Chương 13
“A small pane, perhaps.”
“Could I use the blue planter?”
“It’s heavier than you are.”
“So?”
“So you would need help.”
Noah considered this.
Adrian stood and walked toward the door. He stopped several feet away, leaving the choice with the boy.
“Thomas installed an alarm button near the citrus table,” he said. “It rings at the gatehouse and in Bernard’s office.”
“What if Bernard is making cake?”
“He can hear it from the kitchen.”
“What if Thomas is outside?”
“It goes to his phone.”
“What if his phone is dead?”
“Then we smash a window,” Iris said.
Noah smiled.
He stepped inside.
The conservatory smelled of damp soil and lemon leaves. Sunlight gathered beneath the glass roof. New strawberry plants grew in long beds along the eastern wall, their first blossoms small and white.
Noah walked directly to the door that had trapped him.
The old brass lock remained on the outside as part of the historic hardware, but a steel panic bar now crossed the interior. Thomas had explained that appearance mattered less than function. Bernard had disliked the modern bar for three days, then polished it every morning.
Noah touched it with one finger.
“Push,” Iris said.
“I know.”
He pushed.
The door opened.
He let it close and pushed again.
Then again.
The third time, he walked through to the corridor, circled back through the main entrance, and repeated the test.
Adrian waited.
On the fifth attempt, Noah became bored and wandered toward the orange tree to search for the shoe he had lost months earlier.
“It won’t be there,” Iris told him.
“You don’t know.”
“Bernard found it.”
“He found the left one.”
“You only lost the left one.”
“I lost another one later.”
Iris looked at Adrian. “He didn’t.”
Adrian sat on the low stone border of the strawberry bed. “It may be best to let the investigation continue.”
She sat beside him.
For a while, they listened to Noah move pots that were too heavy for him and complain when they behaved accordingly.
Iris’s cheek had healed, leaving no mark. The torn cream dress had been repaired but remained in the cottage closet. Daniel said she refused to wear it.
Adrian rubbed his thumb over the stretched seam of his jacket sleeve. He had kept the jacket, though the tailor offered to replace the panel.
“Are you still selling the house?” Iris asked.
“No.”
“Never?”
“I don’t know about never.”
Her expression sharpened.
“But not while I’m the one making the decision,” he added. “The trust will review what the estate can afford and what should be preserved. Other people will have a vote.”
“Do we get a vote?”
“Your father has a representative on the employee council.”
“That sounds like no.”
“It means not directly.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re eight.”
“That didn’t stop me at dinner.”
“No,” Adrian said. “It did not.”
She picked a piece of dried soil from the stone ledge.
“What happened to Celeste?”
“She is dealing with the consequences of what she did.”
“Is she in jail?”
“No.”
“Will she be?”
“I don’t know.”
Iris frowned. Adults had given her that answer often in recent months, and she had learned that it could mean uncertainty, avoidance, or cowardice.
Adrian continued before she asked which.
“The investigators and lawyers disagree about some things. I won’t tell you a result before it exists.”
She nodded slowly.
“Does she still have the letter?”
“No. The trust keeps it in secure storage.”
“Did your mother hate you?”
The question struck with more force than anything the trustees had asked.
“No,” Adrian said.
“How do you know?”
“Because she made it difficult for me to do something careless.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“It was.”
“Dad makes me wear a helmet.”
“Similar principle.”
“Your mother couldn’t make you wear a helmet because you’re old.”
“She found alternatives.”
Iris smiled despite herself.
Across the conservatory, Noah shouted that he had found a button. It was not from his shoe, jacket, or any object he recognized. He put it in his pocket anyway.
Iris looked toward the glass doors.
“I was wrong that night,” Adrian said.
“About Noah being safe?”
“Yes. I should have said we were going to make him safe.”
“You wanted me to stop crying.”
“I did.”
“I didn’t.”
“No.”
She turned toward him. “I believed you anyway.”
Adrian felt shame rise before gratitude, and was relieved by the order.
“I know,” he said.
“You should be more careful.”
“I will try.”
“That isn’t a promise.”
“No.”
Iris considered him for a moment, then stood.
Near the old door, a small brass key hung inside a glass-fronted box with a red label stating that it was no longer used. The actual emergency release was visible beneath it. Thomas had wanted to discard the key. Noah objected because important objects should not disappear simply because adults had used them badly.
Iris removed the key from the open display box and carried it to Adrian.
“This one doesn’t lock anything now,” she said.
“I know.”
“Then why keep it?”
“So we remember what it used to do.”
“That’s a bad reason.”
“What would be a better one?”
She placed the key in his palm.
“So everyone can see who has it.”
Her hand withdrew.
Adrian walked to the central worktable, where staff sign-in sheets, pruning scissors, and a chipped blue mug had been left in the open. He set the key beside them.
Noah came running from the orange trees, one fist closed around the useless button he had found.
“Can we lock the door and test it again?” he asked.
“We don’t need the key,” Iris said.
“I know.”
Adrian held the door while both children stepped into the corridor. Then he let it close between them.
Noah pushed the bar from the other side.
The door opened at once.
May you like
He did it again, more gently this time.
Adrian remained where the children could see him, his hands empty, while the spring light moved across the glass and the old key lay in the middle of the table for anyone to find.
