I memorized the sound of his footsteps overhead.

I planned the face I would wear.

And then, near dawn, in the corner by the heavy door, my hands sank into a wicker laundry basket of old linen tablecloths that had not been washed since the previous summer, and at the very bottom, under the damp canvas and dry rot, my fingers struck something hard and metallic.

A spare brass key.

The housekeeper had mentioned keeping a duplicate out there, months before, and Jonathan had never bothered to look for it, because it had never occurred to him that the woman he had locked in would be the kind who kept inventory of every key in the house.