CHAPTER
3

I’D NEVER BEEN to a country estate before. I didn’t actually know what a country estate was , but I had a vague idea that it was where a duke or an earl would live if we had dukes and earls in America. I figured Mr. Albright was being melodramatic about what would end up being a big house in a nice suburban neighborhood.

I was wrong.

I mean, it was a big house, yes. It was enormous. But it wasn’t in a nice neighborhood—it wasn’t in a neighborhood at all. It was (as one might have guessed) out in the country. About ten minutes before coming into view of the stone pillars at the entrance to the property, we’d passed through a minuscule town with one traffic light, a small row of stores, a used-car lot, a doctor’s office, and a single-story building with a sign reading COPELAND COUNTY SCHOOL . And that was it, as far as the local society went.

I watched helplessly as the signal on my phone weakened, like blood draining from a body, and then disappeared altogether, replaced by two small words: NO SERVICE . It wasn’t that I had any friends to call, but it still felt strangely and almost spookily like being cut off from the world, or going back in time.

The SUV slowed as we approached an elaborately scrolled iron gate centered in a brick wall that went on forever on both sides of us, and Mr. Albright looked over at me from his spot in the driver’s seat. He was in his forties, balding, and judging by the puffiness around his eyes, could have used a good night’s sleep. His gray suit jacket was draped over the seat between us, and his sleeves were rolled up.

“Are you ready?”he asked.“It’s a new beginning for you.”

What was I supposed to say, that I wasn’t ready? I nodded and tried to smile and went back to looking out the window.

Mr. Albright was the Sutton family’s business manager, which meant (he’d told me) that he handled just about everything for them, because when you had that much money, everything was business. He described them as if they were dolls in a collection, with an odd, patronizing note in his voice. But at the same time, he never missed a chance to say that looking out for their family was basically the purpose of his life.

To his credit, despite this great sense of combined ownership and deference he felt toward the Suttons, my going there didn’t seem to worry him. In fact, he acted like it was natural, even charming, that they should take me in.

To me, it seemed kind of random and strange, but what do I know about how super-rich people think?

Here’s what I did know: John Sutton, the patriarch of the family, had gone to law school at Northwestern with my father twenty years ago. One day, they both happened to be swimming laps in the college pool, and John, who hadn’t been feeling well, slipped into unconsciousness in the water. My dad crossed the two lanes between them, pulled him out of the pool, and performed CPR.

“Thus saving his life,”Mr. Albright had said in the garage office at Palmer House, interlacing his fingers as if he were offering a silent prayer of thanks.“And so, when the news reached Mr. Sutton that your family had encountered this great tragedy, he felt compelled to reciprocate in any way he could.”

Your family had encountered this great tragedy. He said the words so impersonally, as if the deaths of my parents and sisters were footnotes in a legal document. Then again, what were his alternatives? What did I want him to do, break down and cry about it?

The iron gates began to open for us. Not wanting to seem overly awestruck, I tried not to crane my neck to see the house. I may have spent six weeks brushing my teeth with someone else’s hair, but I had a smidgen of pride left.

As it turned out, I didn’t need to crane my neck. Copeland Hall, as Mr. Albright called the house, was too big to miss. It was a huge gray building, both long and tall, with boxy outcroppings and peaked roofs and windows, and towerlike projections poking out from various places. Ivy clung to the stone walls, and gnarled trees threw patches of dappled shade against the facade.

When the SUV rounded a corner, I spotted a pair of huge wooden double doors on the side of one of the stone rectangles that bulged off the main structure. The doors faced the side of the property, not the front, as if the house was turning away, hiding its face from visitors.

A two-story garage with spaces for six cars hulked behind the building, and we pulled all the way into one of the bays before the SUV came to a stop.

“Leave your things,”Mr. Albright said, as if my luggage had consisted of five trunks, eight suitcases, three hatboxes, and a birdcage.“I’ll bring them later.”

I looked helplessly at my backpack, not wanting to be parted from it. After only six weeks at Palmer House, I’d begun to develop the anxiety that all the girls shared—the nagging feeling that someone wanted to steal from me. But seeing the lumpy, overstuffed canvas and the broken zipper that only closed halfway, I decided to leave it behind.

“We’ll go in the side entrance,”he said, leading the way toward a single door near the corner of the building.

