Seven for a Secret

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For once, the girl in the wall mosaic did not reply to the Lord Chamberlain’s question.

“Why, Zoe?” John asked again.

Did her lips tighten?

No, it was only an effect of the unsteady light from the lamp that sputtered on the desk of his study.

Usually he could discern an answer to his questions, but not tonight.

He heard the creak of a footstep in the hall and glanced toward the doorway in time to see a retreating shadow.

Peter.

John’s habit of talking to the mosaic girl distressed his elderly servant, though he did so often enough late at night.

But never before about an event like this.

Perhaps Peter had intended to refill the lamp or replenish the wine jug. Hearing his master’s voice, he had discreetly returned to the kitchen.

John took a sip from his clay cup. “I overheard Peter discussing you with Cornelia. He called you a little demon, Zoe. Whoever you are, you aren’t a demon, are you?”

If she were, it might explain what had happened that morning.

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