"How does Davis know where your rooms are?" Agatha stood gazing down the corridor for a longer while, watching James as he left. "And how does he know which staircase to take not to be seen?"

There was no point in fibbing to Agatha. Brooks might fancy himself a detective, but he was no match for Agatha's skills.

"He's been up here before."

"Before. As in during the war, before?"

I sighed. "Yes, Agatha." I sat down on my bed. I was suddenly very tired and wanted to go back to sleep. The feeling his body had engendered in me as he'd held me so closely, and the aftermath of the kiss had left me drained.

"And this time?"

"He was worried about me. Apparently, the men have been talking about the incident last night with Montgomery. I'm sure you've also heard."

"Does anyone know why Montgomery came to the house? What could he want here? Everything he needs, he gets through Carter."

I shook my head. We hadn't been able to get anything out of him except memory-gibberish. After an episode, some of the men felt the need to explain themselves, explain what had occurred, but found they could only speak in incoherent pictures and scenes.

Montgomery had tried to communicate to us what was bothering him so, but beyond fire, an exploded tank, and some details of a blue flower with wide, fuzzy leaves, we weren't able to understand much. The opium had worked, putting him into a long and dreamless slumber. I'd had the men find Carter and ask him to keep a close eye on Montgomery for a while.

"And Davis was so concerned about your safety that he came directly to your private rooms to inquire after you?"

"You make it sound sordid."

A slight grimace turned down the corners of her mouth. "Your mother used to say something quite similar. And look what it got her. "

Mother? I forgot all about being tired. "Mother" was a word never spoken at Cloud Hill.

"Your mother also had a . . . liking for certain types of men."

Agatha came in and closed the door.

"Well, I'd hardly call it a --"

"You're old enough to know about it all now, Olivia. Considering what you've just told me, perhaps I've waited far too long."

She crossed my room and settled into the padded chair across from my bed that I'd covered with a prettily-patterned throw that Charlotte no longer wanted. I didn't have a good feeling about what was coming and her first words confirmed it.

"What do you remember about your mother?"

I trusted Agatha. She had always been something like a well-meaning spinster aunt to me as I was growing up, but she'd carefully avoided involvement with family business and had largely ignored my questions about Mother until I'd stopped asking. A nervous tickling spread through my stomach.

"I remember she laughed a lot. Enjoyed the garden. And she also had ginger hair, like I do. But any more than that..." I shrugged. "I was only about five when she left."

Agatha nodded. "Yes, you were. For a month in Switzerland, wasn't it?"

I nodded.

"Yes, that's what I was told, as well. When I found out I wouldn't be accompanying her, I was suspicious, of course. What respectable lady travels without her maid? But it wasn't my place to question. If Mr. Altringham said it was so, then it was."

"She told me that about Switzerland herself," I said hastily. "She said she would only be away for a month and she would hurry back as soon as she could."

"And after that, it was as if she had never existed." Agatha watched me intently as she said that. "Gone. Not a word was spoken about her ever again and all photographs of her were removed."

Had there been photographs of her in the house? I didn't recall. I didn't think I'd ever seen one.

"No letters. No telegrams. As if Evelyn had simply vanished from the face of the Earth," Agatha said, the sound of old discontent hanging in the tone of her voice.

I had no idea why Agatha had brought this up nor what it had to do with James being in my bedroom. I grasped around for something to say, anything. "Where do you think she really went?"

"Switzerland."

"Honestly?"

"I do not believe either one of them was lying, Olivia. Simply that neither of them was telling the whole truth."

The whole truth. Did anyone ever want to tell that?

Agatha sighed.

"There are. . . clinics. . . in Switzerland. Clinics for women with . . difficulties." It was clearly difficult for her to say those words, and she bit her lips together, as if trying to keep them in despite herself.

"Mad houses?"

"No! No, mustn't think that! Your mother wasn't mad. She did, however. . ." She seemed not to know how to go on. Pulling a lace-edged handkerchief from her sleeve, she began to twist and turn it in her fingers.

