a tearful smile and watched as he turned back to Edith, taking her arm and leading her from behind the desk, then gently guiding her out of the room.
~
As they moved slowly down the hall and into the elevator Edith felt the sticky blood from Thomas's hands soaking into the material of her nightgown. She shuddered as they went along the first floor hall. In all the chaos, she’d nearly forgot the pain in her leg. It returned now and as she hobbled, Thomas tried to help her. His hand on her arm felt like vise.
When they reached the master bedroom, Edith wrested his hand off her arm. "Don't touch me," she said, feeling meek.
Thomas closed the door behind them and when he turned back there was an odd, bitter smile on his face.
"That's going to make what we have to do now rather difficult, don't you think?"
"What?"
"Surely you see that I have to get a real child on you as soon as possible?" He began pacing the room.
Edith felt as though he had hit her. “What are you talking about?”
“If Lucille learns the truth, she'll kill you. She hates being lied to," he said with a certainty that chilled her. A new Thomas, almost a stranger turned and faced her, "You know all about my last wife, Enola Sciotti? Do you know what Lucille did to her?"
"She killed her," said Edith, more unsure now that Thomas was being so frank.
"Oh, she killed her. But not right away."
He resumed his pacing up and down the creaky floorboards. His voice was an acerbic whisper as he continued, "That foolish woman told us she could save the child but it died anyway and as soon as she could raise herself from the birthing bed, Lucille cut out her tongue."
Edith gasped and shivered, cold fear settling over her. It was all too much, this was madness and it had to end. The pain in her leg, the emotion for the revelations of the day, the death of her friend were too much to take. She looked into the eyes of his murderer. She felt sick and backed away on her shaky legs.
Thomas stepped toward her and when she’d backed as far as she could, she bumped into the bed, fumbling for the edge to steady herself.
She asked in hoarse voice, "Where is Alan? W-what did you do with his b-body?”
"I tried to help him, Edith,” said Thomas, sadly. “I only made it look like I finished what she started. But the wound under his arm was gushing and he died before I could stop it."
Thomas retreated toward the fireplace and sank heavily into a chair, hiding his face in his hands.
"I took him down to the cellar. It didn't take long. A wound there, so close to the heart, it pumps the blood out fast."
She watched her would-be savior as he sat, hunched in the chair by the cold grate. He was still between her and the door and on her leg, there was no way he couldn’t catch her.
“I have to get out of here. You have to let me go,” she said, hoping his appearance of reluctance to Lucille’s actions was honest.
"I can’t do that Edith," he whispered.
Edith’s tears renewed their flow. "Why not?"
Thomas looked up at her, eyes imploring. "Don't you understand? They'll hang me, but they'll do worse to her when I’m gone. I swore to her every lash she suffered for me I would repay by keeping her from the gallows or worse."
"But she's killed so many people! She’ll kill me too.” Edith was pleading now, unsure how much longer she could go on begging. She felt weak, her leg hurt so much, her heart even more. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
“No,” Thomas said, standing. “I can keep you safe. You just have to cooperate. I can’t let her be taken away.”
When he approached, Edith had no strength left to push him away. He put one arm around her back.
Edith sank to her knees, convulsing and twisting her gown in her fists. If he said anything more she didn’t hear it. He knelt with her, picking her up as she cried even harder. Trapped in his arms, she again felt the cold, wet blood on his sleeves through her nightdress, the metallic odor filled her nose and she lost all sense, crying hysterically. Thomas laid her on the bed and sat beside her, stroking her shoulder until she knew no more.
~~~
In the freezing tile bathroom Thomas forced himself to look into the mirror. He was shaking, tearful, an utter mess of a man. He stood, shivering with only a towel around his shoulders, scrubbing at his shirt, madly trying to get rid of the evidence of his own shameful inadequacy.
~~~
When Edith slowly drifted back to awareness, she was tucked into the master’s bed once again. Her throat was dry, she had a tremendous headache and her leg twinged and itched. She tried to shift it but the wrappings Alan had used to set it were tangled in the sheets. She felt feverish.
She opened her eyes to see Thomas was sitting in the chair by the fire reading. Or was he keeping watch? He noticed her movements and stood.
“Edith,” he said, in a voice full of tenderness. He stepped out of her field of vision for a moment and then returned to her side, setting a glass down on the bedside table.
He reached for her and she shrunk down, fighting him with the little strength she could muster. He succeeded in propping her up on the pillows, holding her head steady. He was gentle, but as he put the glass to her lips, she clamped her jaw and shook her head.
