* * *
Heat and cold suffused her whole body, reaching out to the tips of her fingers and toes like hot oil or frost and she tried to sit down for she was suddenly tired but her knees were funny and she slipped in the blood that was now puddling on the floor and she fell to her knees but she was going to finish this.
Why did Beatrice keep talking?
Iseult grabbed at the soaked fabric by her shoulder and ripped it so she could get at the wound. Her hand was slick with blood and she forgave herself for wiping it off on the vicar’s vestments that lay neatly folded on the bench next to her. She took a deep breath and counted to three counted to four counted and forced her fingers her hand inside her neck.
She could feel her there and Iseult’s eyes popped wide in surprise. Oh! Oh! She could feel skin, feel Beatrice squirming wildly from her grasp like a naughty child. Iseult grinned because she knew who would win this time. Fingers in, up to the hilt now so to speak, she grabbed, missed, grabbed again and caught … something. One hand groped for the fallen knife while the other held fast to the small fishy thing. And Beatrice shrieked words that Iseult couldn’t hear even though she was louder than a hundred birds crashing into glass and Iseult held on to Beatrice with one hand and with the other brought the knife down again and again and again until that was all and Mrs. Pennington had been right that all was well and it was done.
31.
Nothing appeared in the papers. The wedding had been announced in the tersest fashion, and so few people knew, and those people were told quietly with as few details as possible.
Jacob was married to someone else, an invalid (a wealthy one), within the year. It was true that he thought of Iseult from time to time, but how much can you really think of someone you only met four times, even if that someone was your fiancée? Mr. Wince married within six months—a childless widow—and pretended to forget that Iseult and Beatrice had ever existed, save in monthly nightmares that he refused to explain to his bride. Mrs. Pennington handed in her notice the day Iseult died. She left her husband and went to live with her son and his wife.
So it was a very tidy ending, except for the mess in the vestry. The vicar had to transfer to a new parish, the carpeting was replaced, and the new vicar was never told what had occurred. Criminally speaking, the case was a suicide, and was closed without further ado.
The only thing that could never be explained to anyone’s satisfaction was the finger. When the police were summoned and the door broken down, Iseult was dead, her wedding dress and veil drenched in blood from the self-inflicted mutilating wounds to her neck. In fact, she had been so vicious, so savage in her attack on herself, that she had completely severed two of her fingers, which lay in a pool of blood by her head.
No one could ever say for certain where the third finger that lay next to them came from. It seemed to belong to no one.
Acknowledgments
Ever so many thanks to my mom, Jill, Wendy, and Tim, for letting me check out all the library books, and for always letting me finish a chapter before setting the table. To my dad, who would find this book extremely strange, but would read it and be proud of me anyway. To my best friends, Emily and Ruth, who kept me going, no matter how much was required in terms of snacks and happy hours. To every friend who volunteered to read a book about a woman whose mother lives in her neck. To my agent Kate McKean, who kept me calm and didn’t let me sell myself short. To my editor Caroline Zancan, who knew exactly what I meant and how I meant to write it.
About the Author
Molly Pohlig is the associate editor for Vogue Knitting magazine, and has written humorous pieces and personal essays for Slate, The Toast, and The Hairpin. Originally from Virginia, she currently lives in Brooklyn. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Acknowledgments
Copyright
THE UNSUITABLE. Copyright © 2020 by Molly Pohlig. All rights reserved. For information, address Henry Holt and Co., 120 Broadway, New York, N.Y. 10271.
www.henryholt.com
Cover design by Karen Horton
The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:
Names: Pohlig, Molly, author.
Title: The unsuitable: a novel / Molly Pohlig.
Description: First edition. | New York: Henry Holt and Company, 2020.
Identifiers: LCCN 2019019769 | ISBN 9781250246288 (hardcover)
Classification: LCC PS3616.O45 U57 2020 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2019019769
e-ISBN 9781250246271
First Edition: April 2020
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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.