I walked back to my own small room at the end of the hall.

For the first time in three years, I did not lock my door.

***

The next morning, the sun broke through the gray clouds, casting bright squares of light across the dining room floor.

Mrs. Gable, the cook, was already in the kitchen when I went down.

The smell of fresh coffee and toasted bread filled the air.

She looked up as I entered, her eyes red-rimmed but her expression relieved.

“Is it true, Elena?” she asked, setting down her wooden spoon.

“The police took Celeste?”

“Yes,” I said. “And Marcus.”

“Thank God,” she whispered, crossing herself.

“This house has been under a cloud for months.”

“It’s over now, Mrs. Gable,” I said.

“Mr. Hawthorne wants me in the library at ten.”

She looked at my simple gray uniform.

“You should change, dear,” she said.

“You aren’t working the floors today.”

I went back to my room and looked through my small wardrobe.

I did not own many clothes that were not uniforms.