“Neither Lester nor I are much for reading,” Tabitha admitted. “I can manage a cookbook recipe, but Lester doesn’t care for reading at all.”

Did that mean he couldn’t read? It was none of Annabelle’s business, other than that perhaps a man engaged in treason might find it convenient to have servants unable to read incriminating letters.

The older woman ushered Annabelle out of the library and into the kitchen, which was lined with fine copper pots and pans dangling from a rack and bottles of Delacroix spices on the two shelves over the countertop.

“Is there anything special you’d like me to cook while you’re here?” Tabitha asked. “I expect you might like a nice roasted chicken. Doesn’t that sound good? Everyone loves a roasted chicken, especially with mashed potatoes. And, of course, I’ll bake a pan of gingerbread. Mr. Gray loves my gingerbread, so I’ll send a loaf home with you. Just you watch for how his eyes light up when he gets a peek at it.”

It was impossible to get a word in edgewise, but Annabelle needed to start exploring the attic and get another look at the library. Lester sent her a sympathetic nod as he carried her overnight bag upstairs. She finally managed to extricate herself from Tabitha’s chatter and settled in the library.

There were a few books about the Civil War, reference manuals about herbs and vegetables, and plenty of old issues of the Farmer’s Almanac, but nothing relating to the Caribbean or Cuba. There also wasn’t a telephone or telegraph machine, for there were no wires marring the view anywhere on this isolated estate. Windover Landing simply showed no sign of being a headquarters for espionage or treason.

The attic proved uncomfortably hot. The coating of dust on the trunks and old furniture was a good indication that this place was rarely touched, but it still needed searching if she was to fully exonerate Gray. The trunks contained winter blankets and old tools, but no paperwork or anything else suspicious. Afterward she had a nose twitching with dust but a growing sense of hope.

That night she flopped back onto her mattress, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. One more day. Then she could go home and blot this horrible episode from her mind. Maybe someday she could even confess everything to Gray. He would be outraged at first, but perhaps someday they might come to laugh about it.

The following morning, she explored the other bedrooms on the second floor and was able to make quick work of them. Only a few clothes hung in the wardrobe, and the drawers were mostly empty. There was nothing under the beds or hidden beneath the mattresses.