She has no form. No voice. But she's always watching.
As chief conservator at historical Terrington Hall, Amy has one mission: to restore the vast, guilt-stained hoard of the Hurly family. When a family heirloom vanishes, Amy realises there is a thief in the house.
She hires security advisor Harrison, a man whose professional polish masks a volatile connection to the Hurly bloodline. He isn’t just there for the security. He seeks to reveal the truth behind a long-forgotten family scandal.
But there is a shadow at Terrington Hall that follows the living with a tireless, invisible gaze, a consciousness woven into the very mortar and timber, trapping memories with a history too heavy to escape.
In a place where objects are treasured and people are forgotten, Harrison discovers a room that has been sealed for decades. Will a simple theft lead to the resurrection of the family’s murderous secrets?
At Terrington Hall, the dead don’t need a body to tell a story — they just need someone to listen.
Chapter One
Barbados, June 1812
Living on the estate of a sugar cane plantation affords young ladies of an excitable age few opportunities for formal instruction or social gatherings. Today, the weather is relentlessly brutal with its heat and humidity, and last week’s devastating hurricane flattened the cane and caused considerable damage to the poorer thatched huts on the northern shore of the island. Our insignificance grows as Mama and Papa continue to ignore their five daughters. Their ambitions are occupied by their yearnings for a son.
We run wild, unfettered by the lack of a governess. This morning, we skirted the fiery boiler house and sugar mills and tramped one after the other through rows of cane until our skirts were torn and filthy. Excessive perspiration was unavoidable. Later, as the sun reached its zenith, we found a quiet bay and swam in the ocean in our petticoats. The stinging salt water washed away the red grime of the fields but irritated our scratches.
And we stole. Again.