The next morning, I found myself wandering through the estate's corridors with no real destination in mind.
I'd woken early and spent the first hour after dawn doing what I'd told myself I wouldn't: looking for information about Agnes.
The estate's record books had been my first stop. Dusty leather-bound ledgers kept in the steward's office, meticulously documenting every servant hired, every transaction made, every mouth the Raith family fed. I'd flipped through pages of careful script until my eyes burned, searching for her name.
Found it, eventually. But the entry was sparse, unhelpful.
"Agnes Marlowe. Origin: Millbrook Orphanage. Appointed by Catherine Raith as personal attendant."
That was it. Nothing that would tell me where she'd gone after leaving the estate.
I'd asked a few of the older servants next, the ones who'd been here long enough to remember.
