Sweet Madness by Trisha Leaver

Author:Trisha Leaver
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: F+W Media
Published: 2015-06-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

The clock at Liam’s place read twelve forty-two when I finally pulled away from him and forced myself towards home. He’d held on as long as I let him, muttered the same set of promises over and over again in my ear. He’d make this right, see to it that I was safe and far away from the Borden’s hold.

I slipped my house key from the string around my neck, unlocked the door, and took care to step as quietly as possible over the threshold. I didn’t want to wake anyone and risk being subjected to a litany of questions about what I was doing out at this dreadful hour. All I wanted was to climb the narrow stairs to my room and fall into bed.

The kitchen was dim, barely light enough for me to find my way to the icebox for a glass of milk. But I could see Lizzie, sitting there at the kitchen table, waiting for me.

“Bridget.” Her back rigid and her face blank. She didn’t smile, didn’t so much as twitch in the chair she was sitting in. Just stared.

I sucked in a breath and tried to remember the excuse Liam made me repeat back to him over and over before he let me leave. Something about a late-night Mass and a few special prayers for those in need. It wasn’t a lie, exactly.

“You should be in bed, Lizzie.”

“Couldn’t sleep so I decided to get up and wait down here for you.” She twisted her nightclothes around in her hands, the whites of her knuckles showing through the inky blackness. “I was worried, thought perhaps you met some trouble with that boy of yours.”

“No trouble. We were down at St. Patrick’s with some friends. The men were making some repairs to the church and the women—”

“In the dark?” Lizzie interrupted. “Must be hard to fix much of anything without the light of day.”

I shrugged. There was no point telling her that most people, the church included, had electricity. That would only set her on a tirade about how backwards her father was, and I was too exhausted—mentally and physically—to listen.

“How long have you been sitting down here?” I asked as I poured myself a glass of milk. I held the glass bottle up to Lizzie, but she waved me off.

“A few hours. Maybe longer. Long enough to know that you stayed out with your boyfriend far longer than you should have. Your work will inevitably suffer tomorrow.” She shifted in the hard wooden chair, her eyes settling on me. “Besides, what must the other employers think of our house girl wandering the streets at this hour?”

They will think no worse of me than they already do of you, I thought. “No one saw me if that’s what you’re worried about. I made my way through back alleys, and every lantern on Second Street was out anyway.”

I shook my head and pulled out the chair beside her, intent on resolving this right then and there. Lizzie

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