At two o’clock the next afternoon, Christopher called me into the drawing room on the first floor.

The room smelled of pine furniture wax and stale tea leaves.

I walked in holding Theodore on my shoulder, wrapped in his blue wool blanket.

Christopher was standing by the marble fireplace in a gray wool jacket, holding a small tray with two teacups.

He set the tray on the low mahogany table and gestured toward the velvet armchair.

“Sit down for a moment, Nora,” Christopher said.

I stayed by the door frame for three seconds before stepping forward and sitting on the edge of the chair.