The humming stopped, cutting off abruptly, and I heard footsteps. When the door cracked open, I could just see a single eye through the crack. It narrowed at the sight of me.
“Hello, I’m Alice,” I said, smiling despite the strangeness of the encounter. “Catherine’s sister. I thought I would come and meet the baby.”
The eye was pale blue, almost white, and it unsettled me. That feeling only grew as the silence stretched on.
“I’m sorry, are you the nanny?” I asked. “Should I go and fetch Charles? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind me meeting my niece, but if I need permission, I’m willing to go and get it.”
Suddenly, the door opened, and a petite woman stood in front of me, a swaddled baby in her arms.
“No permission needed,” she said softly. “I simply forgot you were coming to visit us today, and it took me a moment to find my manners. The baby is sleeping, so perhaps you could come back—”
“I’ll be quiet.” I stepped into the nursery, careful to keep my heels from sounding on the wood floors. I turned in the middle of the room and repeated my earlier question. “Are you the nanny?”
The woman had light brown hair that hung to her shoulders in limp curls. It didn’t look like it had been styled or combed in days. Everything in the house, it seemed, had fallen into some form of disrepair.
“No, no,” she shook her head. “I’m Camellia Cresswell, Charles’ older sister.”
I thought I remembered Charles’ sister being a married woman, though I couldn’t remember what Catherine had said her married name was. It was surprising that she still called herself Cresswell, but I supposed it was none of my business.
“Oh, so we are both aunts to this wonderful little bundle.” I nodded towards the baby in her arms, stretching onto my toes to try and get a peek of my niece’s precious face.
Camellia’s smile faltered before returning, bigger and broader than before. “Yes, I suppose so. Charles asked me to come shortly after the birth. Things didn’t go well, as I’m sure you know. Catherine tried, poor thing, but some women are not built for childbirth I’m afraid. It is a wonder she survived the experience at all.”
Camellia smiled down at Hazel as she spoke, admiring the child, and I couldn’t help but think she didn’t sound at all upset about the tragic birth.
I pushed the thought away as soon as I’d considered it. I barely knew this woman, and aside from thinking she loved my sister’s baby slightly too much, I had no reason to suspect her of anything. Besides, Camellia couldn’t have arranged for the cord to be wrapped around Hazel’s neck even if she did wish my sister ill.
“Thank God she recovered,” I said. “I wish someone had told me of the troubles she was going through. I would have come sooner.”
Camellia turned away and strolled back towards the rocking chair, swaying Hazel gently in her arms, and then lowered down into the seat. “Charles likes to keep his personal life private. He thought he could manage the entire situation himself, but brought me in when it became clear he couldn’t.”
I wanted to point out that I was family. That involving me would not have been the same as going public with the information. But I had a feeling Camellia understood that and had made her statement in hopes of delineating our roles within the house.
She wanted me to know that she was trusted, and that I was nothing more than a guest.
“Thank goodness you were available to help. How long have you been here?”
Camellia blinked, and her eyes seemed to go blank. Her mouth fell into a flat line, and her attention fixated just over my shoulder. “Two and a half months.”
Almost since the beginning. Had Camellia been caring for the child by herself that entire time? Catherine said she heard Camellia tell her brother it wasn’t safe for Catherine to be around the baby. How long had she been keeping Catherine separate from her child, and how could Charles let this happen?
“That is a long time. Doesn’t your own family miss you?” I asked, hoping to discover exactly what Camellia’s family looked like. Did the woman have a husband and children of her own?
Again, Camellia blinked, and her gaze shifted to me. She shook her head numbly. “No. I’m afraid I miss them far more than they miss me.”
Her words were a puzzle I didn’t have time to solve. The only reason I’d come up to the room at all was to ensure Hazel Cresswell was alive and well. Until I’d seen her in Camellia’s arms, I couldn’t dismiss the possibility that the child had actually been lost during the delivery and the entire house was under some kind of delusion.
Talk about a plot better suited for a Victorian novel. That would have been a rather bleak story, indeed.
Thankfully, the child seemed to be fine, if overly protected by her paternal aunt, and there was hope yet of reuniting my sister’s family.
“Is there any chance I could hold the child?” I asked. “This is the first time I’ve seen her, and—”
Before I could get the question out, the door opened, and a young woman with pitch dark hair pinned over her ears and a simple gray dress came in. “I’m here for Hazel, if it is all right? Dinner is ready downstairs, and Mr. Cresswell has asked that you both join him.”
“Of course.” Camellia stood at once and handed the baby off to the woman, who I assumed was the nanny.
Before I could ask the servant’s name, Camellia pressed a hand to the center of my back and guided me gently, yet firmly from the room.
“You two have already been acquainted, I see.” Charles sat at the head of the table and stood as
