CHAPTER FOUR

The next day is Monday, and for the first time since my arrival, there's a semblance of normalcy in the Carlton estate. Rather than the forced politeness of the weekend that thinly hides the undercurrent of tension between the family members, everyone is businesslike and focused on the work they have ahead of them.

Sebastian is no longer gregarious and effusive. He's not cold or abrupt, but he's distracted, and it's clear his mind is on his business. Veronica is equally occupied with a charity planning committee meeting she has this morning, and while she still greets me warmly, she leaves it simple and quickly moves upstairs to finish tidying up.

The two older Carlton siblings finish breakfast quickly. Oliver, in fact, takes his to go and mutters something about being late for his class. Eliza no longer dresses as though she's attending a ball, instead wearing a sensible skirt and blouse. Her hair is tied in a bun, and though my opinion doesn't matter, of course, I think she looks far more beautiful when she isn't trying to evoke an image of an ethereal goddess. Even Lucas is preoccupied, tinkering with a very large and—I assume—very expensive camera.

In summary, they are a bit frazzled, a bit distracted, and all in somewhat of a hurry. Just like normal people. Maybe it's a bit strange to say this relieves me, but after spending a weekend wondering when the lid was going to pop off and a series of scandals was going to boil over into the house, I'm quite grateful for some normalcy.

Sebastian is the second to leave, giving Eliza a quick kiss on her forehead. He is gone before Veronica returns downstairs. I wonder if she will be upset about this, but she mentions nothing, instead walking to me and saying, "Lucas can be shy at first, but if you give him time, he'll open up. He has a wonderful personality."

She beams at him, and for a moment, I'm afraid of another display of overly possessive and syrupy love, but she only says, "Be good for Mary."

"He's seventeen years old, Mum," Eliza says somewhat crossly. "He'll be fine. If you want a ride to your meeting, we have to leave now. Rupert has a meeting himself today, and if I'm not at the clinic in time to organize his notes, he'll be hopelessly lost."

Veronica gives Eliza a strange look. "Dr. Chalmers."

Eliza returns an equally odd smile to Veronica. "Right. Dr. Chalmers."

Perhaps my relief arrived too soon. Once more, there's a layer of intrigue. God, is nothing done in the open anymore? Must everything involve deception?

It's not your business , I remind myself.

The two of them leave, and I heave a sigh of relief that is maybe just a touch too obvious and turn to Lucas. "Well, Lucas. I am excited to finally have a chance to get to know you."

He lifts his eyes to mine. Today, his gaze is inquisitive but without the staring quality of the previous two days. Perhaps when separated from his mother, he is able to relax more. "Why did you take this job?" he asks.

"It seemed a good opportunity," I reply. "My last position didn't work out well, and I've always meant to return to England for a visit. This just lined up at the right time."

He nods and turns his attention back to his camera. I sit across from him and say, "Tomorrow, Lucas, we must focus on your studies. Your performance this year will be critical when it comes to determining your future. It quite literally could mean the difference between a scholarship to Oxford or Cambridge and a fight to get into a third-tier university. However, today, I'd like for us to simply get to know each other. I feel we haven't really had a chance to do that yet. How does that sound?"

He shrugs. "All right. Have you seen the bird's nest yet?"

I blink. "Bird's nest?"

He grins, and the expression is so honest and pure that my heart warms instantly. "Come on," he says, "I'll show you."

He jumps up, grabs his camera, and runs toward the stairs. I hurry to keep up, but when he bounds up the stairs two at a time, showing the usual exuberance of youth, I have to call and remind him that I'm not young anymore.

"Sorry, Mary," he says sheepishly. "I get excited sometimes."

"That's all right," I say, huffing as I catch up to him. "Excitement is good for any age. I just can't quite make my legs move as fast as yours."

He laughs and says, "Well, I'll slow down so you can keep pace. It's not far now, anyway."

He heads up the next flight of stairs to the attic, and I somehow manage to keep up without dying of a heart attack. He leads me into the attic and then to the north end of the floor. When we arrive, he reaches up and pulls a drawstring hanging from the ceiling.

A stepladder falls down, and he heads up, disappearing into the ceiling. I stare dubiously at the rickety-looking structure, but when he lowers his hand and beckons for me, I screw up my courage and climb.

Miraculously, the ladder holds, and I soon find myself in a small, circular room surrounded on all sides by windows. The ceiling slopes steeply upward, and I realize we're inside one of the narrow gables that decorate the roof of the house.

He grins at me and asks, "How do you like it?"

"This is wonderful!" I say, not exaggerating in the slightest. I really do like hidden places. "You can see the whole estate from here!"

