Her complacency restored, she went up the three steps to the kitchen door and let herself in with her key as she always did. Not that this was her day to clean. Mondays normally were her day off. But tomorrow she wanted to visit her sister—Naomi’s husband had offered to take them both to market in the morning—and Miss Livia never minded if occasionally she shifted her time.

The long stone passage was cool and quiet. At the end of it, she took off her coat, hung it on the peg as she always did, pulled her apron over her head, then stepped into the heart of her domain. And noticed at once that the breakfast dishes, usually neatly stacked on the drain board, hadn’t been brought down. She looked around the kitchen, saw that it was much as she’d left it on Saturday evening, not even a crumb marring her scrubbed floor, saw too that no one had opened the curtains.

Oh, my dear! she thought, pityingly, Miss Livia must’ve had another bad night, and she’s still asleep!

Going up to the back parlor, she found that those curtains were also closed. And for the first time she felt a tremor of alarm.

Mr. Nicholas always opened them at first light, to watch the sea. He’d said once that it made him feel alive to see the dawn come and touch the water ...

Miss Livia must have had a terrible night, then, if he’d missed the dawn on her account! Mrs. Trepol had never known that to happen in all the years she’d worked in the house. Mr. Nicholas was always up at first light... always ...

She went out into the hall and looked up the curving stairs.

“Mr. Nicholas?” she called softly. “I’ve come. Is there anything I can do? Would you care for a cup of tea?”

The silence around her echoed her words and she felt very uneasy now. Surely if he was sitting by Miss Livia’s bed, he’d have heard her and come out to speak to her?

Unless something was wrong with him—

She hurried up the stairs and went down the passage to Mr. Nicholas’ room, tapping lightly on the panel. No one answered. After a moment’s uncertainty, she turned the knob and opened the door.

The bed was made. From the look of it, it had not been slept in. Mr. Nicholas could always make it neatly, but never as smoothly as she did. This was her work. Saturday’s work . . .

She went back down the passage and knocked lightly at Miss Livia’s door. Again there was no answer. She opened it gently, so as not to disturb Miss Livia, or Mr. Nicholas, if he’d fallen asleep in the chair by his sister’s bed, and peered around the edge.