Chapter 12: Retained

"Retained," I said. "Like the heirs."

"For life," said Mr. Roake. "Sign the incident form, and I'll keep you comfortable."

"And if I don't sign?"

"Then you'll be retained uncomfortably."

I looked past him.

The cook was standing at the side door, with her apron in her fists.

Behind her stood the housekeeper, two maids and a boy from the garden, and they were all staring at the porch.

There were forty people on that property, and not one of them had ever been told the truth.

"Everybody listen," I said, loudly.

"This man wants to sedate three people for life, and he wants to do it in front of you."

"Miss Garrick," the deputy warned.

"Does anyone here think that's normal?"

Nobody answered.

The cook took a step forward, and the housekeeper took her arm.

Mr. Roake looked at the staff, and I watched the smile slide into a flat, thoughtful line.

He had done this in private for seventy years.

He was not built for a crowd.

"Of course not," he said. "There will be a hearing. The trustees will convene in three weeks."

"And until then?"

"You remain on the estate, Miss Garrick. All of you. Under supervision."

"And my sister?" I said.

"Will be looked after," said Mr. Roake.

He signaled the men.

They lowered their nets with a clank, and the vans backed down the drive with their dead headlights.

The deputy took my phone out of my pocket on his way past.

"Three weeks," I said to Ambrose, when the last van had gone.

"It is more than we have had in seventy years."

His voice was shaking.

I took off my glasses, because I wanted to say it without looking.

Then I put them back on, because I wanted to see him say it back.

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