Eleanor and Lydia repaired to the library. The crackling fire warmed Eleanor's fingers sufficiently to allow her to work on the baby blanket. Lydia ordered her phone to play Nat King Cole and "On the Street Where You Live" filled the air.

"I don't mind something more modern," Eleanor said. 

"I love Nat King Cole. I only wish I had the real vinyl. It's so much more real and raw," Lydia replied.

Eleanor chuckled to herself. Saving up to buy a whole record so you could play your one favorite song over and over, protecting your record with your life because the slightest stomping footstep too close to the record player would damage it, listening to a song you could barely make out because the grooves were worn too thin and someone had let the vinyl get dusty--real and raw. Ha! To speak a word and have Nat crooning in your ear as lifelike as if he were standing behind you... 

She decided to allow the girl to have her fantasy. Who did it hurt?

Lydia curled up like a cat on the warm rug in front of the fire and opened her laptop. "The cook said every room in the castle has two security cameras."

"Every public room," Eleanor corrected.

"Right," Lydia agreed. "And it is a distinct possibility that whoever monitors them can hear what happens as well as see it."

"So finding out who monitors the video feed goes to the top of our list of questions," Eleanor said, carefully avoiding commenting on the third camera they'd noted in the kitchen.

Lydia agreed. "I'd also like to know why the cameras weren't mentioned and ask to see the footage."

Eleanor reached the end of the row and flipped the blanket over to head back the other way. "What do you think about the cook's map?"

The corners of Lydia's mouth twitched. She peeked over her computer screen. "He's... what? Seventy years old? And a day-drinker to boot? Needing written directions to the bathroom isn't unbelievable."

Behind them, the library door swung open on a squeaky hinge. A tiny wisp of a girl in a green dress and white apron entered, balancing a silver tray with impressive skill. "Pardon the interruption." She set the tray on one of the tables and clasped her hands in front of her. "Mrs. Stojanovski thought you might enjoy a cup of tea."

Eleanor lay her knitting in her lap. "How thoughtful. That sounds lovely. Lydia, dear?"

"Sure. Thanks."

Eleanor accepted the cup and saucer and asked the girl's name.

"I'm Katrina, ma'am."

"It's very nice to meet you. You must be one of the folks who live in the village and work here at Novak Manor."

Katrina poked at the fire and added a few logs. "Yes, ma'am. There aren't a lot of options in the village. You can work in the mines or you can work at the restaurants and businesses that serve the miners. No offense to them. They're my friends and neighbors but," she stood and gestured at the lovely room. "Maybe it sounds silly, but I just love being surrounded by beautiful things. The books and art here, the woodwork and the carved stone, even the people with their fine manners and wonderful clothes make me feel happy." She blushed. Her dusky lashes fluttered against her cheeks. "That probably sounds silly."

"Not at all, dear. I know exactly what you mean."

The maid peeked up at her. "You do?"

"I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio," Eleanor told her.

"Oh."

"Have you heard of it?"

"No," she confessed.

Eleanor found herself drawn to this shy, charming child. "It's a city that's come a long way, but when I lived there it was filthy. So filthy, in fact, that the waste in the local river once caught fire. I knew from a very young age that, while I loved the people in my neighborhood, I would not stay there among them. My roots were in Cleveland, but my branches longed to reach for the sky."

Katrina's amber eyes twinkled. Her chest rose and fell in quick breaths. "Yes! That's it, exactly."

Eleanor folded her hands together over her knitting and leaned forward. "I wish the stars for you."

"Thank you," Katrina said and gave a slight curtsy. She headed for the door.

"Oh, Katrina," Eleanor called after her.

"Yes, ma'am?"

"You said Mrs. Stojanovski is back from her errand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Eleanor picked up her knitting and set to work once more. "Is she very busy today? Do you think we might arrange to have a word with her?"

She wrung her hands together. "I'm not sure, ma'am. I don't think she's feeling well."

"Oh, dear! Nothing serious, I hope," Eleanor said.

"No, ma'am. I don't think so. It's just that, well, Mrs. Stojanovski has kind of a... well... sort of a... I guess you could say it's a bit of a chronic... uhm... stomach issue. Nothing life-threatening or anything, but I suppose it causes her a bit of discomfort some days."

"Ah, well. That's unfortunate. If you speak to her again today, please pass along my well-wishes."

"Yes, ma'am. I will. Thank you." Another curtsy, a squeak of the hinge, and the girl was gone.

Eleanor lifted a brow in Lydia's direction. "Any new thoughts after all that?"

"I think that girl needs to put her feet on the ground, or she's going to be married to the first motorcycle-driving boy from the city who passes through the village pub on her day off."

"Why, Lydia! I'm surprised at you."

"Just saying," Lydia mumbled with her eyes focused on the computer screen.

"Hmm," said Eleanor. 

Lydia was lost in another world--a cyber world where Eleanor chose not to travel more often than absolutely necessary. When she was born, a good many people were still using the kind of transportation that required a bucket of oats at the start of every day. Radios were the hot new gadget for young folks to fawn over. No one dreamed of such a thing as a computer, let alone a computer that fit in your handbag. Well, maybe someone did, but certainly not Eleanor. She allowed her mind to wander, knowing well from past experience that interesting new thoughts often nested alongside unexplored trails.

"Nana?" Lydia snapped her computer shut, jolting Eleanor from her reverie.

"Yes, dear?"

"Katrina mentioned the village. We came straight here from the airport. I'd really like to see the town. Do you think we could go there? Soon?"

Eleanor paused in her knitting and held eye contact with the girl as if that might establish some sort of psychic link between them. The only message she got was that Lydia had found something she wanted to discuss in a place where no one else would hear them. No telepathy required to understand that, just basic observation skills. "We still haven't spoken with the maintenance supervisor."

Lydia's chewed on her thumbnail. Maybe we could speak with her sooner rather than later. Then we could have dinner in town."