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“The Meditations of the Emperor Marcus Aurelius Antonius,” she read from the spine, then shot a look at Gideon.

“Yes. A favorite. I read it every year.”

“Do you keep a copy on your desk?” she asked in a light tone.

Kerrigan frowned. “No. It is usually on a bookshelf, but I suppose if I’m in the middle of reading it, I might leave it on my desk. I’m dreadful about losing books, dropping them here and there.”

“Do you often gift books, Mr. Kerrigan?” she asked, eyes wide and intrigued.

“As a matter of fact, I do, Miss Poole. Gift-giving time arrives, birthdays, holidays, so forth, and I can’t think of anything better than to give someone the gift of literature, poetry, history. Are you a book reader, Miss Poole?”

“Yes, I am very fond of books.” She examined the one in her hands again.

Gideon noted that she had not had a chance to be still, to close her eyes as she normally did when accessing her abilities. He wondered if she sensed anything from the volume Kerrigan had held in his hands.

“And it seems you’re particularly fond of Roman history. Which strikes me as odd, since you’re a Keeper of medieval history.”

Kerrigan smiled, seemingly charmed by her interest. “Medieval history interests me as well. All history interests me. But yes, I suppose I am particularly fond of Greek and Roman history. The precursors to medieval history, of course.”

“Do you use all the rooms in this house, Mr. Kerrigan?” Gideon asked. “It’s quite sizable.”

Kerrigan looked almost irritated that Gideon had interrupted his conversation with Electra. “No. I am but one man and use a single bedroom, this drawing room, the dining room, and there is the beginnings of a library upstairs. I’ve been building it bit by bit, year after year.”

“And when did you buy Fourcross?” Gideon didn’t really care about that detail, but he wanted to give Electra time to focus herself, to close her eyes, to sense something, if she could, from the book.

Kerrigan had turned to face him, tapping his chin, considering the question. “Oh, heavens. It must be a good seven years now. Yes. Seven years ago. 1872. I had been saving for some time, considering my retirement, actually. I know it’s many years down the road, but a man must think ahead. Don’t you agree?”

“I do. A man must consider the future.”

“And who is this?” Electra asked.

Kerrigan spun to face her. She’d moved toward the room’s threshold and pointed to a statuette of a lady on a round table.

“Ah, yes⁠—”

“I remember your statue of Minerva,” Electra murmured as she touched the head of the lady.

“Uh, yes, that is another goddess, Diana. Or Artemis, as the Greeks called her.”

Electra shot a look at Gideon. “Diana?” she asked Kerrigan.

“Yes. The goddess of the hunt. Seemed appropriate for the countryside.” Kerrigan watched her touch the statue with an anxious set to his jaw. “That one is quite fragile. It’s made of porcelain, unlike the other I showed you. It’s got such delicacy to it. And it reminds me of…”

When he fell silent and said no more, Electra pressed, “Reminds you of what, Mr. Kerrigan?”

“My wife. Her name was Diana, you see.”

Electra laid the book aside and picked up the statue.

Kerrigan let out a gasp of alarm.

“Do take care, Miss Poole. It is very dear to me and worth quite a lot.”

“Oh? Is it an antique?”

“It is a one-of-a-kind piece by a master artisan.”

“How lovely,” she said as she twisted the statue in her hand, examining it.