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the soothing sound of the waves. I passed through numerous rose gardens and gave them barely a second glance. I only stopped when I could go no farther. Resting my hands on the top of the stone wall separating Rose Mont from a well-worn gravel path that snaked along the top of the cliffs, I held my breath. Before me, stretching out to the distant horizon, was the vast shimmering blue ocean. Not the boat ride through Block Island Sound at night or my glimpse of Newport Harbor had prepared me for this. This was the ocean I’d dreamt of, the endless, ceaseless, unforgiving, mesmerizing sea. I couldn’t take my gaze away. Seagulls glided on wind currents just above me and waves crashed against the black rocks far below while I stood there, enthralled by the beauty for I don’t know how long. But when I heard someone walking toward me on the path I realized I’d been standing there too long. I regretfully pulled myself away from the scene and returned to the house.
    “Where have you been?” Mrs. Crankshaw said as I entered the Servants’ Hall. “Mrs. Mayhew has been ringing for you. I had to go in your place and explain your mysterious absence. She is eager for you to get started. You’re lucky she’s a forgiving mistress. But I can tell you, one word of this to the master and you won’t last an hour longer in this house. Now get up there. She’s in her sitting room. I’ll send up your breakfast.”
    I was flustered and embarrassed to have been negligent in my duties. I should’ve been here. I should’ve waited to talk to Mrs. Mayhew before I’d gone out. I wanted to apologize to Mrs. Crankshaw; she should not have had to make excuses for me. I wanted to explain to her that it wouldn’t happen again. I wanted to shake off the hypnotic sound of the waves still in my ears. But Mrs. Crankshaw wouldn’t stop talking.
    “Stop standing there like you’d never been chastised before. Go,” Mrs. Crankshaw said, shooing me away with a wave of her arms. “She’s expecting you. So go. Go!” I turned around and began climbing the winding back stairs. I’d gone two flights before I realized I had no idea where I was going. I’d been given a brief tour of the house last night, but I’d been tired and the house was so big, I quickly got lost. I considered going back down to ask Mrs. Crankshaw but decided against it. Instead I opened the first door that I came to that looked like the one that led into the house proper. I opened the door a crack and peeked out to make sure no one was about. Luckily I’d found the wide second-floor hallway I’d been led down last night. I headed in the direction of what I remembered might be Mrs. Mayhew’s sitting room, peering into rooms with open doors hoping to find either Mrs. Mayhew or a housemaid who could direct me. I was unlucky to find neither. But what I saw was astounding. Room after room was as elaborately and expensively decorated as those I’d seen last night, glittering chandeliers, gilded mirrors stretching the length of the room, high-backed mahogany chairs, silk draperies. Were there no rooms with simple, comfortable décor?
    “Who are you? And what are you doing in my house?” a man demanded. I twisted around to face him.
    I was speechless. And not because I’d been caught by the master of the house wandering from room to room or because he had a towel draped around his neck and was dressed in only a quarter-sleeve shirt and tights but because the man storming toward me was the gentleman I’d seen on the boat yesterday morning. He was the same man who had conspired with the Pinkerton detective to push the trunk overboard, Mr. Mayhew, one of the richest men in America!
    Why?
    I had no more time to wonder, as he was quickly upon me. He was merely a few feet away, with more than indignation written across his face, when I finally found the courage to speak. “Miss Hattie Davish, sir,” I said, far more meekly than I’d like. “I’m Mrs. Mayhew’s new secretary,