Chapter 7

Emily's fork clinked against the porcelain plate, ringing out sharp and clear.

Her hand froze midair. She went rigid.

The two housekeepers in the dining room turned to look at me simultaneously.

Yvonne's hand holding her teacup showed a visible tremor. Drops of amber liquid splashed against the rim, landing on the hem of her pink dress and blooming into a small dark stain.

The whole room fell into silence.

Then Emily spoke, her voice low and gravelly, as if coming from far below. "How far along?"

I replied, "Six to seven weeks. Ethen ran a blood test last night.…