". . . have certain . . . interests. . . in men."

She must have seen the puzzled look on my face, because she grimaced in pain. Taking a deep breath, she knotted the handkerchief around a finger and said, "Your father was more tolerant of it than I ever thought a husband could be. He may have had his faults -- leaving you on your own with so many responsibilities was not the most paternal of behaviours! -- but he was good to Evelyn. And he was good to you, something you shouldn't forget!"

I was still staring at her, attempting to process the whole bizarre situation. The clock on the chimneypiece chimed the hour, but I didn't think to count the bells. "What was wrong with Mother precisely? Why did she need a clinic?"

"Your mother was overly fond of men, Olivia. She was also. . .quite popular with them. She contracted a. . . venereal disease that had to be secretly treated by specialists in France to avoid scandal. Evelyn was a very attractive woman who enjoyed the attention she received. Enjoyed it too much."

I didn't know what to say. I didn't remember anything even remotely like that being hinted at. Not from Father nor from any other relative. Mother was a man-eater?

"Do you remember Edward, Viscount Linley?"

I shook my head.

"No, I suppose you were too small. He was a friend of your father's and frequent guest at Cloud Hill when you were a young child. A handsome, charming man with the manners of a prince. Your father caught them in a situation that, well, it allowed for no misinterpretation. It was only a week or two later that she left for Switzerland. She'd gone too far. Even for him."

Was that why Father had avoided social situations and burrowed himself into his own affairs as much as he had done? Was that what drove him to leave England when the war broke out and hide somewhere until the whole thing was settled?

"Did you know about...her tendencies?"

"Yes. I did. Your father was a fool to leave you alone with so many young men, knowing what he did about your mother! He certainly must have thought their injuries wouldn't arouse any feelings in you except pity. They wouldn't have in your mother. At the time, we all had our hands full with tending the convalescents and running the estate, what extra time did you have for trysts?"

When the will is there, time can be found, Agatha.

"You say Davis was here in your rooms during the war?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm only relieved no child came from it."

"Oh, Agatha. I think I made a terrible mistake back then and I'm not sure what to do about it now."

"Bringing him to your rooms was a mistake, you mean? Or allowing him back in them again? Both were terribly thoughtless. You know how important being careful is. Especially for a young lady of your station."

"It's more complicated than that."

I told her my suspicions. That he'd fallen in love with me all those years ago and still wasn't over it. As I spoke, fear began to crawl up my spine and my palms started to sweat. Memories I'd long forgotten began to surface and reshape themselves in my mind.

"The feelings he has for me, they are probably all mashed together with his experiences in trenches, you see. They coloured everything for him. All that horror was simply made worse, because, because . . . of me. He trusted me to make it easier for him, you see, and I just sent him deeper into the nightmare he's still in. It's all my fault. I put him where he is today."

Alone and terrified. I thought you knew what that was like.

"I can't say that I am able to follow exactly what you are talking about, Olivia," Agatha said, the lace handkerchief starting to unknot between her fingers. "But the central question, I believe, is do you love him ? Or did you? Although he is not of your class nor of your breeding and your Father would have been absolutely appalled? "

I stared at my bare toes hovering over the Persian rug that lay before my bed as I struggled with my own conscious. "No. No, I didn't. I don't. Fond of him, yes. Quite fond. But love?" I shook my head. "I'm not even sure I know what that is."

Agatha sighed, and placed both hands on the armrests of the chair and rose to her feet. "Your mother used to say exactly the same thing. I thought she simply wasn't interested in knowing. Too complicated. Be careful, Olivia, and for the love of God, don't make the same mistakes she did."

She smiled faintly at me and turned to leave.

"Where do you think she could have gone? Where do you think she is now?" I couldn't stop myself from asking. 

"I have no idea. But, knowing Evelyn, wherever it is, it's probably nowhere pleasant."