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I almost tell him.

The phone.

The messages.

The warning.

Do it tonight.

But the phone is behind his father’s bust, and I don’t know yet whether I can trust Nathaniel.

“What exactly do you need from me?” I ask.

“Tell me what you’ve noticed around here. What might be off.”

Interesting. I’ve been cataloguing peculiarities all day so far.

I clear my throat. “Some doors on the west wing are locked. Doors that normally aren’t.”

He nods.

I continue, and Nathaniel listens without interrupting. He doesn’t brush me off. Doesn’t tell me I imagined anything.

He only listens.

So I keep going.

“The delivery log in the kitchen has a missing line. Someone tore out the bottom half and replaced it with a clean sheet, but the paper doesn’t match.”

He rubs at his jawline. “What else?”

“Two missing place settings in the main dining room. I noticed when I was polishing the silver.”

Nathaniel goes very still. “Are you sure?”

I roll my eyes. “Of course I’m sure. I know how to count.”

His mouth almost curves. “Right,” he says. “You’re sure.”

“Do you know where they are?” I ask.

“No.”

“You know something.”

“Yes.”

My stomach twists.

“Come on,” he says. “We’re going to check out those locked doors.”

“But I⁠—”

“Have work to do. Right. I know.”

“Mrs. Steppe⁠—”

“Is employed by me,” he says. “By my family. If she has an issue with what I’m having you do today, she can take it up with me.”