He nods eagerly. "And the village beyond. In clear weather, anyway. Eliza works in the village." A shadow crosses his face at the mention of his sister. He quickly brightens, though, and says, "This is one of my favorite places to take pictures. There's also an old hunting blind in the north woods where the old Carlton lords used to hunt foxes. The rest of the family doesn't know it exists."

He says that last part proudly. I get the sense that he values his privacy. Considering what I've seen of his mother, I'm not surprised. "You really enjoy taking pictures, don't you?"

He nods. "It's a snapshot of a moment that will never occur again. With this"—he holds his camera up—"I get to preserve a piece of that moment for all time."

"That's beautiful!" I exclaim.

He grins again. He is so charming right now that I feel bad for my earlier fear of him. I wonder if his mother ever sees this side of him. I wonder how she'd react if she did.

"I'll show you some pictures in a minute," he says, sitting down cross-legged on the floor.

"I'd like that," I say. "I don't believe I can join you on the floor, though."

He laughs and says, "That's all right. I only sit like this when no one's looking anyway. Oliver says it makes me look like a cupcake when I sit like this."

"Well, that's not very kind of him, is it?"

His smile becomes bitter. "Well, he's not very kind."

I am treading dangerous ground here. I want him to feel comfortable with me, but I don't want to be involved in the tension going on between the family. I offer a noncommittal, "Brothers can be a lot to deal with sometimes," then try to change the subject. "When did you take an interest in photography?"

"Dad bought me a camera when I was seven. An old Polaroid. I remember watching the pictures develop and being fascinated as they showed up on the paper. And there everything was! And everyone! Like I had just captured a moment of real life. I knew then that's what I wanted to do."

"That's wonderful. Are you hoping to take pictures for magazines?"

He shrugs. "Probably. I'm sure I'll need some sort of income. It's an even chance Dad won't leave me anything since I'm such a disappointment to him."

He says this nonchalantly, as though he were mentioning that the weather's a little warm for the season. My heart breaks for him. I don't know what to say, but I can't remain silent, so I say, "Many people make an excellent living as photographers. I'm sure your father will be proud to see you succeed in any career."

He smiles at me, but there's an edge to it. "You're new here, Mary. You're a good person, and I can tell that you want to believe the best in people, but there's things about this family that you don't know yet. You probably wondered why everyone was so shocked by Oliver's joke last night."

"I did, actually," I reply. "It seemed harmless, if a little cheeky and immature."

He chuckles, and the laughter has an edge just like his smile. "That's Oliver for you. Cheeky and immature. Anyway, Dad left his first wife for my mother."

I stammer for a moment, then say, "Well, that's none of my business, dear. Why don't we talk—"

"Then Mum left out of nowhere to South Africa for a while. I guess that's where I was born." He grins at me. "I'm a South African citizen."

"Dual citizenship has many benefits," I say. "You should be grateful."

He shrugs. "I've never been to South Africa. I've asked Mum to go, and she only says, ‘Maybe someday.' But it won't happen. Not with her, anyway."

"Maybe you could go on a picture-taking adventure one day."

He grins. "Sure. One day." His smile vanishes, and he says, "Eliza and Oliver don't like me."

When I recover from the shock of the sudden change in subject, I say, "That's not true! I'm sure they love you very much."

"You wouldn't know," he says, not aggressively, just stating a fact. "They think I don't belong."

I don't know how to respond to that, so I'm grateful when he says, "Here, I'll show you some pictures."

He reaches behind and hands me a box. I open it and see hundreds of photographs, some of people, some of landscapes, some of animals both close up and from a distance. Some are of clouds and sunny skies, and one shows the taillights of a car heading from the estate in the dark of night.

I look through them, genuinely amazed at the talent the images show. "Lucas. These are wond…"

My voice trails off when I come across a photograph of the missing girl. She's standing in the corner of the photo, which appears to have been taken from the east garden. She's laughing at something someone has said off-camera.

It's not her image that stops me, though. The resemblance to Annie is still uncanny, but the disturbing part of the image is the man standing behind the hedges. The look on his face is one of either hate or lust. It might even be both.

His gaze is fixed on Minerva, and a chill runs down my spine.

"That's Niall," Lucas says. "He's the gardener. Scary-looking chap, isn't he?"

I am still too stunned to do more than nod.

"Come on," he says, "I'll show you the hunting blind. Don't worry. It's not far."

He scampers down the ladder. I replace the photograph and close the box, my hands trembling slightly.

Once more, I've found an image of the missing girl. A snapshot, as Lucas would say, of her life.

I don't like what that snapshot suggests about the end of that life.

I follow Lucas down the ladder and push my concerns to the back of my mind. This time, I can't completely push them away.