Her uncle pulled her into the room with the murals and glanced back at her. “I shall give you one last chance, Mary, and this time I suggest you answer truthfully. Where did you find”—his mouth tightened—“my wife’s pearls?”

Mary didn’t know what to say.

“There is only one place they would have been,” Mr. Craven continued. He opened the secret door, revealing the hidden room. The two dummies were still lying on their side, the clothes scattered over the floor.

“Oh, girl, what have you done?” whispered Mrs. Medlock in horror as they surveyed the chaos.

“I’m sorry!” cried Mary, seeing the pain leap into her uncle’s eyes as he looked at the mess. He walked slowly forward without speaking and picked up one of the dummies, straightening the dress on it. His hands lingered on the silky fabric, and then he shut his eyes as if his loss was suddenly too much to bear.

Tears spilled down Mary’s cheeks. She had never meant to hurt him.

He swallowed and turned, his face now set like stone. “Mrs. Medlock, look into finding a school for my niece.”

Mary stepped toward him. “No, I didn’t mean any harm!” she pleaded. “Please.”

Her uncle ignored her. “Find somewhere to educate some civility in her,” he said coldly. “In the meantime, I do not wish to see or hear her. Do I make myself clear, Mrs. Medlock?”

“Yes, sir.” Mrs. Medlock nodded.

As Mary was pulled away, she glanced back and saw her uncle sinking down among the dresses on the floor. He looked broken and completely alone.

18

Prisoner!

Mrs. Medlock pushed Mary into her bedroom, and Mary heard the key turn. She tugged frantically at the door handle, but she was locked in.

“Open this door!” she shouted.

“If you need the bathroom in the night, you’ll see we’ve put a chamber pot under your bed,” Mrs. Medlock said through the door. “Martha will let you out in the morning.”

Mary heard Mrs. Medlock walking away down the corridor. “Let me out!” she cried, rattling the handle. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. I just wanted to help.” Anger erupted inside her. “I know you’re enjoying this!” she yelled. “I know you are! But I won’t be sent away again—I won’t!”

In a rage, she ran to the rocking horse and pushed it hard, ramming it into the door. It smashed into the wood and overturned. As it banged down, a secret hatch in its belly opened and papers spilled out.

Mary gasped, her rage disappearing with her shock. She crouched down and picked the papers up. They were letters. And they were in her mother’s handwriting. . . .

My dearest Grace, they all began.