I scanned the grounds as we approached the house. The lawns were immense and lushly green in the summer sun. It was a pleasant day, not too hot, with a light breeze. Birds twittered lazily from their shaded hiding places and a squirrel hunched under a bush, working hard to tear apart some small fruit or nut.

I live here now, I thought, trying the thought on like a dress.

Shouldn’t a person feel a rush of emotion at the thought of being part of such a grand place? Shouldn’t I feel happy? Or intimidated? Or ... lucky?

I felt ... nothing.

Until, that is, I stepped through the door behind Mr. Albright and saw the Suttons standing right there, waiting for us.

Then I felt something: completely embarrassed.

I’d assumed I’d have the chance to wash my face, brush my hair, psych myself up.

But instead, I found myself being inspected by a man and woman standing about ten feet away—a perfectly matched set of well-bred, meticulously presented rich people.

Mrs. Sutton, who was as sleek and slim as a greyhound, wore an ivory sweater and a pair of pale beige pants, with pointed-toe copper-colored flats. Her hair fell in a glossy light brown sheet, just skimming her shoulders. Her watch and earrings were simple gold. Her makeup was subtle and flawless, setting off the glittering brown of her eyes and the pearly white of her teeth. Her smile was warm and welcoming. She was, in a word, tasteful.

Mr. Sutton looked a little less comfortable in his own skin but no less refined. His long-sleeved shirt was blue and crisp, and the hem of his gray trousers broke in just the right spot over his shining loafers. His hair was silvery brown, cropped close to his head, and he wore a smile that had a touch too much tension behind it to be perfectly sincere.

They were elegant in a casual, uncomplicated way—not like showy rich people from the city but like people so rich they don’t have to live in the city. Their money lived there, and they hired Mr. Albright to carry it back and forth for them.

“I’m sorry to surprise you,”Mrs. Sutton said, seeing what must have been a mortified expression on my face. Her voice was as smooth and polished as the rest of her.“We’ve been so looking forward to your arrival that we couldn’t bear to wait in the sitting room like a couple of posed dolls. We wanted to meet you right away ... but now I can see that wasn’t very thoughtful of us.”

“Nonsense, Laura, she’s fine,”Mr. Albright said cheerily. Then, turning to me, he said,“Margaret, allow me to introduce you to John and Laura Sutton.”

“At your service,”Mrs. Sutton said, her smile more subdued.

There was silence as everyone waited for me to speak. I didn’t think I was going to be able to come up with anything, but when I opened my mouth, a few words tumbled out.“Thank you so much for having me,”I said.“It means a lot.”

To my horror, Mr. Sutton stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder.“For a very long time, I’ve wanted to repay the debt I owed your father. I’m glad to have a chance, and I’m sorry that it’s under these circumstances.”

I tried to think of a suitable response.

“Oh, John, now’s not the time for speechmaking,”Mrs. Sutton said, swooping over and swatting him away.“I’m sure Margaret wants a few minutes by herself before we descend on her.”

I did, desperately. But maybe their classiness was rubbing off on me, because it seemed impolite to go off alone so soon.“I’m okay,”I said.“Could I please maybe have a glass of water?”

They leaped into action, thrilled to have a task. Mr. Sutton rushed away to fetch the water, while Laura ushered me down the hall to a room where the blessed rehydration could take place.

“The west parlor,”she said, with a subtle flourish of her slim hand.“Please make yourself comfortable.”

I looked around as she steered me toward a small sofa. The room was like something from a museum—every detail looked as if it had been left untouched for a hundred years. The walls were polished wood, adorned with large paintings of horses and hunting dogs. The furniture was ornate and old-fashioned. The love seat I found myself on was upholstered in a satiny fabric of blue and white stripes, with tufted green velvet pillows nestled in the corners.

Mr. Albright waited off to the side while Mrs. Sutton perched on a leather armchair and looked at me like I was the dessert cart at a fancy restaurant.

“Was the drive all right?”she asked.

“Yes,”I said.“Thank you.”

“Long, though, wasn’t it?”She glanced almost accusingly at Mr. Albright, as if the distance were somehow his fault.“Did you get lunch?”

“A long ride, but very pretty,”I said.“And yes, we did have lunch.”

“We stopped in Hopkins,”Mr. Albright said in his own defense.“We had sandwiches.”

“Oh, Hopkins, that’s good,”she said, relaxing and sitting back. Then she sat up again.“You have to tell me if there’s anything we can get for you. We aren’t in town every day, but we can send out if there’s something you require.”

