“Do you understand them completely?” he pressed.

“Yes, I do,” she said.

“Then do not disappoint me,” he said, walking away before she could even answer.

Mrs. Gordon exhaled almost silently as he disappeared toward the study.

“He does not like new staff,” Mrs. Gordon muttered.

Maya looked at the closed study door with a sense of unease.

“I do not think he likes anything at all,” Maya said.

For the first time all morning, Mrs. Gordon’s mouth almost twitched into a smile.

“Be very careful, girl, because you notice too much,” she warned.

The rest of the day passed in a careful, suffocating silence, but Maya learned the rhythm of the mansion. The silver was counted every Friday, the sheets in the west wing were changed even though no one ever slept there, and Mr. Penhaligon took coffee at seven, which remained untouched most days. Lunch was prepared and delivered to his study, only to be returned half eaten, while dinner was usually nothing but soup, sometimes not even that.

At three in the afternoon, while dusting the main library, Maya found a small toy beneath a velvet chair. It was a wooden rabbit, no bigger than her palm, painted white once, though much of the color had worn away over the years. One ear was chipped, and a faded pink ribbon hung around its neck, looking terribly out of place in such an immaculate room. Maya froze as she picked it up gently, a strange ache moving through her chest.

Before she could decide what to do, a voice cut through the room like a blade.

“Put it down,” Arthur shouted.

Maya turned around to see Arthur standing in the doorway, his face having changed entirely, with the emptiness gone and replaced by something sharp and dangerous.

“I am so sorry,” Maya said immediately. “I found it under the chair, and I did not mean to intrude.”

“Put it down,” he repeated.

She obeyed, placing the rabbit carefully on the side table, but Arthur crossed the room in three long strides and snatched it up, as if the toy might vanish if he waited a moment longer. For one second, his hand trembled, and then he closed his fist around it.

“You do not touch personal objects in this house,” he said.

“I understand,” Maya whispered.

“No, you do not,” he said, his voice lowering. “You people never understand. You come into this house pretending to respect rules, pretending you only want work, but then curiosity begins to take over.”

Maya kept her eyes steady, refusing to look down in shame.

“I was not stealing anything,” Maya said firmly.

“I did not ask for your defense,” Arthur snapped.

Heat rose in her cheeks, but she swallowed the retort she wanted to make. Arthur looked at her as though he was expecting tears, excuses, or fear. When none came, his jaw tightened in frustration.

“You may leave early today,” he said, turning away from her.

Mrs. Gordon appeared behind him, looking alarmed by the sudden command.

“Sir,” she began, but Arthur cut her off.

“I said she may leave right now,” he insisted.

Maya untied her apron slowly and set it on the library table.

“Of course, Mr. Penhaligon,” she said, walking out with her back straight.

In the servants’ corridor, her hands began to shake. It was not because he had shouted, but because of the way he had held that toy, like a man clutching a bone pulled from his own chest. That night, Catherine was sitting upright on the couch when Maya arrived home.

“You are home early,” Catherine said.

Maya placed her bag on the table with a heavy sigh.

“I found something I should not have,” she said.

Catherine’s brows lifted with concern.

“Was it money?” Catherine asked.

“No, it was a toy,” Maya replied.

The old woman was quiet for a long moment, nodding to herself.

“Ah,” she whispered.

Maya sank into the chair beside her, feeling the weight of the mansion pressing down on her.

“There was a little girl who lived there, was there not?” Maya asked.

“In houses that rich, tragedy becomes gossip long before the funeral flowers even have a chance to dry,” Catherine said.

Maya stared at her grandmother in shock.

“You know about this?” Maya asked.

“Everyone knows a piece of the story, but no one knows the whole truth,” Catherine said, adjusting the blanket over her aching knees. “His wife died in a car accident, and the daughter did as well, three years ago on a rainy night on the road to the valley,” she explained.

Maya closed her eyes, and the mansion suddenly made sense, including the silence, the locked room, and the untouched things.

“What about the maids?” Maya asked.

Catherine’s expression darkened considerably.