CHAPTER TWO

The next morning dawns bright and beautiful. Songbirds greet the sun cheerfully, and I open the curtains just in time to see a bumblebee drift lazily past my window. I take a deep breath and release it in a cleansing sigh. Today, I am determined to leave behind the unease of the day before.

It's my own fault, really. I'm a fifty-year-old woman. Why am I wandering around someone else's house like a girl? That portrait is none of my business, and it clearly isn't my sister. It was only a trick of the light and my own mind.

A thoroughly unpleasant memory comes to mind of a conversation I had with a psychologist visiting the Ashford estate. The man, a slimy and unscrupulous individual by the name of… was it Harlow? No, Harrow. This Dr. Harrow suggested that I had complained to him about nightmares of my sister. I was having nightmares, but I never once mentioned them to him in our brief interaction together.

Why am I thinking of Dr. Harrow now? I've admitted that my association of the portrait with Annie is nothing more than a trick of my mind. Perhaps that reminds me of his insinuation that I am unwell. It's true that I suffer from occasional nightmares, but to suggest that I need professional intervention was wholly unprofessional on his part.

I sigh and shake these troublesome thoughts from my mind. I will have a good day today. I will enjoy a cup of coffee and a light breakfast, and I will spend the day exploring the beautiful grounds of the Carlton estate. If I can, I will endeavor to get to know Lucas better before I begin his instruction tomorrow. I will be an excellent tutor, and when he graduates, I will part from this family on good terms. Their infighting is of no concern to me, and whatever affliction Lucas suffers from that he imagines seeing a girl from a painting in his walls… well, I will do my best to relieve him of his fear, but at the end of it, I'm only hired to ensure he passes sixth form. It's best if I don't allow myself to get too close to my charge this time.

I head to the breakfast room, a smaller dining room with a large window that opens to the west garden, and I find Veronica there enjoying a cup of tea. It seems she is an early riser as well.

She sees me approach and practically hops to her feet. "Mary! How delightful to see you! Sit. I'll bring you a cup of tea."

I'm about to protest that I prefer coffee in the morning, but she's already on her way to the kitchen. I drink tea in the afternoon rather than the morning, but, as they say, when in Rome one must do as the Romans do.

She returns a moment later and sets a cup and saucer in front of me. She beams at me as she takes her own seat and asks, "Tell me, how do you like it here so far?"

I think it's prudent that I not answer that question with perfect honesty, so I only say, "You have a lovely home, and Lucas seems a very bright child."

"He is brilliant !" she replies, practically glowing at my compliment. "He takes the most after me."

I doubt that. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Oliver is a carbon copy of his father. You'll meet him tonight, by the way. He returns this afternoon, so he'll be home in time for dinner. But that rakish attitude and rather… well, I don't want to say lazy."

And yet, the word leaves your mouth so easily. I sip my tea, hoping the caffeine will soften some of the sarcasm in my head.

"And Eliza… well, Eliza is special in her own way. She takes more after her grandmother, I feel. Sebastian's mother, that is." She chuckles. " My mother was a hard-drinking and harder-swearing sailor's daughter who disowned me when I married for wealth."

She laughs as though she's just said something hilarious, then stands. "Shall we take that walk I promised you yesterday?"

I blink and look down at my barely touched cup of tea. I take one more sip—it's really quite good—and set it on the table. "That sounds wonderful."

The air is crisp despite the bright sunshine, and I find myself wishing I'd brought my coat when we step outside. Veronica has her arm in mine, and she leads me on like we're childhood friends. She talks nonstop about the different flowers, trees, and shrubs represented by the various meadows, copses, and gardens present. She seems particularly proud of the "genuine Kentucky bluegrass" that forms the carpet of the expansive east meadow.

We walk through that meadow toward a fenced arboretum dominated by a large tree of curious shape in the center of the four-acre space surrounded by many different exotic species of shrubs and flowers.

"That's a baobab tree," she explains, gesturing toward the broad-trunked plant with its short crown of five-pointed leaves. "Sebastian had it shipped from Africa. He just loves Africa. We honeymooned there."

"Oh, you went on safari?"

"Goodness no!" she says with a laugh. "Could you imagine me holding a gun?" She laughs again. "No, that was Sebastian's thing. We simply took a vehicle tour of the grasslands and the forests."

I decide it's not worth my time explaining to her that what she's described is a safari and that what her husband engages in is called a hunt.

