Page 4 of From the Darkness

Bree’s heart was still thumping in her chest, but she calmly pulled out her wallet and extracted her driver’s license, which got the same treatment as the fax.

“What kind of name is Bree,” the woman muttered. “It sounds like a piece of squishy French cheese!”

Bree blinked, wondering how to respond. But Mrs. Sterling was still speaking.

“Yes, well, it’s inconvenient that I can’t pick up the phone and call Ms. London. As I understand it, she’s off on a special assignment and out of contact with the civilized world. Did she say why she has the authorization to hire a teacher?”

Bree put on her best ditz-brain face. “I’m so sorry if I’ve stepped into an awkward situation. I just hate to be a bother.” She stopped and fluttered her hands. “She mentioned that Dinah has always been schooled at home. And since her mother died . . .” She stopped and gestured helplessly again. “Since her mother died, teachers have taken over the job. But Ms. London seemed concerned about her niece. I mean, she said that her brother had been . . uh. . wallowing in grief over his wife’s death, and he hadn’t been paying adequate attention to his daughter’s welfare. So, if he wasn’t going to hire a new teacher, she was going to do it for him.” She stopped abruptly, looking like she was surprised to have delivered such a long speech.

“This is highly irregular.”

Bree’s only reply was a helpless look. She was relieved of the obligation to answer when Mrs. Sterling’s gaze suddenly shot to the hallway on the left. “Dinah, come out here!” the woman demanded. “How many times have I told you not to sneak around?”

Several seconds passed before a little girl stepped out from behind a display case and walked slowly into the entrance hall, stopping several paces from the adults.

Helen had told her Dinah was six. She looked younger, small and fragile with huge, pale eyes, pale skin, and a riot of unruly chestnut curls falling around her shoulders.

It wasn’t difficult for Bree to imagine her in a long Edwardian dress, but she was wearing more prosaic blue jeans and a light-yellow tee shirt. One arm was stiffly at her side. The other cradled a fuzzy stuffed animal, its identity hidden by the girl’s close embrace.

Lifting her head, she looked toward Bree, her expression expectant. “You’re my new teacher,” she said in a low voice.

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Daddy told me you were coming. So I’ve been waiting for you.” The small, wistful voice made Bree’s heart squeeze.

Mrs. Sterling’s face contorted. “He couldn’t have said that!Ididn’t even know she was coming.”

Dinah gave a small, dismissive shrug. “He’s smart. He knows things you don’t.”

The woman in black stared at the child, apparently struggling for a response. Then she imitated Dinah’s shrug. “Have it your way,” she clipped out. “I think you’re lying. I think you heard us talking just now.”

Bree tried to work her way through the exchange, the spoken part and the subtext. Helen had told her that Dinah was a very clever, very imaginative child. Was she making up the conversation with her father? Or was Troy London being held captive somewhere the way Helen had suggested? And Nola Sterling was angry that Dinah had managed to talk to him.

Putting her own questions aside, Bree knelt so that she was at the little girl’s eye level. “My name is Bree Brennan,” she said, holding out her hand. “And I’m very glad I’m going to be your teacher.”

Her face grave, Dinah extended her free arm, and they shook.

“Who’s your friend?” Bree asked.

“Alice.”

“Can I see her?”

After a short hesitation, Dinah freed the animal and held it out. Bree saw gray and white fur, pointed ears, and button eyes. The fur was slightly matted and worn, as though the child had been clutching the animal over a long period of time.

Like a security blanket, Bree thought with a pang. She heard the little girl’s voice quaver slightly as she said, “Alice is a kitty.”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Sterling interrupted the exchange. “My husband and I eat quite late—too late for the little girl. I’m sure Dinah will be glad to show you to your quarters—and have your company at dinner in the schoolroom.”

Her quarters? Was she expected to sleep in the servants’ wing, Bree wondered as she stood again?

The woman turned to Dinah and issued an imperious order. “Take her upstairs.”

Under ordinary circumstances, Bree would have vetoed giving such duties to a child. But she was glad she and Dinah were going to be alone soon. That would give them a chance to get acquainted. And they could talk in the schoolroom tomorrow.

If the schoolroom wasn’t bugged. As that thought flitted into her mind, she almost laughed. The idea of a bug in a six-year-old girl’s classroom was far-fetched. Yet the laugh died before it reached her lips.

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