The hagstones anchor me to the spot, unable to move. Bert’s eyes are dark with desire, or something akin to it, as he plucks a grape from the fruit bowl on the table and tosses it into his mouth with a practiced flick of his wrist.
“Your wife didn’t like them, though, did she?” I surprise myself by saying. “Mary didn’t want the Devices in the house. That’s why you had to hide them down there in the basement. Turns out you became quite adept at hiding things from her, didn’t you? For a time, at least.”
He spits grape seeds into his palm, still holding on to that soft, wry smile—but is it becoming slightly strained or is that my imagination? I hope some part of him is starting to squirm. The thought makes me feel braver and I step closer toward him.
“Mary had the measure of you at the end, didn’t she? I can’t imagine the effort it cost her to try to get my attention.”
Bert looks up at me, one hand sliding behind his back.Uh-oh,I think.
“Mary was very sick. Her death is a blessing in many ways. I’m sure you understand that more than anyone, Mina. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.”
“But that’s not why you did it, is it? You didn’t kill her to alleviate her suffering. Because youdidkill her, Bert, that much I knew the minute I saw her. The way she was lying, her eye filled with blood—that’s called ‘petechiae,’ by the way. That’s the scientific term for it. I’m told it’s useful when diagnosing the cause of death in choking or strangulation cases.”
My voice is steady but inside I’m screaming,Run, Mina, run, RUN!My eyes scan the kitchen for something I can pick up to useas a weapon, a doorstop, a frying pan,anything.I keep talking, keep letting my mouth run. I need to keep him distracted.
“That’s why you asked Alice to come over here last night—so that fingers would point at her when Mary was found dead. You knew it would be easy, especially so soon after the news about Vicky and half this town already convinced there’s something wrong with Alice Webber. Only I messed that up for you, didn’t I? I wasn’t meant to be here, but I was. I was. And I found out so much about you, Bert Roscow.”
I take a step away from him. I want to be out of range whenever he comes out swinging. Because he will, I know that much.
“How do you think Mary felt when she discovered the photographs, Bert? Do you think she was shocked? Surprised? Or do you think some awful part of her had known it all along?”
I watch his face twist sharply, his chin pull back into his chest. He is silent and frowning. I keep going.
“You know, you’ll go to prison for this. All these girls were underage.”
“The problem with Riddance girls, Mina, is that they’re liars. Thieves. Runaways. The Riddance isn’t a panacea, it can’t fundamentally change who they are. Under the skin they are still rotten.”
I blink, stunned. Because he’s right of course. The pyromaniac, the pregnant teenage mother, the girl hearing voices? Whowouldhave believed these feral young teens? Who would have listened? And who would have cared enough about them to do anything?
“You wouldn’t have made a Riddance girl, would you, Mina? Or maybe you would. There are so many ways a person can be out of control, don’t you think? Appearances are so often deceiving.Take Mary for instance. When we first started courting, I called her ‘dollybird’ because she was so fair and blond and tiny, just like a little doll. She was perfect, God, she was perfect. When the police brought her home three weeks after we were married, I naturally thought there’d been some sort of mistake. When they told me she’d been caught stealing, I’d laughed at them. The idea of it was so absurd! My Mary? In the pharmacy, they said. They’d made her empty her bag out onto the counter. Hair spray, perfume. A bar of soap. Later I asked her why and you know what she said?”
I shake my head.
“That she couldn’t help it. She told me it was as though something had taken over her. I wasn’t too worried then. About the Devil. About the way he makes some girls act up. He wouldn’t do that to my Mary, I thought. Still. I kept an eye on her and sure enough it happened again. This time she was charged. An eight-pound fine for taking a one-pound lipstick. I didn’t know what to do. We had the money to buy the things she was stealing but it was like she had no control over it. It was a compulsion. Well. I knew all about that. Knew all about how the Devil works when he worms his way in. I pleaded with her to stop. I told her she’d end up in prison. I thought the shame of it would kill me. What broke me was finding the shoebox under the bed full of all the things she’d stolen and got away with. A hoard. Books and records and jewelry, makeup and stationery. There was even a key ring in there from Majorca where we went on our honeymoon. She’d taken it right out of the gift shop while we’d been walking around. She couldn’t look me in the eye when I found it. Tried to tell me she had a condition, that the doctor had told her she needed pills. But I knew we were past that. I knew what she needed.”
His eyes have darkened, glittering dangerously.
“Mary had her Riddance, right out on the Green. The whole town came out to watch. I remember seeing the flames of the bonfires reflected in her eyes, big and round as mirrors. She wore flowers in her hair and rings on her fingers and she never stole a damn thing again. We chased the Devil right out of her, we drove the witch away. All these Riddance girls, I tried to warn them what was coming. I tried to tell Lisa, when she was pregnant with Alice. She was a good girl, very athletic. So much promise. You wouldn’t have known she was a whore, how easily she gave it up as soon as she realized the power she had over those poor boys. Fern was manic, uncontrollable. Starting fires just to watch things burn. She frightened me and it was wonderful. I was almost sorry to have to force it out of her.”
Bert reaches out and picks up a peach from the fruit bowl, pressing it to his nose, inhaling.
“But Alice—Aliceisdifferent. There’s something almost otherworldly about her. People making pilgrimages across the county just to stand outside her door. There’s witch blood in her. My ancestors would’ve strung her up and watched her dance till her neck snapped.”
He takes a bite from the peach, huge and greedy. The juice slowly runs down his chin.
“This is what I love about the summer, Mina. Everything is soripe.”
I catch the fragrance of the peach; that bright, clear scent like running water. Bert squeezes it in his hand until his fingers dent the flesh.
“So soft,” he continues, in his gentle voice. “And look how the juice runs, Mina, when you break the skin. You could almost crush it completely. They bruise so easily. They all do, in the end.”
His tongue flicks out—wet and pink and quivering—and licks peach juice from his wrist, watching me carefully. Another step forward. Now he could reach me, if he swings what he is holding in that hand. A paperweight maybe. A hagstone. A short, stubby blade that will rip into my neck. I brace myself to move.
“You have something of mine, Mina Ellis.” He looks at me calmly. “I’m going to need those pictures back, there’s a good girl.”
“I don’t have them.”
He sighs with something like regret.