Somewhere in the house a kettle screamed. It made a sharp, haunting sound. The woman turned, Marcus at her heels, and Kat followed them into a tiny kitchen with white lace curtains and a tray set out for tea.
“I’m very sorry, Miss Bishop,” the woman said, her British accent even stronger than her brother’s. “I mean no disrespect. I’m sure you’re a very talented young lady. But this is a private family matter.”
“You were her family!” It was the first time Kat had ever heard Marcus raise his voice, and she had to do a double-take to make sure it was him and not some well-groomed imposter.
“You forget yourself, brother. And your place. If our father were alive—”
“He isn’t.”
“Marcus,” Marianne said grimly, “this is not our way.”
Marcus pointed at Kat. “It’s her way.”
The kettle still screamed, so Marianne pulled it from the flame, but the silence that followed was too loud, and Kat had no choice but to say, “Uh…which way is that?”
“I’ve observed many things in the past few years, miss.” Marcus looked her in the eye. “It is not my place to talk, but I do see. I see everything. And after what I’ve seen, I know that you may be the only person who can help. And so, miss, I would like to hire you. For a job.”
Kat could have sworn she’d misunderstood. “A job job?”
“Yes. There is something that I would like for you to steal.”
Marianne brought a handkerchief to her mouth but didn’t protest.
“Okay, Marcus.” Kat took a seat at the table. “I think you’d probably better start at the beginning.”
Never before had Kat thought about whether or not Marcus had a family. She hadn’t wondered where he went when he wasn’t at Hale’s beck and call. But there she was in his kitchen, sitting across from his sister, listening as he said, “Our parents were in service to the late Mr. Hale the Second. Marianne and I were born into this proud tradition, and when our time came, we were honored to follow in our parents’ footsteps.”
“The family business,” Kat added, half under her breath.
Marcus nodded. “Exactly. Our family has worked for the Hales for four generations.”
He sat up a little straighter when he said it, and Kat knew that, in his world, that was a thing of great esteem.
“When she was very young, Marianne was asked to care for the new wife of Mr. Hale the Third—a young American woman who had come from…shall we say…humble beginnings. But who was also very, very kind.”
“Hazel,” Kat filled in.
Marcus nodded.
“When the new Mrs. Hale came to us…well…I imagine our world must have seemed incredibly strange to her. The ladies still dressed for dinner in those days. Her new husband played polo with a cousin of the king. And there she was, half a world away from anything she’d ever known, with nothing but a husband who was constantly working.”
Marcus took a deep breath. “Well, that’s not exactly true. She had a husband”—he cut his eyes at his sister—“and a maid.”
Soon Marianne was reaching for her handkerchief again and dabbing at tears.
“My sister wasn’t much younger than Mrs. Hale. There they were, both living apart from their families for the first time. And so Marianne wasn’t just a ladies’ maid. She was also Mrs. Hale’s only friend.”
“She was so alone.” Marianne’s voice cracked. “So, so alone in that big house. She had everything. But she had no one.”
“My sister worked for Mrs. Hale for sixty years,” Marcus said.
“Sixty-four,” Marianne corrected. “I was in service to a fine woman for sixty-four years.” She righted herself, standing. “And I know what you think, brother, but I will not sit here and hear her good name slandered.”
“So then don’t sit. Don’t listen,” Marcus said. “But that won’t change what happened.”
“What did happen, Marcus?” Kat asked.
“Mrs. Hale always told my sister that she would provide for her—that she would never have to worry about caring for herself because Marianne would be included in her will.”
“Aren’t they reading the will right now?” Kat asked.
Marcus gave a solemn nod. “Exactly. Yesterday, we received word that there would be no reason for Marianne to attend the reading—that only those who were mentioned in the will were invited.”
“Don’t be silly, Marcus,” Marianne said, summoning her pride. “Who was I to think I’d be included? I’m a ladies’ maid. No more. No less.”
“Hazel was your best friend, Marianne, and if—”
“It was Mrs. Hale’s fortune,” the maid said, special emphasis on the words as if her brother had grown too comfortable and needed to be reminded of his place. “And Mrs. Hale could do with it what she wanted.”
“This is what she wanted?” Marcus snapped. “For her oldest friend to be left with nothing? I don’t believe it. I do not.”
“Marcus,” Kat said, her voice low. “Marcus, are you saying…”
“These aren’t Mrs. Hale’s wishes, I’m sure of it. Her family is gathered at the big house today to hear a will, miss. But I do not believe that it is her will.”
“So you think there’s…what? Another will out there someplace?”
“I do.” Marcus nodded. “And I’d like to hire you to find it.”
It wasn’t like Kat knew what she was doing. She hadn’t had time to form a plan, to even know if Marcus was right and Marianne had been wronged. All she knew for certain was that Marcus was still arguing with his sister and, outside, it was a beautiful day. And, besides, her rides—both of them—were either gone or otherwise engaged, so Kat stepped out into the fresh air to collect her thoughts. It wasn’t her fault her footsteps kept drawing her through the woods and closer to the big house, one word on her mind.
Hale.
Kat had to talk to Hale. That was the beginning to any possible plan: explain Marcus’s theory and find out what—if anything—Hale might know about his grandmother’s final wishes and anyone who might want to circumvent them.
For a moment, Kat had to laugh. It all seemed so outlandish, so extreme. But then the big house came into view, and Kat had to remind herself that nothing about Hale’s world was ordinary. So she walked across the grounds without another thought. It felt good to have a job. A purpose. And her footsteps felt more certain as she went through the back door and up the stairs.
She threw open one door and moved on to the next. And so on and so on. She kept going until she saw a closed set of double doors, light streaming through the cracks beneath them, and Kat pressed her ear against the wood and listened.
“‘To Cousin Isabel,’” a man said, “‘I leave the dia-mond broach that had once belonged to her great-great- grandmother.’”
Kat eased open one door just in time to see a woman throw her hands to her chest. She looked like someone had just named her Miss America.
“So that concludes the issue of the Hale family gems,” said the man behind the podium. He had a dark suit and eyes so black there was no doubt in Kat’s mind that she was looking at Natalie’s father.
He brought his hands together and stood quietly at the front of the room like a preacher at a wedding, waiting for someone to object.
“What about the company?” Hale’s father asked.
“Yes, yes.” The lawyer shuffled his papers and a few fluttered to the floor. “We are about to that point now, I believe.”
“Well, get on with it, Garrett.” The Hollywood uncle glanced at his wife. “We have a jet reserved for eight o’clock, and I don’t intend to miss it. We’ve already spent three days on this.”
“How rude of Hazel not to die on your schedule,” Hale said. His family ignored him.
At the back of the room, Kat dared to open the door a little wider, but no one noticed. The collective gaze of the entire Hale family was locked on Natalie’s father. They sat, straight-backed, on folding chairs, waiting. European cousins lined the right wall; distant nieces and nephews gathered on the left. And, at the front of the room, sat two sons, two daughters, and the various offspring and in-laws who had come with them.