I was about to deflect the question, but then I realized I had a real need.“I could use a toothbrush, I guess,”I said.“I left mine at Palmer House.”

“Palmer House,”she repeated.“Is that where you were staying?”

I nodded.

“Was it nice? Did you have friends?”

I stared straight into her eyes, which were nearly the same brown as the wood paneling on the walls behind her. Despite her kindness, their undeniable generosity toward me, I couldn’t help feeling that this was all some kind of assessment. A test.

Better pass it.

“Oh, yes,”I said.“It was very nice. I had a lot of friends.”

I could feel Mr. Albright’s eyes on me.“Excellent facility,”he agreed.“Bright, a lot of natural light.”

“That’s good,”she said, compassion in her voice.“I imagine the girls there have all had a hard time. It’s nice to think they have a comfortable place to live. I—I guess I just don’t feel that girls belong in‘facilities.’But of course that’s not a problem for you any longer. You live here, Margaret, with us. And you absolutely must let us know what we can do to make you feel at home.”

Let’s see. If I were at home, I would be in my room, on my bed, listening to music and browsing my friends’social media accounts to see what everybody was up to. And my parents and sisters would be alive. So good luck trying, Laura, but I can’t see that happening.

“We only have one rule here, really,”she said.“To respect one another—and the house, of course. I find that if respect is in place, everything else falls into line.”

Doable.“Of course,”I said.

The sides of her eyes crinkled in approval as Mr. Sutton came through the door with a glass of water—not a normal glass, but one made of intricately cut crystal that weighed about three pounds. I thanked him and took it with both hands, sipping as carefully as I could and then resting it on a coaster that Mrs. Sutton slid across the enormous wooden coffee table.

She fidgeted and looked up at her husband, who was still standing off to the side.“I was telling Margaret that I don’t think girls belong in facilities.”

He gave her an impatient look and spoke with an edge to his voice.“There’s time to discuss that later.”

I grabbed for my water like it was a life preserver. The room was totally silent as I drank, and at one point my teeth clanked against the crystal. The sound seemed to echo off the walls.

Finally, when the glass was empty, I set it down for good and looked up at them.

“Thank you, Mrs. Sutton,”I said.“And Mr. Sutton. I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but could I please see my room?”

They exchanged a glance.

“Call me Laura,”Mrs. Sutton said.“And Mr. Sutton is John. We can’t be formal. We’re all going to be good friends. We’re like ... a team. Working together toward a common goal.”

A goal? Okay, was this the part where they sent me to the maid’s quarters to fetch the broom so I could sweep the house before they tossed me a crust of bread?

The air dripped with unspoken words. I thought I was imagining it until I glanced over at Mr. Albright, whose cheeks seemed slightly flushed. Then, after a peculiarly weighted look from Laura, he lurched into action, walking to the fireplace mantel and picking up a crystal picture frame. He carried it over and handed it to me. It was so heavy I nearly dropped it. Why did everything rich people owned weigh twice as much as normal stuff?

It was a family portrait, taken on a wildflower-covered hill on a beautiful cloudy day. Mr. and Mrs. Sutton—or should I say John and Laura—stood in the background. In front of them were two young teens: a boy with neatly cut dark brown hair and brown eyes like Laura’s, and a teenage girl who was beautiful enough to be a movie star. She had long waves of golden hair, perfectly chiseled cheekbones, and glinting, intelligent blue eyes.

“That’s our family,”Laura said. Her voice was strained, like she was worried I wouldn’t approve.“Barrett—he’s sixteen. He goes away to school, to St. Paul’s in Thurmond, about a three-hour drive from here. He’s been in Italy with one of his friends, but he flies back in a few weeks.”

“Oh,”I said.“Nice.”

She drew a deep breath.“And that’s Agatha.”

“Does she go away to school, too?”

For a moment, no one answered, but when I looked up at Laura, she smiled almost painfully.“No.”

Oh no. Oh God. She was dead.

Why did everyone have to be dead?

The silence that followed was agonizing. Finally, it was broken by Laura’s shaky inhalation.

“Agatha is upstairs,”she said.“Would you like to meet her?” EUK08pQ5kQNVQqq0t/cduuHX+AC3Jb/TQXYsvsrjbKLiZJg1UvQ/92tInnf82xWa