Chương 2
Julian did not open it immediately.
He looked at Celeste.
The muscles around her mouth hardened, then relaxed. “That proves nothing. She could have put it there.”
“With Owen beside her?” Julian asked.
“Before we entered. At any point today.”
“I have been with him since breakfast,” Nora said.
“You left him during luncheon.”
“For nine minutes. Mrs. Pike sat with him.”
“Mrs. Pike sleeps through conversations addressed directly to her.”
From the doorway came the soft sound of a shoe dragging.
Mrs. Pike herself stood in the corridor, one hand braced on her cane. She was seventy-three and had served as housekeeper since Julian was a boy. Age had lowered one shoulder and clouded the sight in her left eye, but had not dulled her hearing.
“I sleep through Mr. Weller,” she said. “That isn’t the same thing.”
No one smiled.
Julian’s gaze returned to the envelope. He broke what remained of the seal and unfolded the paper.
The room waited.
Nora could not see the words, only the shape of the document: heavy cream stock, dense type, a block for signatures near the bottom, blue ribbon threaded through the left corner. Julian read the first page, then the second. The color drained from beneath his winter-pale skin.
Celeste adjusted one jeweled earring.
“What is it?” Nora asked before remembering her place.
Julian did not rebuke her.
“A transfer authorization,” he said. “For the north shoreline parcel.”
Celeste folded her hands. “Then it is one of the drafts discussed last autumn.”
“It transfers the parcel to Celandine Holdings.”
“That was among the alternatives.”
“I rejected it.”
“You postponed it.”
“I rejected it.”
Owen shifted against Nora. He knew none of the names, but he recognized the change in Julian’s voice. It had become quieter, each word placed with care.
Julian turned to the final page.
“This carries my signature.”
Celeste glanced toward the windows. “You signed a number of instruments before Christmas.”
“Not this one.”
“Are you certain?”
Julian looked at her then, and the question she had asked seemed to settle over the room in a different form.
Owen whispered into Nora’s collar, “I want to go upstairs.”
Nora rubbed one hand between his shoulder blades. “We will.”
Celeste heard him. “He cannot leave until we understand what he did.”
Nora rose with the boy in her arms, though at six he was getting too heavy to carry comfortably. He clung to her with his legs against her skirt.
“He hasn’t done anything,” she said.
“You have made an accusation, Miss Bell. That does not turn it into a fact.”
“No. The document does.”
Celeste’s expression changed for the first time. Not dramatically. Her nostrils flared, and her eyes lost their polished distance.
“You should remember who employs you.”
The old warning landed exactly where it was intended. Nora’s mother lived in a rented room in Providence and required medicines the state insurance did not always cover. Nora sent nearly half her wages home. Her position at Bellwether included board, clothing, and enough money to keep her mother from choosing between heat and prescriptions. Celeste knew that because she had once praised Nora’s devotion at dinner.
Julian folded the document.
“That will be enough.”
Celeste turned to him. “Julian, surely you see what she is attempting.”
“I see a frightened child, a document I did not sign, and three different accounts of how both came to be in this room.”
“Three?”
Julian looked at Owen.
The child pressed his face into Nora’s shoulder.
Julian did not question him. Instead, he crossed to the bell near the bookshelves and pulled once. “Mrs. Pike, would you ask Dr. Mercer to remain on the grounds after his visit with Mr. Weller?”
Celeste’s eyebrows rose. “A physician?”
“For Owen.”
“He has not been injured.”
“Fear does not leave marks as neatly as you prefer.”
The sentence struck her. Julian appeared to regret its sharpness almost immediately, but he did not withdraw it.
Mrs. Pike nodded and began the slow journey down the corridor.
Julian placed the document back inside the envelope, though the broken wax would no longer hold. He removed the winding key from the music box and put it in his coat pocket. Then he lowered the lid without replacing the crooked tray.
“Nora, take Owen to the morning room. Stay with him.”
Nora held the boy tighter. “Yes, sir.”
“Do not speak to him about what he saw.”
Celeste gave a small sound of satisfaction.
Julian continued, “And do not let anyone else speak to him either.”
The satisfaction vanished.
Nora carried Owen from the library. As she passed Julian, he touched the boy’s back with two fingers. Owen stiffened at first, then turned his head enough to see who it was.
Julian’s hand dropped.
The morning room occupied the south corner of Bellwether House, where winter light lasted longer than anywhere else. Its furniture had been chosen by Julian’s grandmother, who believed yellow silk improved melancholy. Time had faded the fabric to the color of weak tea.
Nora sat with Owen on a narrow sofa beside the cold fireplace. She did not ask what happened in the study. She asked whether his hands hurt and whether he wanted the milk replaced.
He shook his head.
“Would you like your blue blanket?”
Another shake.
“Would you like me to stop asking questions?”
He considered this and nodded.
Nora tucked a cushion behind him. He stayed pressed against her side.
Through the wall came the muffled closing of the music library doors.
Nora pictured Julian alone with Celeste, though he might have sent for Weller first. She imagined Celeste’s voice smoothing itself into reason. Celeste was very good at reason after she had frightened someone. She could turn cruelty into discipline, secrecy into discretion, and personal advantage into family duty. Nora had watched her do it at charity dinners and estate meetings, always with the same calm posture.
Owen wiped his nose on his sleeve.
May you like
“Handkerchief,” Nora said softly.
He looked embarrassed.
