Chương 5
“Why was the authorization hidden in Mother’s music box?”
“You are accepting the word of an assistant who has every reason to resent this family.”
Julian’s hand settled on the back of his father’s chair. “What reason?”
Celeste looked briefly surprised that he had asked.
“Her father was dismissed from the estate office.”
“Twenty years ago.”
“People preserve grievances longer than furniture.”
“He was dismissed by Father, not by me.”
“Do you imagine resentment observes fine distinctions?”
Julian knew little about Nora’s father beyond the fact that he had kept maintenance accounts during the last decade of his grandfather’s life. He had resigned—or been dismissed—after discrepancies appeared in the books. The story belonged to that category of family history discussed confidently by people who had not been present.
“You hired her,” Julian said.
“I approved Mrs. Pike’s recommendation. That was before I understood how interested Miss Bell was in private family matters.”
“She brought tea to an open door.”
“She lingered.”
“How do you know?”
Celeste’s silence lasted half a beat too long.
Julian picked up her cold teacup. A faint red smear marked the porcelain near the handle.
Sealing wax.
Celeste followed his eyes.
“I sealed correspondence this morning.”
“With the Harrow crest?”
“I am a Harrow.”
“The estate seal is kept in the locked center drawer.”
“I have a key.”
“Why?”
“Father gave me one years ago.”
“He gave Thomas and me keys. Not you.”
A flush rose beneath her makeup. “Perhaps you were not told.”
Julian set down the cup. “Show me.”
“What?”
“The key.”
“I do not carry every household key on my person.”
“Where is it?”
“In my room, perhaps.”
“Then we will go there.”
Celeste stood. “No.”
The refusal came too quickly, with none of her usual polish.
Julian looked at her. “Why not?”
“Because I will not permit you to search my room like a criminal’s lodging.”
“I asked for a key.”
“You have already chosen whom to believe.”
“No. I have chosen what to examine.”
“That girl has been waiting for a chance to turn you against me.”
“What chance?”
Celeste gathered her wrap from the chair. “Ask her why she was in the study corridor at all. Ask why she remembers the color of the envelope but not the text on it. Ask why Owen ran directly to her when you entered.”
“He ran to her before I entered.”
“That is hardly better.”
She moved toward the door.
Julian did not stop her. “Do not speak to Owen.”
Celeste’s hand rested on the knob.
“I have cared for that child when you could not bear to look at him.”
The truth in it found its mark.
After Marianne’s death, Julian had spent weeks away from Bellwether, claiming meetings in Boston and New York that could have been handled by telephone. Owen’s resemblance to Thomas had been worst around the eyes. Julian had told himself that Celeste understood children better, that her orderliness gave the boy stability, that grief required room.
Celeste opened the door.
“You do not get to become his protector because you finally entered the correct room,” she said.
She left him alone.
Julian remained beside the desk until the study grew dark enough for the window to reflect his own face.
The accusation against Celeste did not erase what she had done for the family. She had managed their father’s household through his last illness. She had organized Thomas’s funeral when Julian could not decide whether the choir should sing. She had taken Owen to dentists, fittings, and school interviews. She knew which foods he refused and which stories settled him at night.
She also knew what frightened him.
That knowledge had not prevented her from using it.
Julian opened the center drawer with his key. Inside lay the estate seal, several sticks of red wax, and a silver letter opener. One stick had recently been used.
He examined the lock. No scratches. No sign of force.
The page missing from the foundation folder could have been removed by anyone with access to the study, which included Weller, Mrs. Pike, Celeste, and Julian himself. Nora entered only to bring trays, usually when someone was present.
He checked the leather visitor ledger near the door. The final entry was Dr. Mercer’s signature from three days earlier. Family members did not sign.
The study’s security sensor had been installed the previous spring after an insurance inspection. Julian rarely thought about it. The door was not locked during the day, but its opening and closing registered in the estate’s control system.
He picked up the telephone and called the maintenance office.
Calvin Reed answered on the fifth ring. Wind roared behind him. “North greenhouse.”
“Can you access the interior sensor log from there?”
A pause. “I can access it from the office.”
“I need the study door record for today.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yes.”
Calvin understood from the answer that he should not ask again. “Ten minutes.”
“Bring it to me. Do not discuss it.”
Julian replaced the receiver and looked toward the portrait above the desk.
His father’s painted expression had always suggested disappointment at an event about to occur.
“Not today,” Julian muttered.
He found Nora in the morning room after seven. Owen had fallen asleep with his head in her lap, one hand curled around the edge of her apron. Elsie sat on the carpet shuffling cards with such intense concentration that the trick had apparently defeated her as well.
Mrs. Pike stood near the tea table, reading Calvin’s printed security log.
She handed it to Julian without comment.
The study door had opened at 1:38 in the afternoon and closed at 1:56. It opened again at 2:04, closed at 2:08, then opened at 2:11 and remained open until Nora arrived with tea at 2:14.
The system did not identify individuals. It established only movement.
Julian looked at Nora. “What time did you bring the tray?”
May you like
“Mrs. Pike wrote the service schedule.”
Mrs. Pike tapped the paper in her other hand. “Two fifteen, though the kitchen clock is slow by a minute.”
