felt too heavy.
She hummed because silence in a child’s room could become a second wall.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the sleeve in Oliver’s fist loosened.
Mara kept dusting.
His chin lifted.
She softened the tune until it was barely louder than breath.
A small sound came from beneath the bench.
Not a word. Not even a sob. More like a note caught in his throat.
Mara stopped.
Oliver was staring at her mouth.
His lips parted. His whole body seemed to lean toward the melody while fear held him back by the shoulders. For one impossible second, Mara thought he might speak.
Then his face changed.
The softness vanished. Terror flooded in.
He raised one shaking hand and pointed over Mara’s shoulder.
Mara turned.
At first she saw only the portrait of Evelyn Hawthorne hanging on the wall beside the bed. Blue dress. Garden. Hand on Oliver’s shoulder.
Then she saw the wallpaper beneath it.
One seam had lifted near the baseboard. A narrow crack ran upward, almost hidden by the pattern of vines and pale flowers.
From inside the wall came a sound.
Faint.
Broken.
A woman’s voice, buried under static, singing the same lullaby.
Mara’s skin went cold.
The voice lasted only three notes before it vanished.
Oliver’s hand stayed raised.
His eyes filled with a plea so sharp it hurt to look at him.
Mara took one careful step toward the portrait.
Oliver made a tiny noise and shook his head.
“Not the picture?” she whispered.
He pointed lower.
At the seam.
Mara knelt. The wallpaper had been loosened and pressed back into place many times. She slid her fingernail beneath the edge, peeling it up just enough to see darkness behind the panel.
Something metallic glinted inside.
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
Oliver scrambled backward, slamming his shoulder against the wall beneath the window bench. Both hands flew to his mouth.
Mara stood quickly and smoothed the wallpaper with her palm.
Mrs. Bell appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
Her voice was calm, but her eyes had gone straight to Mara’s hand.
“Dust near the baseboard,” Mara said.
Mrs. Bell stepped into the room. The air changed with her, becoming tight and formal.
“That wall is not to be disturbed.”
“I didn’t realize walls had rules.”
The words escaped before Mara could weigh them.
Mrs. Bell looked at her as if she had dropped a glass on purpose.
“In this house, rules keep people safe.”
Mara felt Oliver’s fear from across the room.
“Safe from what?” she asked.
Mrs. Bell’s gaze flicked to the window bench. “From themselves. From grief. From servants who mistake employment for importance.”
The insult landed. Mara let it.
Mrs. Bell turned to Oliver. “Your father will visit before dinner. You will be presentable.”
Oliver shut his eyes.
When she left, the room seemed to exhale, but only halfway.
Mara waited until the footsteps faded down the corridor. Then she crouched by the window bench, leaving enough space between herself and Oliver.
“You don’t want your father to come,” she said.
Oliver looked at the floor.
“Did your mother sing that song?”
A pause.
Then one nod.
Mara’s throat tightened. “My grandmother sang it too.”
Oliver’s eyes lifted.
For the first time, he looked less afraid of her
