Later that afternoon, Foster tapped on our door. “Sorry to disturb you, sir,” he called through the door, “but my lady said to inform you Lord Carnarvon and Mr Carter will be leaving shortly. She wishes you to join them for tea in the rose salon.”
“Thank you. I’ll be right along.”
“Very good, sir. You’ll inform Mr Sayer also?”
“I will. Please let my mother know we’ll be right down.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was a polite fiction in the house that Tommy and I didn’t sleep in the same room. Servants always knew, but they were so close to the family that they never told tales.
“What do you suppose that’s about?” Tommy asked as we rolled out of bed and quickly dressed.
“I have no—Oh God, do you suppose they want the pearls returned?”
“We can’t do that. They’ve been destroyed.” He slipped his eyep
