“That my father made his money on the backs of common workers. That he was single-minded and at times vicious in his business endeavors. Oh, the envy in their eyes! For goodness’ sake, one of the local Pennsylvania newspapers wrote an entire article rehashing that awful flood, which happened years ago. The inquiry determined that Papsie wasn’t to blame. Can they not let the man rest in peace?” She looked at Lillian straight on. “I keep thinking of the night he died, and wondering what I should have done differently. Miss Lilly, do you think I could have accidentally killed him? The way it happened, right after I handed him the glass, makes me think the liquid inside couldn’t have been only water. But if someone did add a sleeping draft to his water, who could it be?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, we’re in this together.” Miss Helen surveyed the small quarters, as if just remembering where she was. “This is where we put you?”
Lillian viewed it through Miss Helen’s eyes. The furnishings were simple, austere. Miss Helen wouldn’t know what to do with herself in a room like this. She’d go mad in a matter of hours at the lack of luxury: the cotton quilt on the bed, which Lillian was glad she’d made that morning; the hooked rug; the dresser where her brush and comb sat.
And on the nightstand, a stack of letters.
Lillian’s heart stopped.
She’d taken Mr. Danforth’s passionate letters out of the top drawer the night before and reread them, as a reminder that she had been loved once, ever so briefly. His rejection, even if it had been of her own making, still stung. He’d been willing to throw away the Frick fortune for her until she’d scandalized him with her past.
She moved toward the door, hoping to encourage Miss Helen to do the same, but Miss Helen was frozen, staring in the direction of the nightstand.
“Is that Mr. Danforth’s handwriting?” Miss Helen asked, stepping closer.
Lillian scooped the letters up and tucked them into the pocket of her skirt. “I was going to add them to your files today. I’ll take care of it later.”
Miss Helen held out her hand. “No. I ought to go back to my rooms and await that ridiculous private detective. I’ll bring them with me and leave them on the desk.”
Lillian slowly pulled them out of her pocket and handed them over, the blank side up.
But Miss Helen turned them over and squinted at the handwriting. “Why is your name on the envelope?”
There was nothing to say, no way to stop her. Miss Helen opened the first one and read it, staring up at Lillian for a moment afterward. Then she sat down on the chair and made her way through each one, her face ashen, the only movement that of her eyes as she read the wretched words of love written on them. Love for Lillian.
Miss Helen finished the last one and then stood, letting them all drop to the floor in a cascade of white.
“It was a mistake, Miss Helen, I’m sorry. I said no.”
“So all this time I thought Mr. Danforth was pursuing me, he was pursuing you?”
“He’s not deserving of you. How could he be? I’m terribly sorry, I tried to put him off.”
“I’m too plain. Is that it? He found me too plain?”
That Miss Helen would turn on herself instead of turn on Lillian at a time like this broke Lillian’s heart. The poor woman had always been found unworthy, her father constantly reminding her that she was not good enough. “Please don’t blame yourself.”
“Who should I blame?” She stepped closer, staring hard at Lillian.
“Him. Mr. Danforth.”
When Miss Helen finally spoke, all of the uncertainty was gone, replaced by a steely voice belonging to the richest unmarried woman in America. “You fooled me, didn’t you? You took advantage of everything I gave you and then you took everything I had. I will take you down, Miss Lilly, for this. How dare you make me look like a laughingstock? I know what you are, now. A treacherous liar.”
She was so close that Lillian could see the thin red veins in her eyes.
“And not only that. You’re a murderer.”
* * *
The detective came to Lillian’s room a few hours later and questioned her about the particulars of Mr. Frick’s death and her relationship with Miss Helen, whether she harbored resentment toward the family, what kinds of interactions she’d witnessed between Mr. Childs and Miss Helen. She answered as honestly as she could, relieved that the love letters were never brought up. Miss Helen probably didn’t want the fact that her suitor had been stolen by her private secretary brought out into the light. It would be a private grievance, not a public one.