“He really is,” Laura said, sounding pleased. And I almost thought that was going to be it. But then she went on. “And you’re so sweet and easy to talk to . . . It must be quite a change from the sophisticated girls he dates when he’s at school. It is a shame that he gets so bored here. Any little amusement that catches his attention will do—for the short term. One summer, he took up bird-watching. Do you know how much proper bird-watching binoculars cost? A lot.”

She was rambling cheerfully on, but we both knew she’d already said the important part.

He gets so bored here.

Any little amusement.

“And one year, it was baseball cards. That was quite sweet, because John got his old collection out of storage. Barrett loved it. He loves little, useless curiosities. You know—one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

I nodded.

“Margot,” she said simply, “what I’m trying to tell you is . . . don’t get too attached.”

Danger. Danger. Danger.

“If you get too attached, you might let him try to kiss you.” She took my hand. She stared into my eyes. “And I think we can both agree that would be inappropriate.”

Her concerned expression gave way to a warm, wide smile. “But why am I saying these things to you? You’re part of the family now. You get it.”

Her breath smelled like roses.

Whose breath smells like roses?

“You do get it,” she said. “Don’t you?”

My throat felt so dry I wondered if I could even speak.

“Yes,” I said. “Perfectly.”

AFTER I ESCAPED upstairs, Barrett tried to talk to me in the hallway, but I shook my head, and he stared at me. “What did she say?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Margot.” His voice was dark. He knew. “Please. What did she say?”

I shook my head. It wasn’t so much this idea of him using me for amusement—a convenient way to relieve his boredom. It was being hyperaware that Laura saw things that way. And yes, maybe she’d been exaggerating, used crueler terms than necessary, but she never did anything accidentally: She was sending me a message. One I couldn’t possibly fail to understand.

I felt ill.

He came closer. Now he looked terribly worried. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing.” I managed a smile that I knew came out looking sickly. “I’ll see you later.”

WHEN I ENTERED the nursery, Agatha was still at her desk, but her position was slightly different from her usual one—she wasn’t sitting straight up in her chair, facing directly toward the desk. Instead, she was slightly turned toward the center of the room, as if something had caught her attention.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

She didn’t respond.

“It’s almost time for dinner,” I said. “Why don’t you go wash your hands? I’ll put your stuff back.”