Tamara ruminated on the question. She glanced longingly at her manuscript and then out the window at the golden afternoon sunlight, which would soon grow dim. Once William had returned home, dinner would be imminent. If she left the room now she knew that she would be abandoning her writing for the day.

At length she sighed and rose from her chair again. "No, Farris. I'll speak with him. Where have you left him?"

"In the drawing room, Miss."

Farris stepped aside so that Tamara could exit her grandfather's chambers. Sir Ludlow was dead, but no matter how much time passed she would always think of the rooms as his. The shadows were deeper in the corridor but Tamara paid them no attention at all. Shadows and light were constant companions. Without the darkness one would be unable to recognize, to appreciate, the purity of the light.