Laura sat at the head of the table, and I sat to her left. Across from me was Agatha, who took small bites of her salad with the tranquility of a horse at its trough. Laura had chopped it into toddler-sized bites for her, explaining, “We always make sure that her food is cut into small pieces. She seems to prefer it that way. You’ll get used to it.”

I tried to imagine what Tam would say if she knew I was sleeping in the nanny’s room and charged not only with babysitting a beautiful heiress who hated me, but also with cutting up her food. I had a feeling she’d laugh her head off and say it served me right.

It was still better than the state institution.

My main concern, looming larger as night approached, was the fear that I’d wake up screaming—not that the screaming itself would be so bad, because who knows? It might get me an actual room of my own. But what if Agatha freaked out and wouldn’t calm down? What if the Suttons decided I was more trouble than I was worth?

I considered mentioning my nightmares to Laura, but decided not to do it in front of Agatha. Instead, we filled the time with small talk, Laura describing the layout of the kitchen and pantry and telling me to make myself at home. She explained that there were no full-time staff at Copeland Hall, but a cook came in the late morning, and cleaners came twice a week.

“I’m happy to help clean up,” I said. “I can cook a little, too.” (Not technically a lie; I could scramble eggs and cook spaghetti, if there was a jar of sauce on hand.)

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Laura looked vaguely alarmed. “Please don’t worry about it. They—they prefer to be left alone and uninterrupted. That’s how we’ve always done things here.”

In other words, Back off with your peasant ideas, Margot.

As we spoke, Agatha sat with her hands resting on the tablecloth in front of her. Every few seconds, the fingers of her right hand would gently flutter up, move in a small, quick spiral, and then sink back down, like she was conducting the world’s tiniest orchestra.

Laura didn’t seem to notice, so I figured it was just one of Agatha’s usual quirks.

“What kind of things did you do for fun at the group home?” Laura asked.

“Mostly we watched TV or spent time on our phones. We had board games, but they were all missing pieces. You’d get halfway through a game and realize you couldn’t finish.”

“Oh, how awful,” she said with a concerned head tilt. “Maybe we should send them some new games.”