“There was a fire,” I said, stating what would have been obvious to anyone with eyes or a nose.
“Yes.” Miriam caught my gaze and held it. She was waiting to see if I’d heard the rest of the story.
“My uncle’s second wife died,” I added.
“Did you know her?” Miriam asked.
“No,” I told her. “James and my mom—it’s complicated.”
Miriam nodded. “It often is,” she said.
“Did you know her?” I asked.
“Of course,” Miriam told me. “Dahlia and I both grew up here in Louth, and my son went to school with her daughter, Lark.”
The mention of the name sent my heart racing. “Lark was here the night of the fire, wasn’t she?” I inquired as casually as I could manage. “How is she?”
Miriam grimaced. “She was hurt. I’m afraid she’s still unwell.”
What a nice way of putting it, I thought. My mother hadn’t been quite so kind.
“You have a son?” I asked. I was just being polite. Miriam’s son didn’t interest me. I was thinking of a school photo of Lark that had been published in the paper after the incident. I’d seen a pretty girl who’d done everything she could to hide her looks with ghoulish black makeup. I had a million questions—but none I could ask without seeming morbid.
“Yes, my son’s name is Sam. He graduated from high school last summer, and he’s been taking care of the manor and its grounds to earn money for college. If you see someone working on the property, that’s probably him. I’m sure he’d love to show you around.”
Miriam seemed to think I might need a companion. I hadn’t come to Louth to make friends, and I didn’t need a social life getting in my way.
“I know your uncle will be glad to see you,” she added awkwardly when I didn’t respond. “How long do you think you’ll be staying?”
“I have no idea,” I told her.
Miriam frowned. That clearly wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear. “I see,” she said. Then her voice dropped an octave, and I figured something important was coming. “It’s not my place, but I feel I should warn you. I know you’ve been through a lot, but this may not be the best time for an extended visit.”
Miriam had been so discreet until that point. But her warning left little doubt. She knew about me. I crossed my arms over my chest, but I still felt exposed.
“There’s nowhere else for me to go,” I told her. It was true.
“You have no other family?” Miriam seemed skeptical.
“No, I don’t,” I said bluntly. She had no right to interrogate me. “Everyone but my mother and uncle is dead. I’m surprised James didn’t tell you that, too.”
Miriam took in the information and released a weary sigh. “James hasn’t been himself since the fire.”
“Oh really? Who has he been?” I asked, my anger rising. In my experience, people never really changed—they just removed their disguises.
Miriam attempted a smile. I think she assumed I was joking. “You’ll see what he’s like now,” she told me. “Don’t act shocked when you do.”
“Okay,” I agreed, though it seemed a bit silly to promise that I wouldn’t be shocked when I had no clue what to expect. “Is he up yet? I should say hello.”
As I turned to head back the way I’d come, Miriam’s hand flew out and grabbed my forearm. “One more thing before we go.” I looked down at her hand gripping my arm. She had my attention, but she paused as if reluctant to continue. “I want you to come to me if anything…unusual happens during your stay here.”
“Like what?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Anything.” Miriam let go of my arm. “Anything at all.”
I figured I’d test her. “As a matter of fact, something happened last night,” I said. “I woke up and found my door wide open. I’m pretty sure it was closed when you left. Was there someone in the house last night aside from you, me, and my uncle?”
Miriam’s face aged twenty years in ten seconds. The creases in her forehead grew deeper and the color drained from her cheeks. “Not to my knowledge,” she said. “Did you see anyone?”
I shook my head, watching her carefully. “No,” I told her.
“Then I wouldn’t let it worry you. Old houses behave in strange ways.” She said it as though she were trying to convince herself as much as me. “But please let me know if it happens again.”
“I will.”
“Let me know,” she repeated. “Don’t worry your uncle. James already has far too much on his mind.”
“Okay,” I said. If she was trying to set me at ease, it wasn’t working. I was suddenly much more concerned than I had been.
“So,” Miriam said with an unconvincing smile. “Are you ready for some bacon and eggs?”
I followed Miriam out of the burnt half of the house and into the manor’s south wing, where a formal dining room sat empty. High above my head, the gilded ceiling had been lovingly restored. A white drop cloth still covered the room’s chandelier, and in the dim winter light, it looked like a phantom hovering in midair. In the corner was what had once been a butler’s pantry. It hid a servants’ staircase that led downstairs to a kitchen—an enormous Victorian food factory built to feed a few lucky masters and an army of servants. The appliances were modern, but the room still belonged to the past. The ceiling was low, the pots were all copper, and the floors were made of stone. Snow sealed the little windows that lined the walls above our heads, and the room was lit by the blaze in a fireplace large enough to roast a whole ox. A long wooden table ran almost the full length of the room. Miriam pulled out a chair for me.
“You might want to watch. This stove can be tricky. Your uncle still hasn’t figured out how to use it.” Then she paused and listened. “Speak of the devil. I think I hear him coming down now.”
I couldn’t help but feel a rush of excitement. I’d been devoted to James when I was little. My father had worked long hours at his architecture firm, and my mother hadn’t taken to motherhood the way she’d hoped. I’d been a lonely child, and James had been the ideal playmate. Born seven years after my mother, he was everything she wasn’t—charismatic, exciting, and fond of children. My grandparents had died in a car accident the summer James graduated from high school, and he’d taken his inheritance and set out to wander the globe. My mother once told me that she’d seen him twice in the five years between their parents’ funeral and the day I was born. After that, he visited regularly. He brought me presents from faraway lands—giant fighting beetles, creepy dolls—each gift chosen to delight me and mortify his sister. A few times a year, he would whisk me away on a Saturday, telling my mother we were off to the library or the movies. Instead we’d head to the amusement park at Coney Island and gorge on hot dogs and cotton candy. By the following Monday, James would be off again, and I would be left alone, eagerly waiting for his return.