She straightened her shoulders. “Still, they all did great things. And the family will continue to do great things. Even after my generation. And my children’s generation.”

She sounded like she was trying to convince both of us.

I nodded.

Then she turned to me, her eyes shining with a strange intensity. “Do you like it here, Margot?”

“Yes, of course,” I said. Because I would no sooner have expressed ambivalence than I would have stuck my hand into a lion’s cage.

“What if you stayed?” she asked.

“I—” I stared at her, baffled. I thought I was staying.

“No, no,” she said, like she’d read my mind. “I mean . . . the Albrights have always worked for us. For generations. But Tom—Mr. Albright—his daughter, Colleen, has decided to do something else. Art school.” She said art school like the words themselves were coated in a thin layer of acid. “And so . . . there is no next generation of Albrights. That’s sad, but it’s not about the name as much as it is about the idea of it. The loyalty. And so what if you went to business school and then apprenticed with Mr. Albright? What if you stayed? Stayed with us?”

“Oh, wow,” I said. “That’s so generous.”

Was it? I had no idea. I was all muddled, and growing painfully sleepy.

Laura’s smile seemed blindingly bright. The points of her white teeth gleamed.

“It would be perfect,” she said. “Then, when Barrett takes over, you—”

“Or Agatha,” I said.

She didn’t speak.

“If Agatha gets better,” I said.

“Yes—of course.” She tightened the silky sash around her waist. “Yes. Agatha. Or Barrett. But the important thing is that the affairs of the family would be in the hands of someone we trust implicitly.”

This was strange. This was overwhelming. How could Laura trust me implicitly? She’d only known me for a month. The room seemed too warm.

She put her arm around me and her thin fingers wrapped around my shoulder. I could feel the pressure of each individual fingertip through the fabric of my pajamas.

I began to feel slightly queasy.

“Oh, Margot, think how nice that would be,” she said. “Think—”

I OPENED MY eyes.

I was in bed.

How did I get here?

The last thing I remembered was talking to Laura in the drawing room. What had we been talking about? What was the last thing she said?

What on earth was happening to me?

It was still dark outside, which was good because I wanted to go back to sleep. I felt like I could sleep for ten more hours. But as I turned over and began to shut my eyes, I saw, written on the wall:

GO

CHAPTER

16

“GOOD MORNING,” LAURA said, her voice a happy singsong.

And then—to my utter amazement—she stood up from the breakfast table and hugged me quickly.