The housekeeper, Mrs. Pike, led me upstairs. She was a small woman with silver-framed glasses and a careful way of moving, as though the polished floors were listening. My room was plain but comfortable, with a narrow bed, an oak dresser, and a door that opened into June’s nursery.

At the threshold, Mrs. Pike looked toward the hall.

“Lock your door at night,” she murmured.

“Is there a problem with the neighborhood?”

She shook her head.

“The neighborhood is quiet. It’s the house you should be careful in.”

Before I could ask what she meant, she walked away.

My first afternoon with June did not involve a lesson. I entered the nursery quietly and sat on the floor several feet from her, then picked up a wooden block and turned it over in my hands. The room contained enough toys to fill a small store, but everything looked untouched: dollhouses with their furniture perfectly arranged, unopened craft sets, a row of stuffed animals sitting upright on a shelf. June sat on a wool rug near the balcony doors, brushing the rabbit’s worn ears.

I let the minutes pass without asking her to look at me. Eventually her gaze shifted toward the block. I raised one hand and shaped the letter B, then signed the word for block.

June watched my fingers. Her eyes traveled to the ceiling, where another camera sat beneath the crown molding. This one had no visible light.

She waited a little longer, then touched her chin with her thumb.

“Mother,” she signed. “Mother taught me.”

I felt my stomach tighten. Lenora had insisted that June did not know sign language and that her mother had never allowed it. June was telling me something different.

I signed back carefully.

“Where is your mother’s book?”

June pointed to a tall mahogany wardrobe. Inside hung rows of dresses and coats. At the bottom, half hidden beneath a folded blanket, sat a metal box with a small brass lock.

I had just touched the handle when the nursery door opened behind me.

Lenora stood there holding a silver tray. Her expression was pleasant only in the way a closed door might be called welcoming.

“What are you doing in my sister-in-law’s things?”

The Box in the Wardrobe

I stepped away from the wardrobe.

“June pointed to it. I wanted to see what was inside.”

Lenora set the tray down on a small table.

“She doesn’t understand what she’s pointing to. You’re encouraging an idea that could upset her.”

June had gone very still. Her fingers gripped the rabbit’s body, and her eyes remained fixed on Lenora.

I knelt beside her, close enough to offer comfort but not touching her without permission. Then I signed, “You are safe with me.”

June looked at my face. The fear in hers did not vanish, but her hand loosened slightly around the rabbit.

Lenora watched the exchange.

“You need to stop doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because June needs routine, not a stranger filling her head with stories.”

Her words landed harder than their volume suggested. I glanced at the silent camera in the corner.

“Does that camera record the nursery?”

For just a moment, Lenora’s expression faltered.

“The cameras are there for security. This is a large house.”

“June seems afraid of them.”

“June is afraid of many things.” Lenora’s voice cooled. “That is why she has specialists.”

She picked up the tray again and left. The door clicked shut behind her.

That evening, I found Graham in the library, standing beside a desk covered with papers he did not appear to be reading. The brass key to the box lay in his palm.

“My wife’s things were packed away after the funeral,” he said. “I thought Lenora had arranged everything.”

“June says her mother taught her to sign.”

He looked down at the key.

“Elise taught June a few signs when she was a toddler. I remember ‘more’ and ‘rabbit.’ I didn’t know they kept going.”

He went upstairs with me. June was asleep on her side, her rabbit tucked beneath one arm. Graham watched her for a long moment before looking at the camera in the corner.

“I put those in after someone tried to enter the estate,” he said. “They were meant for the exterior halls and entrances. I didn’t realize there was one in here.”

He examined the small device without touching it.

“I’ll have the security company check it tomorrow.”

The box was still locked. Graham tried a ring of keys, then an old key from the bottom of his desk. The last one fit.

Inside were a small blue notebook, several folded sheets of paper, and a thin picture book with bright drawings along the edges. The handwriting in the notebook was slanted and hurried.