“It’s alright. No more poison,” he said softly. “It’s milk. It will help to clear your throat and ease away the effects.”
She drank and allowed him to slowly tip the glass until the milk was mostly gone. It felt cool and smooth going down. When he had set the glass aside, he stood by the bed, looking down at her with pity in his eyes. He had changed his blood soaked clothes and appeared the immaculate gentleman again.
“The milk will help to purge the poison. In the next few days, you should feel better. Your leg, will take a little longer, I’m afraid. How do you feel? Does it pain you awfully?”
Ignoring the concern on his face, concern she knew now he could manufacture from no real feeling at all, she refused to answer. As kind a jailer as Thomas was being, she could not trust him. Instead she looked straight ahead.
She took a deep breath, steeling herself. “What did you do with him?”
“Let’s not talk about that, Edith.” Thomas sighed. He stepped toward her. Thinking he meant to sit on the bed next to her and knowing she could not bear it and she spoke sharply, not caring if it hurt him.
“Tell me.”
“Edith, please.”
She sat in silence until Thomas sighed heavily again and stepped away to gaze into the fire.
“His body is still in the mine level. Some men from town came to the door looking for him late this afternoon,” he said, quietly.
Edith only now noticed that it was dark outside.
“I told them we hadn’t seen him. That he must have gone missing in the storm. The snow has set in. No one would ever be able to find a body out here until the thaw. By then, I’ll have moved him,” he said, darkly.
“You’re a monster,” she whispered, turning her head away. “You know exactly what to do,” she said, haunted, thinking about all the women he must have hidden or buried.
He looked away, his eyes unfocused and downcast. “It’s what I’ve had to do. I’ve become used to it by now. I could never bring myself to do the things that Lucille could. She protected me, did all the hardest things.”
He paused for a moment and looked at her cautiously, saying sadly, “Even your father. She wore my clothes to his club. When I saw his face… I had no conception that she was so strong.” Tears were silently falling down Edith’s cheeks now. She glared fixedly in the other direction, not daring to look at him, not wanting to hear.
“Get some rest,” he said, coming nearer. “Your leg will soon heal and the poison will leave your body. Lucille will be suspicious if you haven’t started to show your—” he paused, searching for the word, “Condition. As soon as your leg is a little better, I think we should… proceed,” he finished, somewhat awkwardly.
The last day or so was all hazy but she knew what he was talking about. Her condition. “I said those things because I wanted to get away from Lucille. I thought perhaps she wouldn’t kill me. It doesn’t matter now.”
“It matters,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He continued in a whisper, “She will kill you if you don’t have a child. I can’t hide you in here forever, we can’t just pretend.”
“Then get me out of here,” she whispered back, imploring him from her pathetic position, flat on the pillow.
“I can’t,” he said, sadness clear in eyes, he lightly tucked a blond tress behind her ear, she had no choice but to allow it. She was too tired to fight him and wary of his intransigence, his insistence that she stay here.
He got up and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. Even though she had slept for several hours, Edith still felt exhausted. Her whole body ached but now her mind was strangely blank. In the face of such horror, what was one to think?
~~~
Thomas mounted the attic stair disheartened by his conversation with Edith. Her frigid manner and open contempt cut deep but he knew he deserved them.
When he reached the attic bedroom Lucille was sitting up in her bed reading from a small volume with a single candle lit, when he entered she looked up.
“Is she asleep?” she asked.
“Not yet, but I think she’s calmed enough. She will,” said Thomas, loosening his cravat and draping it over a chair. He started undressing, aware of Lucille’s hungry gaze.
“She’ll get stronger without the poison. We have to keep her in bed. I don’t want her trying to run to Findlay, or one of the workmen," she said firmly. "She knows everything," she reminded him. "She has to keep her mouth shut.”
“I know, Lucille," said Thomas, tiredly. "I think I can get her to cooperate. I just don’t know how yet.”
“And what about the doctor? She’ll need to see one soon.”
“She needs one now. Her leg is giving her a good deal of pain. I’m going to ride out for him tomorrow. The road should be passable by horse.”
Thomas hesitated at the idea of leaving Edith in the house, virtually alone with Lucille. He could ride across country on the way at least, save some time, and it may be possible to convince the doctor to the do the same on their return.
Findlay would be around and a few workmen who were doing some last winter-proofing tasks on his machine and tools. The worst of Lucille’s madness of the last day or so would be over for now if her usual pattern held. She wouldn’t risk harming Edith with others around, especially if she thought Edith was carrying his child.
