“I promise.” Her eyes were red. “You know, I wasn’t the only person in the art gallery the day the diamond was stolen.”
“No? Miss Helen and I were in there for some time, and we didn’t see anyone else.”
“Then they were hiding.”
“Who? Where?” She paused, waiting for an answer. “Bertha?”
Bertha swallowed. And began to speak.
* * *
Lillian carefully climbed back into her own room after her talk with Bertha, still shaking from what she’d heard. She waited, standing right next to the door, until she heard footsteps, and then called out weakly. “Who’s there? Is someone out there?”
The person drew closer.
“Yes, Miss Lilly?” She recognized the voice as the head housekeeper. Perfect.
“I have to go to the women’s room. I’m not feeling well. Would you mind letting me out?”
“We were told not to.”
“I’m quite ill. I’m going to be sick. You can stand watch, if you like.”
After a moment, the key sounded in the lock and the door swung open. The housekeeper tilted her head down the hall. “Off you go. Make it quick.”
Lillian went into the women’s bathroom and locked herself in the far stall. After a few minutes, the housekeeper ventured in. “What’s going on in here? Are you finished?”
Lillian groaned. “I can’t go anywhere. Can you call for a doctor? I think it’s serious.”
“Are you sure?”
Lillian made a retching noise that surprised even her with its indelicateness.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.”
As soon as the woman left, Lillian let herself out and down the front stairs to the second floor, treading as lightly as she could. She heard a couple of servants on the main stairway, but was able to duck into the small foyer off the landing to avoid them. From there, it was easy to slip through the breakfast room and service pantry, and finally into Mrs. Frick’s boudoir.
“What on earth!”
Mrs. Frick sat behind a small desk, writing in a leather-bound book, while Miss Winnie was perched on a chaise longue along the far wall.
Lillian held out her hands. “I’m here to apologize for my untruths. I thought you should hear them from me.”
“Untruths?” sputtered Mrs. Frick. “Lies is more like it.” She gestured to Miss Winnie. “Call for Kearns at once.”
Miss Winnie rose and lumbered over to the long, tasseled cord that summoned the butler. Lillian didn’t have long. “I was fond of Mr. Frick, I would never hurt him. Please believe me.”
“I thought you were good for my daughter, but now we all know better, don’t we?” said Mrs. Frick.
Just as Miss Winnie reached for the cord, Lillian let out a low, angry growl.
Both women startled, and Mrs. Frick laid one hand on her heart. “What on earth? Are you quite mad?”
She’d gotten her answer. “No. I am not.”
But what to do now? No one would believe her accusation.
So she ran.
Back out into the smaller hallway, and then onto the landing. Mr. Graham was sliding out from the organ bench and looked up as she peered over the railing. She froze, waiting to see if he’d call out. If so, it would only be a moment before the footman at the door came after her. No doubt word was spreading fast that she’d escaped.
He didn’t speak, just glanced at the door to the organ chamber. She slid along the wall, out of sight, inching toward it, then dashed inside.
After a minute, the door opened and he joined her. “What are you doing?”
“I know who killed Mr. Frick. And who probably stole the cameo as well.”
“Who—”
“There’s no time. But I won’t take the fall for something I didn’t do. I need to get out of here.”
He paused, as if deciding something, then nodded. “I’ll do what I can to help you. But there’s someone at every door.”
She had to escape, and there was only one way that might work. “I have an idea.”
Lillian waited alone inside the organ chamber, listening to the footmen’s grunts and shouts as they lugged the family’s trunks out to the idling automobiles. After what felt like hours but was only a few minutes, Mr. Graham reappeared and gestured to her that it was safe. They took off fast, staying close to the walls. The police would be along to scoop up Lillian any moment.
She followed Mr. Graham along the hallway, past the Fricks’ bedchambers to the entrance to Mr. Frick’s sitting room. Once inside, she headed straight for the window to the left of the fireplace. She’d noticed the window’s proximity to the roof of the loggia when she’d climbed out onto the ledge to get into Bertha’s room. She would make her way to the roof’s northeast corner and crouch against the edge of the art gallery’s skylights, like a gargoyle, until she could make her escape. The sleet had stopped, and she hoped the drop would be slightly less dangerous.