I had given this some thought. There were two options that would be based in truth—that I had happened across the grave, or that I had discovered her sickroom and broken into the cabinet to snoop through her stuff.

I may not be a master strategist, but I knew enough to know that neither of these was the ideal option. I briefly considered lying, and then I decided to tell her a variation on the truth.

“The family portrait,” I said. “Of her and you and your dad. I found it.”

“You did?” Laura blinked. “Goodness, where is it? I haven’t seen it in years.”

“In the green wing,” I said. Technically true, right?

She hadn’t been expecting this. “How did you get into the green wing? Isn’t it locked?”

“I . . . bumped into the doors,” I said. “And they opened, so I went in. And then . . .”

“And then you happened across the portrait?”

“Yes,” I said.

Oh, no, she was going to ask where. Should I tell her? Would she hate me?

But she didn’t. “And I suppose you found the small plaque,” she said, “with our names on it?”

“Yes,” I lied. Yes, of course, because how else would I have learned Lily’s name? Certainly not by rooting through her medical records.

Her eyes bored into me. I waited for her to ask for more details, but she didn’t.

“That’s good,” she said, looking away as if it was no big deal. “I thought we’d lost it.”

“I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to go in there.”

She waved the apology off. “That doesn’t matter. It’s just a hallway. I have it locked to keep Agatha from wandering around and getting lost.”

I nodded, relieved.

Her eyes searched the distance absently. Then she sighed. “I could have told you about Lily before. But I didn’t want you to think I would leverage my personal tragedy to try to force a connection with you.”

That made sense.

“The sad truth is . . . I don’t think about her very often anymore. Life has a way of carrying on. With the children, and the business of running the house, I’ve just managed to stay busy.” Her cheeks softened as her eyes relaxed. “Is that terrible?”

“No,” I said. “You just do what you have to do to get by. I mean . . . maybe you’re not thinking about it on purpose. And that’s okay.”

“She was my big sister. I looked up to her. She was the heiress, the one who was supposed to take over the estate. And then . . . she got sick, and I had to step up. Our mother died when we were young, you know. So here I am, fifteen years old, and one day my sister simply . . . collapses.”

“That must have been terrible,” I said.