CHAPTER ONE

"I do apologize for Sebastian's absence," Veronica says. "Work keeps him away so often these days."

"Oh, it's perfectly all right," I reply. "I understand."

"People need their internet, after all," Oliver adds. "Nothing is more important than instant connection to everyone everywhere anytime for any reason."

I detect a hint of bitterness in his statement and feel a touch of sympathy. I wonder how much Sebastian has missed for the sake of his business.

Not that it's my place to pry. My own father was frequently absent due to his own work, but I must not allow my own resentment to poison my opinion of a man I haven't even met yet.

"Mary, you must save room for dessert," Eliza interjects. "Henri makes the most de light ful pudding."

"I'll be sure to allow some room," I reply.

"Would you like some wine, Mary?" Before I can decline, she calls, "Hazel! Please fill Mary's glass! I think we'll start with the Sauvignon Blanc to pair with the salad."

A thin, sallow woman around my age appears noiselessly at my side and just as noiselessly pours from the bottle into the glass next to my salad plate. I am not given to alcohol, but I haven't been given a chance to refuse, and frankly, I don't know if I would. Veronica's politeness seems intense, almost aggressive, as though she dares anyone to tell her she's not a perfect host.

The woman disappears as noiselessly as she appeared, and I realize I haven't thanked her. The family doesn't appear to notice this. I'm not sure why that bothers me so much.

"I heard you served in America prior to coming here," Eliza says. "How was that?"

I consider my answer carefully. "I suppose it could have been worse."

The three of them seem to find that utterly hilarious. They throw their heads back and burst into laughter, chests heaving with mirth. I smile and offer a forced chuckle, then take a sip of my wine. Perhaps it's not a bad idea to allow alcohol to loosen my spirits for this meal.

"Tell me, was it the weather or the people you found intolerable?" Oliver asks. "Or both?"

"Now, Oliver," Veronica says, "there's no need to be rude."

"I'm only stating a simple fact, Mother," he says, grinning cheekily at her. "It's common knowledge that America is a dreary place filled with dreadful people."

"And you're one to talk," Eliza retorts. "If you had your way, you'd still be carrying on with those heathens from Eton."

"Well, if you had your way, you'd still be carrying on with those heathens from Cambridge."

"Children!" Veronica scolds. "Enough of this! I am sure Mary didn't come all this way to hear you two squabble!"

"Relax, Mother, we're only teasing," Eliza says with a grin. "Oliver knows I love his friends."

"Too much, if you ask me."

Eliza scoffs and slaps him playfully. "It's not my fault they can't keep their eyes to themselves."

"Well, you don't have to wear a two-piece to go swimming, you know."

I have a feeling they're not all that interested in my experiences in America. I take another sip of my wine and hope that the smile I wear doesn't appear as forced as Veronica's.

" There's my little darling!" Veronica cries with clear relief. "Lucas, where have you been? We're nearly ready for the appetizer!"

The other two quiet and look over at Lucas. He still wears his suit from earlier and approaches the table slowly, wide eyes fixed on me. He takes the seat next to his mother, and she puts a protective arm around him. "You know you must eat, Lucas. It's not healthy for you to peck like a bird at your food."

"You haven't served him any food, Mother," Oliver reminds her.

There's an odd tension in Oliver's voice, and when I turn to him, his eyes have hardened into diamonds. I can't tell if that anger is directed at his mother or his younger brother.

"Nonsense," Veronica says. "Here, have some of mine."

She stabs a few leaves of lettuce with her fork and lifts it to Lucas's mouth. I watch in horror as the boy opens his mouth and takes the forkful like an infant. Lucas's face remains expressionless as he allows his mother to feed him several more bites of the greens.

"Mary was about to tell us of America," Eliza says, breaking the silence. "I'm sure you have wonderful stories."

The truth is that my time in America, especially my time at the Ashford estate, was trying and even frightening, but I sense that Eliza is desperate for something to break through the discomfort of the moment. So am I, to be honest.

So, I bend the truth.

"Yes, the weather was somewhat dreary, but not so terrible as you might expect. There's a certain beauty to be found in its wildness. And we had a family of mallards in our pond at the Ashford estate who had given birth late in the season, so—"

Veronica gasps. "Oh, how precious! I just love ducklings!"

"They were very precious," I agree, "and the children were wonderful."

That last part is not a lie. Elijah, Isabella, and Samuel were the only good parts of my tenure at the Ashford estate. I still miss them.

"Were they as precious as Lucas over here?" Oliver asks lightly.

Veronica's smile vanishes for the first time since I met her. In its place is a look that I hope never to see directed my way. Eliza pales and looks desperately between her mother and oldest brother. "Mother, perhaps you could show Mary the garden tomorrow. I'm sure she'd love to see the wonderful work Niall has done."

The door to the dining room opens before Veronica can respond. Hazel quietly serves the appetizer—puff pastries filled with spinach and cream cheese—and refills my wine. It's only then I realize I've finished the glass.

Lucas takes advantage of the stare-down between his mother and brother to take his plate and quietly move his chair far enough away that he can feed himself. Oliver sees this and smiles. "I'm only joking, Mary. That being said, I'm sure you'll find Lucas a thoroughly pleasant person to be around. He's quiet, but what he lacks in gregariousness he makes up for with a gentle soul and inquisitive spirit. I know you two will get on well."

Veronica's smile slowly returns, but her eyes remain nearly violent. "Yes. Of course she will."

I take another sip of my wine and wonder if I can feign illness and retire early to bed.

***

As it turns out, even four glasses of wine and more food than a person should consume in a week is not enough to cure my insomnia. That night, as I lay in bed, I find myself gripped by an urge to wander. So I pull on my slippers and creep softly from my room.

