Chapter 15: The Aunt in the Garden

Cressida stood in Sybilla's garden at five in the morning with no silk on and no lipstick.

Her hair was tied back with an elastic band.

She held a thick account book against her chest with both arms.

Ambrose had put himself between her and the kitchen door.

"You have ten seconds," he said.

"I know," said Cressida. "I'm not here for you."

She looked at me.

I had last seen that face smiling over a bread basket.

"I want to give you this," she said, and held out the book. "It's the kitchen ledger of Tempest House."

Her arms shook.

"Every pot of your tea is in it, with the day, the dose and her initials."

June took it before I could.

She opened it on the porch rail and ran her finger down a page.

"Silver, two grains, for L., daily," she read. "O.T. Every day for a year. In ink."

"She signs for what she orders," Cressida said. "She always has. She likes a clean book."

"Why bring it to me?" I asked.

"Because she let the whole hall watch me go down alone."

Her mouth twisted.

"I stood there and said aunt, tell them, and she wouldn't look at me. Thirty years I've carried her bags."

"You poured it," I said.

"Yes."

"You knew what was in it."

"By the third month," Cressida said. "I knew by the third month."

The garden was very quiet.

Sybilla had come out onto the porch behind us in her cardigan.

She said nothing, and she looked at Cressida for a long time.

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