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entered, was designed for two people, with two narrow beds and two chairs upholstered in a salmon pink. I made a face at the room’s obvious femininity. I’d never been too fond of pinks and frills and everything else I, as a young woman, was supposed to coo over.
    A small desk and a single night-table with a lamp comprised the rest of the furniture. I pulled the limp pillows off one of the beds, fluffing and beating the neglect out in a sandy sprinkle. I untucked the bedcover, a deflated, sad thing, and the bed sheets, sticky with disuse.
    A nagging unease followed my thoughts as I performed actions that were second nature. The whole situation in the manor was unusual, bordering on bizarre, but there was another layer to the strangeness I was experiencing—more visceral. I realized I felt watched.
    Just nerves , I told myself. The isolation getting to me . In a few days, I’d get used to the silence. I finished spreading out the bedcover, laying my troublesome thoughts down alongside it.
    “I’m here. I’ll make the most of it.”
    There was a knock on the door. “Come in,” I said.
    “I brought you some tea. I’m sure you must be frozen from the trip,” Dora said, entering the room. She was not graceful—she waddled more than walked—but there was an aura of activity around her that was like a furnace, heating up the house’s sluggishness.
    “Thank you, Dora.” I sipped at the tea. Weak, with too much milk and cooling. I held my breath and drank in large gulps. She watched me in frank curiosity. Apparently, her powers at dissembling were as weak as her tea.
    “I heard you came from London?” she said.
    I placed the teacup down on the desk. “Yes. From Caldwell House.”
    She shrugged as if I’d mentioned a place in the middle of the Chinese wilderness.
    “What’s it like, London?”
    “Um, loud. Busy. The complete opposite of this place.”
    “It must be wonderful to live in the center of everything, to be surrounded by different people every day.”
    “It’s quite pleasant.”
    “I’ve lived here my whole life.”
    “It’s beautiful here,” I said.
    She jerked her head up, a shadow darkening her face. “Yes, it is.”
    If possible, the air in the room plunged a few degrees more, and I began to see my breath as I exhaled. I shuddered.
    “The cold, though, is not pleasant. How can you stand it?”
    “I’m used to it. So is Ms. Simple, and Mr. Keery stays over at the stable-house, so he doesn’t complain.”
    “He sleeps there instead of in all these empty rooms?”
    “He prefers it.”
    “And what about Lord Grey? He must mind the chill. My previous employers would have fainted away in feverish delirium after a single night in these temperatures.”
    She shrugged and evaded my question. “I can bring you extra blankets, if you want.”
    I sighed. She wasn’t going to tell me anything important, at least not yet. “Yes, that would be wonderful, Dora.”
    “Well, I’d best be going back to my kitchen. I have a bit of onions and carrots to chop up. We’re having stew tonight. I hope that’s all right?”
    “Sounds delicious. Do you need any help?” As I spoke, I picked up the empty teacup and handed it to her. She extended her right arm and her sleeve peeled back, revealing a bracelet of deep cuts or scratches. The skin was raw and bruised. My hand twitched, and I looked up at her face. She had followed my eyes and smiled as she took the cup.
    “No, that’s all right. I can handle it on my own. You just rest.” She turned and left. Questions filled my mouth.

    SEVEN
    I didn’t want to sit and wait until I was called for dinner, and I did not feel a shadow of sleep, so I decided to walk about a bit, try to get a sense of the manor.
    The servant’s quarters were, as usual, separated from the center of the house. In most cases, that was not a negative thing, since the servants did not want to catch sight of their lofty employers when they were not on service duty. In Rosewood