“What will we do about keeping her quiet?” asked Lucille, skeptically, tone revealing her calculations.
“I don’t know. I’ll think of something,” he said, lifting the covers and climbing into the bed.
He lay back and Lucille put away her book. She blew out the candle and they settled in together, facing each other, like they had every night they could for the last fifteen years. He could still see her tired, worried face, more in his mind than through the dark.
She reached out and cradled his jaw. He could imagine her sparkling eyes with that familiar arousal shining in them.
He leaned in, kissing her forehead, hoping to forestall her. "This whole ordeal has been trying on you. You haven't been the same since," here he paused. It would be unwise to bring up Lucille’s own baby. She could be volatile and the day had already been long and gut wrenching. He couldn’t bear any more tears.
He took a deep breath and finished, "Since what happened. I think we went to America too soon. I know we needed the money," he said when she started to interrupt. He leaned forward and kissed her lips softly. "You must rest too, Lucille, get your strength back. Let me take care of both of you,” he said, stroking her hair.
Lucille nodded and tucked her head under his chin. He held her and waited for her to fall asleep. It didn't take long, she was drained, they all were.
He didn’t know why he’d said it, it just sounded like the type of thing a man should say. The type of thing he might say to Edith when she was unsure and somber.
The idea that he could take care of Lucille, rather than the other way around, and adding to that Edith’s care as well was almost too heavy a burden for his tired mind. Feelings of incompetence crept into his gut and not for the first time. He could only hope he’d be capable.
Perhaps this time, with Edith’s strength…but he’d sapped her of it. Between the poison, the revelations of ghastly murders, the cynical manipulations he and his sister had committed, and the betrayal of having found him in her bed, Edith would need all her strength for herself and even if she’d had any to spare, it was unlikely she’d share it with him now. She would hate him for what he’d done and what they must do to cement her lie.
He was on his own. The last time he’d been called upon to think for himself he’d failed Lucille miserably.
When the signs of her pregnancy could no longer be mistaken, Lucille’s usually ruthless, organized mind was suddenly devoted only to planning for the baby. She was distracted from the things she would normally have helped him to do, decisions she would normally make. He'd felt paralyzed.
They’d carried on with their plan, not knowing what else to do. The days rushed by, past the point when he should have done something to remove Enola from the house, or somehow hidden Lucille away. Past the point where Enola found out and was horrified but so ill she could do nothing about it. It had been she who talked him into stopping the poison so that she could recover enough to help take care of the baby.
When the child was born, Thomas felt like it was all happening to someone else, like it was unreal. Lucille was bedridden and Enola stayed with the child constantly, Thomas rarely saw it in the few weeks it had survived. It was obvious from the moment he had seen it that it wouldn't live long. He didn't have the heart to voice this to Lucille even though he saw her slipping away and later wished he had somehow been able to prepare her for the child's passing.
Now Lucille had the promise of another child, one to replace hers. Would she devote all of her attentions to it as she had before? This time Thomas might welcome the freedom.
The obstacle was that Edith wasn't truly pregnant and all of Lucille's attention meant he would have to spend a lot of time coming up with lies and excuses to fool her and keep Edith safe.
The promise of a life with Edith had sustained him through their time in Buffalo and on their trip back to Cumberland, it had only died when Lucille insisted they begin the poisoning right away. He had hoped he could convince her to let Edith settle in while he used her cash to finish his machine and that by that time, they would no longer need her money and things would resolve themselves. One look into Lucille's eyes however and his previous impotence had returned. For some reason, he could deny her nothing.
Though he’d confessed about the depot, the idea that he and Edith had slept together on their wedding night had cut Lucille. Further betrayals would not be tolerated. He hoped he'd convinced her of his loyalty well enough. Though master of the manor, he had two mistresses now, he must try to keep them both happy. Lucille because of the love he'd born her all their lives, and Edith for the love he hoped to win back.
When they'd made love with the light of the morning sun shining in the window of their small room at the depot, seeing her face, dreamy and content the next morning, Thomas had known a completely different kind of love. It wasn't desperate and dark, painful and grotesque, it was open and freely given, unencumbered by the past. Having finally made love to Edith, he felt like everything had changed. But now that promise of a new beginning had been dashed and they were pulled back into the shadows once again.
It felt surreal to lay here with Lucille now, stroking her back until she slept. The betrayal in Edith’s eyes when he had talked about what they’d done would live with him forever. Her stony face haunted his fitful sleep through the night.