"I just love plants," she says. "When I was a girl, I would pretend that I was a fairy princess. I would run through the grounds at my father's house, commanding the fairies to bring me the sweetest fruits and the most beautiful flowers! Their estate wasn't so impressive as this, of course. Where did you grow up?"

She speaks with a manic intensity that belies a deeply anxious personality. I try not to psychoanalyze everyone I come across, but she radiates tension from every pore. I wonder what it is that makes her so nervous.

"I grew up in London as a young girl," I reply. "My family moved to Boston when I was eleven."

"Oh, how wonderful! Did you find the city exciting?"

I shrug. "I found it the same as any other city, I suppose. My sister loved it. She always said that things happened in the city. She didn't think she could stand living somewhere quiet."

Speaking about my sister reminds me of the portrait I found in the attic the night before. I feel a strange compulsion to learn what I can about that girl, whoever she might be. A quiet voice in the back of my mind warns me I should leave this be, but the memory of my sister laughing and dancing in the streets of Boston causes a fixation that will only dissipate once my curiosity is satisfied.

I find myself sympathizing very much with the unfortunate cat who allowed curiosity to overwhelm her.

"I was exploring the attic last night," I begin.

"The attic?" She looks at me quizzically. "Whatever for?"

"Oh…" I redden, realizing only now how presumptuous it was of me. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been snooping."

She laughs. "No need to apologize. My Lucas is curious much the same way. He just loves finding hidden things: hidden rooms, hidden spaces, hidden stories. He's quite inquisitive. You two will get along famously."

I think of his wide, dark eyes staring unblinkingly at me in the attic and suppress a shiver. "Yes, I'm sure we will. Anyway, I came across a portrait of a beautiful young girl who bore a striking resemblance to… to Eliza."

Veronica's smile fades, and I feel a rush of fear. "It could simply have been a trick of the light. My cell phone light, that is. I… well, once the attic lights were on, the resemblance wasn't as strong."

Her smile returns, but it's more forced than before. "No need to apologize. The girl was blonde with blue eyes, and she was walking in a forest, yes?"

"Yes. Not like…" I gesture around at the eclectic collection of plants that surround us. "More like a normal English forest. Not that this is… not that there's anything wrong…" God, I'm getting discombobulated.

"That was Minnie," Veronica says. "Minerva Montclair. Oliver used to call her M&M."

"Oh. A girlfriend of his?"

She laughs, and there's a shocking degree of bitterness in that laugh. "One can never tell with Oliver. He doesn't take anything or anyone seriously." She catches herself and says, "But no, not a girlfriend of his. A friend. Sometimes a friend of his and sometimes of Eliza's."

I should leave it at that, but my curiosity refuses to release me. "I take it she's not a friend anymore?"

"She's gone," Veronica replies. "She's been missing for over a year now."

"Oh." Heat floods my cheeks. "Oh, how horrible. I'm so sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" she says, looking at me with a strange expression that is one part shrewdness, one part disgust, and one part amusement.

I blink and stammer for a few seconds, and she laughs and says, "I'm just teasing, Mary. Of course, it's tragic. She was a beautiful and vibrant young woman. It's a shame she was taken in the prime of her life. Mind you, no one knows that she's dead. No body was ever found. She was just home one day and gone the next. But… well, after so long, I can't see how she'd still be alive." She meets my eyes. "I'm sorry. What a horrifically morbid thing to talk about. I should have warned you before you brought it up. Anyway, I don't know why we still keep her picture in the attic. I'll have Horace remove it when we return."

We spend the next hour or so enjoying the garden. I allow the conversation to drift away from the mystery of Minerva Montclair, and we spend the rest of our excursion discussing Veronica's charity work. She is quite careful to point out how much more the family gives than their neighbors and Sebastian's business partners do.

"We recently made a pledge to Clean Water for Asia to donate one million pounds per annum to their fund. Sebastian was concerned that we would carve into our budget for maintenance of the estate, and I told him, ‘Sebastian, there are things on Earth more precious than your silly estate.'" She laughs. "He did not like that."

I manage to keep up with the conversation, which is easy to do since Veronica clearly intends to dominate as much of it as possible. My thoughts, however, remain on the missing girl with bright blue eyes and hair the shade of molten gold.

I try once more to tell myself to let this go. It's not my business. I'm done with prying into events that have nothing to do with me. Better to focus on the job I was hired to do and leave the secrets of the Carlton family to them.

But deep down, I know that once more, I've been pulled into the mystery, and try as I might, I won't be able to leave it behind until I have an answer.