The Carlton house is not as large as the Ashford house, but it is still quite spacious and grand. The first floor is dedicated to entertaining and like most English country homes is quite concerned with the aesthetic of its interior architecture, containing several studies each evoking a certain theme. I find such excess quite pretentious, but then, it's not my place to judge.

Like the Ashford house, it contains a kitchen that is so modern as to be incongruous with the rest of the house. At least here, the coffee is made in a proper press rather than one of those awful automatic machines. I rather suspect I'll be the only one drinking coffee, however. Like a good English family, the Carltons take their tea seriously and display a gorgeous, high-quality set of china cups and saucers on their counter.

The second floor contains the bedrooms for the family, while the semi-basement contains the servants' quarters, including my own room. I have no interest in knowing what goes on in those places, so I take the staircase to the attic.

I don't know what draws me to attics and other forgotten spaces. Ever since my sister was lost to me, I find myself gravitating toward the hidden things of the world, as though by exploring each nook, I might someday find her waiting for me with open arms.

Annie, my beautiful younger sister, disappeared nearly thirty years ago. No trace of her has been found, and while the official position is that she must have died, I can't help but wonder if the answer to that question is more complicated. Perhaps she is even still alive somewhere, having fulfilled her promise to escape the life she felt trapped by when we were younger.

One day, I'll find answers. For now, I only want to know what I can about my new employers.

The attic here is an entire floor rather than a large closet or room as it is in many American houses. Though it is used for storage in the same way, the open floor plan makes it seem far less claustrophobic. I feel my restlessness calm as I use my cell phone flashlight to look through old statuary and portraits scattered among languishing furniture and odds and ends.

The unease I felt earlier today fades along with my restlessness, and I consider the family's behavior with a more practical eye. It's clear that Veronica is a domineering mother and hides her need for control behind a veneer of carefree joviality. The older two have managed to escape her clutches, and Lucas now exists as the lightning rod for Veronica's attentions. Eliza seems to have distanced herself somewhat from her emotions on the subject, but Oliver still holds her in resentment.

What's not entirely clear is their opinion of Lucas. Do they resent him too, or do they simply resent their mother's behavior toward him? Oliver seems to both pity him and resent him, and Eliza, once more, seems to have distanced herself. I can only wonder how this all affects poor Lucas. It's no wonder he's such an odd young man.

I shake my head firmly and put those thoughts out of my head. I'm not here to be the family's psychologist, and I have no interest in becoming involved in their drama. I am here to tutor Lucas and ensure he graduates from sixth form. That is all I was hired to do, and it is all I will do.

To force my mind to occupy itself with something other than the Carlton family dynamic, I stride toward a portrait covered by a sheet and boldly throw the sheet back to see what it hides. I aim my phone light at the painting and…

My breath catches in my throat, and my jaw goes slack.

The forest is different this time. It's not the dusky pine forest where I last saw Annie, nor is it the skeletal elm graveyard shrouded in fog where the ghostly woman tortured my likeness in the Ashford estate. It is the rolling woods of central England with modestly sized green oaks and poplars lending a gentle green to the landscape.

There is no mistaking the girl in the painting, though. The tall, lithe figure, the shimmering golden hair, the high cheekbones and the delicate lips pursed into a cupid's bow underneath playfully seductive blue eyes.

I stare at my sister's image and try desperately to convince myself that it's only my imagination. I'm dreaming again. Just as I did at the Ashford estate, I'm only imagining this painting. I'll wake up and learn that this painting, like the one at the Ashford estate, doesn't even exist. It's not real. It's not—

"I wouldn't stare at her too long if I were you."

I cry out and spin around toward the noise. Lucas stands in the doorway of the attic, his dark eyes as wide as a vampire's in the dim light of the stairwell.

"She hides in the walls now," he says. "If you stare at her for too long, she'll come visit you as she does me."

To say I'm frightened would be an understatement. I'm convinced now that I'm having a nightmare, and it's not until Lucas reaches toward the wall and flips on the attic's lights that my fear begins to recede.

I click off my cell phone light and turn back to the painting. It's an image of a beautiful young girl. She does bear a striking resemblance to Annie, but in the improved light, I can see subtle differences that show that she isn't a doppelganger. My cheeks burn slightly with embarrassment. I turn to Lucas and say, "What are you doing up so late? It's after midnight."

"I rarely sleep through the night," he says.

He glances back at the painting, and I ask, "Have you had a nightmare?"

"No, not recently. I only have trouble resting in such a restless house."

I stand in the silence of the manor and can't help but come to the conclusion that it is Lucas and not this house that is restless.

"Did you know this girl?" I ask him.

He starts slightly and turns to me. "Oh. Not really. She's just a girl in a picture to me."

That's an odd way to answer the question, and I stare at him a moment longer, wondering if I should pry more. In the end, I decide now isn't the time. And do I really want to get involved in another mystery so soon after the mystery of the Ashford family? Sticking my nose into my former employer's business nearly got me killed. I'd much rather not repeat that experience.

"Well," I say. "If she's only a girl in a picture, then there's nothing to worry about. Anyway, it's late. I should get back to bed. You should, too."

He nods once. "Yes. I just wanted to warn you."

He turns and leaves me standing speechless in the attic. A shiver runs down my spine, and I hurry out, only just remembering to shut off the light.

I am sure now of one thing. The perfection of the Carlton estate is indeed only a fa?ade. Behind its manicured gardens and pristine walls, rot festers here just as surely as it did with the Ashfords.

It seems my hope of an easy and relaxing tenure here was a false one.