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I take Victoria’s advice and rest for a few hours. Then I unpack my luggage and enjoy a brief call with Sean where he carefully avoids mention of the letters on my bed at home and I carefully avoid mention of the disquiet I felt earlier in the day.

I am in a better state of mind when Grant fetches me for dinner. There’s nothing sinister about grapevines, and while they might be parasites, they’re not the sort that kills plants or leeches resources from them. Victoria and her son might not see eye to eye on everything, but find me the family that does, and I’ll find you a family that’s lying.

Victoria is waiting for me in the great room. Three others are with her, a tall man in his early forties with curly ash-blonde hair and piercing gray eyes set in an austere but handsome face and two children who share their father’s piercing gray eyes but carry them underneath straight hair that is flaming red.

The children are identical in nearly every sense. In fact, the only visible difference between them is that one is a boy and the other a girl. They have the same upturned noses—another trait they must have inherited from their mother, since Julian has his mother’s aquiline nose—the same high cheekbones and the same sloping shoulders.

They regard me with the same serious expression too. From what I understand, their previous tutor was with them for ten years. It might be some time before they welcome me into their family as easily as their grandmother did.

Julian steps forward and extends his hand. He smiles, and the look drives the austerity from his face. “Julian Bellamy. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Wilcox.”

"It's wonderful to meet you, too," I reply. "And this must be Nathan and Luann.”

The children bow formally. I laugh and return a curtsy of my own. “A pleasure to meet the two of you as well. I look forward to getting to know you.”

Luann manages a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Mary.”

Nathan offers neither a smile nor a greeting, but that’s all right. It’s common for one child to be more outgoing and the other to be more reserved. Even identical twins aren’t ever completely identical.

"Well!" Victoria says, clapping her hands. "I, for one, am starving, and I know Beatrice has prepared a lovely meal for us. Shall we?"

“We shall,” Julian announces.

He seems to share his mother’s ebullience. It must only have been my imagination that there is conflict between them.

We head to the kitchen, following Victoria’s lead. The children stay close to their father, and I give them space. I’ve learned the hard way that pushing children to accept me is likely to have the opposite effect.

The dining room is just as grand and impressive as the great room and sports an equally gorgeous chandelier. This kind of opulence is more common in the plantation houses of the South than in the country homes of New England, but I happen to appreciate such Old World elegance. The table is also black maple, and the chairs are beautifully carved and high-backed, and light during the day is provided by an expansive window that faces the vineyards outside.

“So Mary,” Julian begins. “My mother tells me you come highly recommended.”

I smile graciously. “I’ve been fortunate to enjoy positions with many wonderful families.” And a few less than wonderful families . “I’m happy to know that I was able to provide as much joy as I received.”

“Well, I hope you’ll enjoy your stay here just as much. The children are excited to have a new tutor.”

Nathan and Luann look far from excited, but I smile and thank them anyway. “Luann,” I ask, “what is your favorite subject in school?”

She blinks, evidently surprised by my question. “Um… History’s okay, I guess.”

“I love history,” I reply. “It’s so fascinating to think about all the events that took place to lead us right to this very moment.”

She shrugs. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Very effusive, these children,” Julian teases. “Nathan, tell Miss Mary what your favorite subject is.”

Nathan’s lips thin. He doesn’t seem to appreciate his father’s prodding. I’m about to tell him that it’s all right if he wants to tell me another time, but he says, “Science.”

“Oh, how interesting,” I reply. “I’m afraid I was a poor scientist. I could never keep all the different math straight.”

“It’s not that difficult,” he says. “If you think of each science as requiring a different set of distinct formulas, you can then categorize the formulas according to their primary characteristics. You can actually determine a lot about the nature of a science by determining the formulas that govern it and comparing them to other sciences. For example…” He catches himself and blushes prettily. “Well, anyway, I guess I just never found it difficult because I like it so much.”

I might have decided too prematurely who the outgoing one of the two is. “You sound like a very bright young man,” I tell him. “I hope I can keep up with you.”

The meal is brought out, and my eyes widen in amazement. The cook, Beatrice, has the body of a mountain and the face of an ogre. Not that she’s ugly. She’s actually quite pretty. But her expression reminds me of someone who eats children rather than feeds them.

