“She did not know where it came from.”
A faint memory surfaced: groceries delivered during a winter when we could barely afford heat; an envelope that paid three months of rent; a scholarship I had been told came from a local foundation.
I had believed those small rescues were luck.
“You bought our silence.”
“I kept your family from losing its home.”
“Without telling us why.”
“I was trying to honor a promise.”
“What promise?”
Mrs. Moretti looked down at her hands.
“One I made to your father.”
Before I could ask more, someone knocked.
A guard entered and spoke quietly to Vincent. His words were too low for me to hear, but Vincent’s face hardened.
“What is it?” Mrs. Moretti asked.
“The east gate camera was disabled at two fourteen this morning. The courtyard camera stopped seven minutes ago.”
“An employee?”
“We don’t know.”
Vincent turned to me.
“You will remain in the main wing. Not the servants’ quarters.”
“I’m not hiding in a bedroom.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“Everything involving my life became a negotiation the moment you hid the truth from me.”
Mrs. Moretti stood.
Vincent looked at her.
“That room has a private stairway.”
“Exactly.”
The two of them seemed to reach another silent agreement.
I was tired of silent agreements.
“What is the blue room?”
“A guest room,” Mrs. Moretti said. “Near my rooms.”
“And the private stairway?”
“Leads to the old chapel.”
Vincent gave her a warning look.
Mrs. Moretti ignored him.
“Grace deserves to know the layout if she is expected to stay there.”
I wanted to refuse. I wanted to walk out of the mansion, find my brother, and never return.
But leaving would not erase the address on the note.
It would not explain my father’s photograph or the ring or the fear in Mrs. Moretti’s eyes.
Most of all, it would not explain why someone had written that I had my father’s eyes.
“I’ll stay until tonight,” I said. “Then I’m going to that address.”
Vincent gave no answer.
But I knew
