She looked down and waved.
Polly nodded. She stepped back into the shadows.
The déjà vu became stronger: the broken latch was still broken, the window opened with the same faint creak it had last time, the room had the same stale, musty smell. Arabella closed the window behind her. She blinked and let her eyes adjust to the dimness. The shapes of the furniture were the same: a desk, an armchair, two low bookcases. A clock ticked on the mantelpiece.
She walked across to the door and opened it quietly. This time she knew where she was going; there was no need to peer into darkened rooms. She went swiftly and silently up one flight of stairs and turned right.
Arabella laid her hand on the door to Lady Bicknell’s bedchamber. For a long moment she stood, listening for movement, then she tur
