The housekeeper placed a glass down with care

Yes.”

The housekeeper placed a glass down with care.

“Do you want the polite answer or the useful one?”

“The useful one.”

“She arrived with one trunk.”

Duke said nothing.

“One trunk,” Mrs. Hawthorne repeated. “I have seen young ladies bring more luggage for a weekend in Newport. Her gowns are fine but old. Mended carefully. She brought her own writing paper and ink, as if she did not expect to be given any. When I showed her the library, she touched the books like a starving person looking at bread.”

Duke felt something tighten in his chest.

“She thanked the maid for lighting the fire,” Mrs. Hawthorne continued. “Not casually. Not as a lady thanks a servant. She thanked her as if kindness was unusual.”

Duke looked toward the stairs.

“She did not eat breakfast,” he said.

“No.”

“Did she eat lunch?”

“I sent a tray. She ate the bread and drank the tea.”

“That was all?”

“That

Mrs. Hawthorne’s expression softened by a fraction.

“If I may speak freely, sir?”

“You always do.”

“She reminds me of your mother.”

Duke turned sharply.

Mrs. Hawthorne lifted one hand.

“Not in manner. Your mother entered a room like a match striking. This young lady enters like someone apologizing to the carpet. But they share one thing. They see. Your mother saw everything. A tenant’s trouble before he asked. A crack in the ceiling before plaster fell. A lie before it finished being spoken.”

“And Claire?”

“The same. She noticed the loose hinge on the west door. She noticed Ellen’s burned hand. She noticed the roses were too close to the fireplace. She noticed that the library catalog is six years out of date.”

“She said this?”---