“He took up one of the butcher knives and flew at Bess, holding it so hard to her throat that he drew blood. He demanded she tell him every detail of his mother’s death. Bess told him what we all knew. That his father had been out of the house that night and that Mary had passed in her sleep. She said if he expected her to know more, then he was wrong and he’d have to cut her, for she had no more to say. Still Liston held the knife there, and for a moment, I thought he would draw it across her neck. And then he broke down, and Bess, she took the knife from him and held him in her arms. But Bess, she was always different after that—distant and cold somehow. She told me that she hadn’t known until Mary Bradshaw died that she could kill another if she wished it. I don’t know what she meant, and I never asked her, for I was always afraid to find out.”

“Liston”—Anne looked at Emily, who shook her head in return—“wielded a knife?”

“Never saw such violence from him before nor since,” Agnes said.

“And the other incident?” Emily asked.

Agnes could not tear her eyes away from the clock, as if she could feel her master drawing ever nearer.

“Clifton Bradshaw was a hard man, but I’d never seen him be unkind to his wife until the weeks before she died, and suddenly it was as if she could do no right. Every word she spoke provoked a cruelty. And then as she lay dying, he began to entertain”—she shifted uncomfortably in her chair—“guests.”

“Guests?” Emily glanced at Anne. Agnes had said the word with such distaste that for a moment, Emily wondered if she had misheard her.

“Yes.” Agnes nodded. “There was different celebrations of sorts, night after night. Crates of wine and kegs of ale arrived, and great quantities of fine foods were delivered almost daily. I asked Bess about it, and she told me to mind my business—ever so sharp she was, which weren’t like her at all. And then one morning, I found her asleep over a pile of potatoes she was supposed to be peeling. I woke her up, and she told me she’d been up all night serving the master and his guests, and she’d be doing it again that night, as he trusted only her. Well, they hadn’t been in the house—I knew that much. So that night, after the house slept, I crept out. All was still at first, but soon enough I could hear the sound of revelry carried on the wind, so I followed it.”

Agnes looked up at the sisters, pulling herself back into the room.