n what was once the servant' s wing. The packing di

shes and solvents, art history textbooks with cracked spines, a few framed photographs of me and my father from a time before he becam

s a stout woman with kind eyes and a fierce loyalty I hadn't

, her voice trembling. "A decade of your

ve the energy to share her outrage. My own was

Maria. He can d

her head, mutte

e here to do. I had saved the manor. I had honored my father's memory by preserving this place he loved. The clues, the mas

ss? Sterling's world was fickle. Loyalty was a currency he didn't value. Lily, with her naive ambi