Her Sister's Death by K. L. Murphy

Author:K. L. Murphy [Murphy, K. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CamCat Publishing

1921

BRIDGET

A rap at the door made Bridget gasp. Startled, she slid her hips forward an inch, closer to the edge. With cold, stiff fingers she caught hold of the ledge before her body could pitch forward any further. Wide-eyed, she stared down at the dark street below, her chest heaving, the icy air burning her lungs. A second knock made her gasp again.

“Message for Mrs. Hartwood.” The man’s voice cracked with fear, and she knew who stood in the hallway outside her suite. Joseph. From over her shoulder, she watched as a thin, white envelope was pushed under the door. She stared at it from across the room. Who would be sending her a message?

“Have a nice evening.” Joseph’s voice rang out again, the words stilted as though he were being forced to say them. Any wisp of remorse she thought she heard was gone.

Cocking her head, Bridget heard the muted sound of retreating footsteps. Shame made her skin burn. Joseph. Had she really thought she might love him? It seemed so long ago now. Even telling Margaret about him felt like ages earlier, not mere hours. Before the wedding. Before everything. Why had she bothered to speak of him at all? He’d never cared about her. She knew now that she was a fool.

The wind gusted, whipping her hair across her cheeks. On the street below, the twinkling lights blurred. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed since Lawrence had left the room, but she knew it wouldn’t be long before he was back. She inhaled and told herself it wasn’t too late. She could still do it. She shifted forward another inch, but her hands remained locked over the concrete ledge. She sat frozen, high above the streetlamps and automobiles. She glanced over her shoulder again. The white envelope was still there, waiting. Slowly, she edged backward. Legs shaking, she climbed back inside.

A train horn blared in the distance, but inside the suite, there was only silence. She padded across the floor and picked up the envelope. Her name—her new name—was written in black ink, the lettering thick and curling. She didn’t open it, sure it was nothing more than a congratulations message from the hotel. Or worse, a message from her new husband. That must be it. While downstairs, he’d written her a note. An apology? Or was it something else? Something to terrify her further? And he’d forced Joseph to deliver it. To torture her. To remind her she belonged to him, no more or less important than his horses or his new Ford automobile. She was a thing, a possession. The knowledge made her nauseous, and she held the offending thing away from her.

Her mind raced with possibilities. If he came back and she hadn’t opened it, he would be angry. She bent forward and wrapped an arm around her ribs, the pain intensifying with every breath. She thought about Louella, his first wife. When had the beatings started? After she didn’t get

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