Page 122 of The Vanished

Aunt Clarissa pressed her cool fingers to Honor’s neck, then lifted her limp wrist. “I can’t feel a pulse.”

There was momentary silence, and Honor wanted to scream that she was alive and she needed help, but her aunt seemed to have written her off.

“No one must find out about this,” Clarissa said.

“How are they not going to find out?” Rose asked. She sounded shocked and confused.

“Because they will never find the body.”

“Mother, what are you saying?”

“Do you want to hang, you nitwit?” Clarissa screeched. “Because that’s what’s going to happen if you are charged with murder.”

“But it was an accident,” Rose tried again.

“And who is going to believe that? You rowed, you pushed her, she hit her head and died. Even if the charge is manslaughter, you will still go to prison. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Rose whimpered.

“Good. Now help me. Let’s get her out of that dress.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re going to make it look like she ran away with that damn Irishman. And if anyone finds the body, they’ll think he killed her.”

“He gave Geneva a ring. An Irish one,” Rose offered. “I saw it in Geneva’s jewelry box.”

“Go get it. We’ll put it on her finger. If anyone finds her, that’ll put him in the frame. But don’t touch it with your bare hands. Put on those white gloves.”

Honor tried to scream as her aunt and cousin pulled off her dress, but she couldn’t make a sound. She was trapped inside her body, unable to call for help. Her brain seemed to be pushing against her skull, throbbing and aching dully as her thoughts became even more muddled.

“Everyone is downstairs, drinking and dancing. And the servants are having their own celebration in the servants’ hall. No one will be on the servants’ staircase at this time of night. Let’s get her outside.”

“What are you going to do?” Rose whispered hoarsely.

“Dump her down the old well. No one will think to look for her there. Then, tomorrow, we will leave as planned.” A pause. “Can you copy her handwriting?”

“I suppose.”

“You’ll write a note saying she went off with Sullivan. We’ll leave it on her dressing table.”

“Mother, are you sure about this?”

“Oh, I’m sure,” Clarissa snarled. “You’re going to be mistress of Bellamy Hall.”

“What? How?” Rose exclaimed.

“Do you still have the photographs and the newspaper?”

“Yes.”

“Once we dispose of Honor, I’m going to have a word with Jesse.”

“Are you going to report him to the police for murdering William Heller?”

“No, you idiot. The last thing we need is to involve the police.”

“But who was he if his name wasn’t Jesseph Bellamy?” Rose demanded.