Lady Thalia was explaining that it was a masterpiece of some sort by an Italian, but Damaris thought even her enthusiasm for this tour was diminishing.“The library,” the old lady announced, and headed off briskly. “My father’s collection was famous.”This turned out to be a room Damaris had not seen before, and no wonder. It stank of rot, and so many bits of the ornate plaster ceiling had fallen that the room was dusted gray. The glass doors over the shelves were filmed with it, but she could still see that many shelves were half-empty.“Oh, dear,” Lady Thalia said, sounding close to tears. “This was Papa’s pride and joy.”Ashart looked drawn, and Damaris wasn’t surprised. This whole house was soaked with sorrow, deep in the walls, warped in the wood, sighing on cold drafts. No wonder it shed flakes of paint and plaster like tears.Had he not known?She’d gained the impression that he visited here rarely. Perhaps he’d fallen into the habit of going to his rooms and avoiding the rest of the house.He put an arm around his great-aunt.
