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Manor, however, there was an extra hallway separating the rest of the house from the help’s territory. The kitchen was located a bit closer to the front of the main hall than was normal, but I doubted it held any charms for the house’s master. Most Lords and Ladies would rather crumble to ash with thirst than fetch themselves a glass of water.
    The extra hallway had no doors or ornaments of any sort; not a single painting hung on the somber walls, their faces covered in a dark, gold fabric. I did not linger there and soon, I was out of our section of the house and into the main hall. I stared at the darkest set of stairs I’d ever seen, the wood the color of old blood stains, shining with such brightness I could not fathom how anyone could have scrubbed it so well.
    Two other large rooms had entrances from the main hall: the dining room and the sitting room. I moved to the latter and peeked in. When I saw it was empty, I entered. There were white sheets on every piece of furniture, including, from its brougham-like girth, a piano. The sheets themselves had a thick coat of the same sticky dust I’d found everywhere, and I brushed my hand against my dress to remove it from my curious hands. How long had it been since the sitting room had been used? Months, at least.
    I lifted the corner of a clammy sheet. The sofa underneath was dark, with arabesques of diluted yellow pirouetting through the fabric. Not ugly. And not nearly as blatantly extravagant as the furniture in Caldwell House. Maybe I could start in that room the following day, try to bring it back to life. Just getting rid of the white sheets would be a huge step in the right direction.
    I left the sitting room and crossed to the dining room. There, at least, were signs of human influence. The long table was clean and polished, as were the chairs, and the mantelpiece poised over the large fireplace. But the room was not pretty. It had the same type of benches I’d seen as I walked into the manor, and the table was strange, its legs bent at all kinds of angles, as if getting ready to smash through the doors at any moment.
    I turned and saw a gigantic mirror on the opposite side of the table, facing where the master of the house would sit each evening. The mirror was a curious one. It had no real frame, no carved wood or golden border; it lay naked, all edges plainly uncovered. I stepped up to it. Close up, it looked like any other mirror I’d ever seen.
    “No accounting for taste,” I muttered.
    I left the strange dining room and was heading back to the kitchen when I heard a muffled crash. The noise came from the second story.  
    Instinctively, my feet headed toward the sound. I felt like I should do something; maybe Lord Grey was injured and in need of assistance. I crossed the room, walking toward the glimmer of the stairs.
    “Where are you going, Anne?” Ms. Simple’s voice echoed through the room.
    I turned to face her. “I thought I heard something. A crash, from upstairs.”
    Her eyes flickered up the staircase, and I saw her chest move in time with her quickening breath. There was something about her reaction I did not like.
    “Shouldn’t we go check what happened?” I asked.
    Ms. Simple cleared her throat and her gaze slipped to the floor for a few seconds. “No, it’s all right. I’m sure it was nothing.”
    “But it was so loud.”
    “It’s an old house, things fall and break on a daily basis. I’ll see to it later.”
    “I could easily—”
    “Come, Anne, Dora changed her mind. It seems the onions are besting her today. She’s close to shriveling up after chopping just three of them.”
    I turned to look at the stairs again, up to where the noise had come from. Ms. Simple was probably right—just an old house stretching and dropping things.
    “Yes, of course, I’ll help her.”
    “There’s a good girl.”
    She waited until I passed in front of her, then, stepping behind me, led me to the kitchen.

    Dinner that night was an