Promise me that you’ll contact the police if she ever calls you on the phone, or worse, shows up at your school. When she finally did take her own lover, it was not with a member of the household staff. ‘But you are idiot. . I still have a cross stitch she made for me of a little fairy sitting on a daffodil. Knives were worse, especially when you were stabbed back and left traces of your own blood at the crime scene. It was the beginning and the end of the transaction. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. What he told the vicomte I was not privileged to learn. “You are in trouble,” he said.
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