painting. “Wait, Mrs. Dilloway—who is the woman in the portrait?”
She walked toward me reluctantly. “That is Lady Anna,” she finally said. “She was Lord Livingston’s wife.” Mrs. Dilloway closed her eyes tightly and then reopened them. “She was just a girl of eighteen when she first came to the manor,” she continued, surveying the painting as though she hadn’t permitted herself to look at it in a very long time. “It hasn’t been the same since she . . .” She turned away quickly. “Let’s continue on.”
Lady Anna.
I’d felt a vibe the moment I’d set foot on the property earlier that day, a certain presence that lingered in every door’s creak, in every bit of wind that blew up from the garden and whistled through the windows. I imagined her standing at the end of the long corridor, watching us, such strange, modern people, poking about her house, handling her belongings, staring up at her portrait. What did she think of us, this lady with a locket around her neck and a camellia in her hand? And why did she appear so sad?
“The Livingston children occupied this wing,” she said, pointing down a dark corridor.
“Children?” I asked. “How many?”
“Five,” she replied, before shaking her head. “I mean four.”
I shot Rex a confused look.
She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the hall. The hinges creaked as she opened them and turned to Rex. “That dreadful decorator of your mother’s hasn’t gotten to this room yet.” Her face revealed a moment of warmth. “It’s just as the children left it.” Mrs. Dilloway looked pleased. “They spent many happy hours here.”
I walked to the bookcase and examined the storybooks inside. As a girl, I had dreamed of having stacks of books at my disposal—stories to get lost in, other worlds to live in when mine was so bleak. It’s why I went to the library every day after school—that and because there usually wasn’t anyone waiting for me at home.
I sighed, running my hand along the books’ spines, but I sensed Mrs. Dilloway’s apprehension, so I stepped back. I had the feeling that we were touring a museum that she alone curated.
“Should we keep going?” I asked, inching toward the doorway.
“Look at this!” Rex exclaimed, calling me over to a toy chest by the far wall. He held a tin airplane. Its red paint had long since eroded. “This is one of those old windup models,” he said. “A friend of mine collects these. They’re rare. It must be worth a fortune.”
Mrs. Dilloway eyed the plane protectively until he’d set it back down on the toy chest. “It was Lord Abbott’s,” she said. “One of Lord Livingston’s sons.” She turned and walked out the door, which was our cue to follow.
“Did I say something wrong?” Rex whispered to me.
I shrugged, and we quickly proceeded into the hallway behind Mrs. Dilloway.
“The guest quarters are down that way,” she said. “It’s where visitors stayed when the Livingstons entertained. Now,” she continued, “I must go check on the drapes on the third floor. That infernal decorator had them installed last week and they’re so thin, I fear the light will destroy Lord Livingston’s paintings.”
I turned to follow her up the stairs, grasping the railing, but Mrs. Dilloway placed her icy hand over mine. “There’s nothing of importance up here,” she said.
“Oh,” I said quickly.
“I’ll see you both this evening,” she said in a dismissive tone.
After she’d gone, Rex turned to me. “That was strange.”
I nodded.
“Addie,” he whispered, “she talks about Lord Livingston as if he’s still
alive
.”
CHAPTER 8
Flora
M rs. Dilloway greeted me in the drawing room at one. “Hello, Miss Lewis,” she said from the doorway. Could this really be the housekeeper? She didn’t look much older than I. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, without a single hair askew. Her face, with high cheekbones and a regal mouth,
She walked toward me reluctantly. “That is Lady Anna,” she finally said. “She was Lord Livingston’s wife.” Mrs. Dilloway closed her eyes tightly and then reopened them. “She was just a girl of eighteen when she first came to the manor,” she continued, surveying the painting as though she hadn’t permitted herself to look at it in a very long time. “It hasn’t been the same since she . . .” She turned away quickly. “Let’s continue on.”
Lady Anna.
I’d felt a vibe the moment I’d set foot on the property earlier that day, a certain presence that lingered in every door’s creak, in every bit of wind that blew up from the garden and whistled through the windows. I imagined her standing at the end of the long corridor, watching us, such strange, modern people, poking about her house, handling her belongings, staring up at her portrait. What did she think of us, this lady with a locket around her neck and a camellia in her hand? And why did she appear so sad?
“The Livingston children occupied this wing,” she said, pointing down a dark corridor.
“Children?” I asked. “How many?”
“Five,” she replied, before shaking her head. “I mean four.”
I shot Rex a confused look.
She stopped at a set of double doors at the end of the hall. The hinges creaked as she opened them and turned to Rex. “That dreadful decorator of your mother’s hasn’t gotten to this room yet.” Her face revealed a moment of warmth. “It’s just as the children left it.” Mrs. Dilloway looked pleased. “They spent many happy hours here.”
I walked to the bookcase and examined the storybooks inside. As a girl, I had dreamed of having stacks of books at my disposal—stories to get lost in, other worlds to live in when mine was so bleak. It’s why I went to the library every day after school—that and because there usually wasn’t anyone waiting for me at home.
I sighed, running my hand along the books’ spines, but I sensed Mrs. Dilloway’s apprehension, so I stepped back. I had the feeling that we were touring a museum that she alone curated.
“Should we keep going?” I asked, inching toward the doorway.
“Look at this!” Rex exclaimed, calling me over to a toy chest by the far wall. He held a tin airplane. Its red paint had long since eroded. “This is one of those old windup models,” he said. “A friend of mine collects these. They’re rare. It must be worth a fortune.”
Mrs. Dilloway eyed the plane protectively until he’d set it back down on the toy chest. “It was Lord Abbott’s,” she said. “One of Lord Livingston’s sons.” She turned and walked out the door, which was our cue to follow.
“Did I say something wrong?” Rex whispered to me.
I shrugged, and we quickly proceeded into the hallway behind Mrs. Dilloway.
“The guest quarters are down that way,” she said. “It’s where visitors stayed when the Livingstons entertained. Now,” she continued, “I must go check on the drapes on the third floor. That infernal decorator had them installed last week and they’re so thin, I fear the light will destroy Lord Livingston’s paintings.”
I turned to follow her up the stairs, grasping the railing, but Mrs. Dilloway placed her icy hand over mine. “There’s nothing of importance up here,” she said.
“Oh,” I said quickly.
“I’ll see you both this evening,” she said in a dismissive tone.
After she’d gone, Rex turned to me. “That was strange.”
I nodded.
“Addie,” he whispered, “she talks about Lord Livingston as if he’s still
alive
.”
CHAPTER 8
Flora
M rs. Dilloway greeted me in the drawing room at one. “Hello, Miss Lewis,” she said from the doorway. Could this really be the housekeeper? She didn’t look much older than I. Her light brown hair was pulled back into a tidy bun, without a single hair askew. Her face, with high cheekbones and a regal mouth,
Similar Books