Whatever her faults might be, she can cook. The centerpiece of each plate is a steaming lobster tail served with a light butter sauce. With that, she includes corn on the cob and macaroni and cheese—real macaroni and cheese with a rich, creamy sauce made of real cheeses rather than the horrible gunk that comes in boxes in supermarkets.

“There’s coleslaw if you’d prefer, Mary,” Victoria tells me. “The children like mac and cheese, but I understand if you want something different.”

“This is perfect, Victoria, thank you,” I reply. “It’s very generous of you to include me in your dinner.”

“Of course,” Julian says. “We’d be bad hosts if we made you eat by yourself.”

This courtesy doesn’t seem to extend to the other household servants, but it’s not my place to comment, so I only thank him again.

The meal proceeds with more small talk. I share some of my experiences at other positions—though I leave out the various scandals I end up in the middle of—and the Bellamy’s tell me a little about their business. The children are quiet unless prodded, but they are polite enough and no longer seem wary of me.

All is well until Victoria mentions the vineyard. “I showed Mary the vineyard this morning, Julian.”

A wall instantly comes up on Julian’s face. He keeps his tone mild when he says, “Oh?” but I can tell he’s not pleased. Why would it bother him that his mother showed me the vineyard?

“Yes. She thought the Chardonnay was particularly exquisite, didn’t you, Mary?”

“The entire vineyard was lovely,” I reply. “Thank you for showing me.”

“It’s too bad about the fire the other day. It would have been fun to show her the press.”

Julian’s lips thinned. The children—always the most sensitive members of the family—look simultaneously embarrassed and downcast. It’s clear that I’m not meant to be involved in this portion of the conversation.

Julian responds before I can change the subject. “Fires happen, Mom. The important thing is that no one was hurt. We caught the man who sabotaged the winery, and we’ll have a new press installed by the end of the week, and we’ll upgrade our fire suppression equipment before next season. Besides, this year’s just a test year. We’re giving a few bottles to some hobnobs and stuffed shirts and a few more to friends. It’s not the end of the world if we lose some of the yield because—”

Victoria snaps her head up at Julian. Her eyes flash, and there's no more pretense of politeness. "I would think that after a Harvard education, you'd be smart enough to know that it's bad business sense to dismiss losses so easily."

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Julian snaps. “What should I do instead? Be pissy about it? Bring it up every dinner for the next several months?”

He blinks and looks nervously at me. I gather that he forgot about me for a moment. He forces laughter and says, “Anyway, it’s happened, right? Nothing we can do about it now. We’ll take more precaution in the future.”

Victoria's lips thin. She stands abruptly and says, "Mary, I apologize for leaving you early, but the older I get, the less tolerance I have for late nights. Julian, please give Beatrice my apologies. The food was quite lovely. I’ve just lost my appetite. I’ll see you all in the morning. Nathan, Luann, come give your grandmother hugs. Surely you’re not too old for that.”

The children acquiesce, and some of Victoria’s happiness returns as the two of them embrace her. “You two are so beautiful,” she gushes. “Just like your mother was.”

Julian stiffens when she says that, but he looks grieved more than angry. The children don’t show the same grief, so I guess that their mother died when they were both very young.

Julian confirms that fact a moment later. “My wife, sadly, was taken from us early, Mary. She survived long enough to see the children start their schooling, but she… Well, she lives in our memories, right kids?”

“Right,” the children echo.

They look embarrassed at their adults, and I don’t blame them. I don’t blame the adults either, though. Julian will spend the rest of his life grieving the woman he loved, and there’s precious little anyone can do to help him with that. I know what it’s like to lose the person one loves the most.

As for Victoria, I get the sense that her disagreements with Julian over the family business hurt more than Julian realizes. She is older now, but her vibrant personality suggests to me that she’s not used to her age. She likely resents being condescended to, even when the intention isn’t to humiliate her.

Of course, I could be reading far too much into all of this. If there was a fire at the winery, then it no doubt caused stress for all of them.

We finish dinner with no further incident. The conversation, however, is forced from that point, and the three remaining Bellamy’s are clearly grateful when the meal ends, and they’re able to retreat to their rooms for the evening.

There’s nothing to suggest that I’ll end up embroiled in another scandal, but it’s clear that this family is divided. Perhaps this will be my chance to do good for someone without getting caught in a web of intrigue.

Or perhaps I’ve only just glimpsed a single bone in a closet full of skeletons.