Two years later.
Ruby Henderson wrapped up a negotiation and dialed Mrs. Richards. “Hey, Auntie, I’m coming to pick up Ella. She’s got a sketching class tonight.”
A year and a half ago, Ruby’s mom fell seriously ill, and she was barely keeping it together.
That’s when Mrs. Richards stepped in.
Since then, they’d kept in touch, but Ruby always kept her distance. Whenever the Richards picked up Ella, she never tagged along. And when she came to get her daughter, she never stayed for dinner. Their only connection was Ella—nothing more.
…
On the other end of the phone, Mrs. Richards sounded like she wanted to say something but held back.
Ruby didn’t notice.
Half an hour later, her black Bentley drove quietly into Wynthorpe Manor, past a row of birch trees, and stopped
