Tess sat in her lab at Roedeer Lodge, her magnifier propped at the perfect angle. She focused on losing herself in the swirls of the metal object on her desk, thinking of Ackerbee’s all the while. She’d been gone for almost three weeks now, and the object felt like her last link to home. She’d been neglecting her study of it since she’d taken The Secret Garden from Mr. Cleat’s library. Somehow, despite not liking the story very much, Tess could hardly leave the book out of her hand.

She pulled off her glasses, rubbed hard at her eyes and then opened them wide. The metal object sat on the desk and Tess couldn’t help but feel it was displeased with her. I’m not here to read books about spoiled rich girls, she told herself. I’m here to find out what this is. Don’t forget. Mr. Cleat was supposed to have an early meeting at his office this morning and Tess knew this was her chance to get some work done without any unwelcome interruptions.

“All right. Come on then,” she whispered to the object, placing it in the hollow of her palm. It sat there, dark brown against her light brown skin, as though it had been made for it, warming to her touch like something alive. Whatever this is, it came with me, Tess told herself. Which means—if Miss Ackerbee’s not completely off her rocker—that it must have come from another world too. She shuddered, sudden fear gripping her—and not just fear of Mr. Cleat and what he might want by bringing her here, but fear of herself, of the thing she held in her hand. I’ve been really stupid, she thought, trembling a little. I should have run with Rebecca while I had the chance.

“Too late for that now,” she whispered to herself—and to Violet, who crawled onto the back of her free hand, gazing up at her with quiet concern. Tess closed her eyes, remembering her last day at home and what she’d learned about herself. If I could pop in and out of this world when I was little, I wonder if I can still do it. She squeezed her eyes more tightly shut, as if that would help her to think. Perhaps all I have to do is remember how.

Several minutes passed. The only result of Tess’s efforts was a painful cramp in her face. Then a knock sounded on the door, sudden enough to make her jump; instinctively, she shoved the object into her pocket.

“Are you in?” said Mr. Cleat, opening the door and sticking his head into the room without being asked to. “I wondered if you’d had breakfast,” he continued.

Tess swallowed, closing her experiments notebook; her throat was suddenly dry. Not again! Can’t you leave me in peace, just once?

“I—yes, thanks,” she replied a little croakily. “I had some porridge earlier.”

“Piffle,” said Mr. Cleat, waving a hand. “Come on. I’ve got Cook to make us some syrup cakes. For a treat. You need to try one.”

“I should really—”

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Mr. Cleat continued before Tess could finish. “These cakes are just too tasty.” He gave her a pleading look. “Don’t make me eat them all myself.”

Tess did her best to smile. “All right,” she said, slipping down from her stool. On the pretext of taking off her lab coat, she shoved her notebook into her cardigan pocket, where it sat beside the metal object, as concealed as it could be. She tried to look as casual as possible, then worried that made her look guilty instead.

She draped the lab coat over the back of her chair and Mr. Cleat turned his nose up at it while holding the door open for her. “That reminds me, I really must get you a new lab coat. A proper white one. One that’s clean and not threadbare.” He paused. “This reminds me of that scruffy place you came from,” he finished in a careless tone.

Tess felt her throat tighten and her teeth clench for a moment. “Thanks, but I like this one,” she replied, ducking out under his arm. “And Ackerbee’s is not scruffy,” she added in an undertone, though part of her knew that wasn’t true.

“If you say so,” Mr. Cleat replied.

They left the room and Tess locked it behind them, keeping one eye on Mr. Cleat. He gave her a bright smile when she turned to him and Tess returned it before it had occurred to her not to. She pocketed her key and stood there feeling awkward.

“Now, ready for the off?” he asked, extending his arm politely. Tess took it gingerly. “I hope you’ve brought your appetite.”

“Can I ask you something?” said Tess as they walked.

“You may. But only if it’s not something spelling-related,” he told her. “I’m terrible with that sort of nonsense.”

“No, nothing like that,” Tess said, looking away. “I’m just wondering—well, I’m wondering whether you’ve heard from Miss Ackerbee yet?”

Mr. Cleat frowned, looking concerned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just she hasn’t written.” She looked back at him. “She said she would.”

“Oh yes. Of course. No, my dear. Not yet,” Mr. Cleat said. “I expect she will, though. Never fear. Parents—or the next-best thing—never forget their children. Isn’t that right?”

“I suppose so,” Tess said, a ball of surprised disappointment rolling down into her tummy. “I wouldn’t really know.”

Mr. Cleat gave her an odd look, a mix of apologetic and something else, something not so nice. “I forgot, Tess. Forgive me. I’ve long been without my parents too, but somehow I don’t always remember that younger people carry the same burden.”

Tess glanced at him. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know. About your family.”

“Ancient history now,” Mr. Cleat said with a jaunty-seeming shrug, though there was a brittleness in his tone that Tess couldn’t miss. “Think no more of it.”

“I just wish I knew something about them,” Tess said. “My parents, I mean. When they were born, where they got married, if they did. It doesn’t make sense. If there are records of me, why not of them?”

“You’re just registered as ‘foundling,’ my dear,” Mr. Cleat said, looking at her sympathetically. “Parents unknown. Your good Miss Ackerbee simply had your name.”

“But you told me you had my birth certificate,” said Tess, frowning. “How can you have one of those if my parents didn’t register me?”

“It’s a mystery all right,” Mr. Cleat replied lightly. “I suppose things work differently when you’re a lady like Miss Ackerbee, well known for taking in strays. Rules get bent, so on and so forth.” His tone seemed to suggest he’d said all he was going to say on the subject for now and Tess squashed back her frustration as he continued. “Now it’s my turn to ask a question. Aren’t you happy here, Tess?”

“I—um. Well, it’s very nice,” Tess said, her voice small.

“That’s good,” Mr. Cleat replied. “Is everyone being kind to you? Mrs. Thistleton? Her staff?”

Tess glanced at him, but his eyes seemed interested, even kind. “Yes,” she answered, not quite truthfully. Mrs. Thistleton, Tess had often thought, was a very well named woman. Everything about her was thistly, even her hair.

“I’m pleased,” he said with a sigh. “I wish I could say the same. Mrs. Thistleton doesn’t seem to like me at all.”

“What do you mean?” Tess asked. From what she had seen, the opposite seemed to be true.

“Oh, you know—I’m always late for this, or late for that, or not eating a proper dinner and filling up on pudding, or working too hard, or not working enough. I simply feel like I can’t win.” He gave another heavy sigh.

Before she knew it, Tess found herself grinning. “Well, you do eat a lot of pudding,” she said, just as they reached the dining room.

“There’s no such thing as too much pudding,” he declared, pushing open the door. “Now, speaking of which. Are you ready to tuck in?”

Tess followed him into the room, feeling awkward. “Can I ask one more thing?”

“Hm?” Mr. Cleat turned, his eyebrows raised.

“When can I go home? I mean, to Ackerbee’s. For a visit,” she asked. His mouth fell open and he frowned as she continued. “You promised I could. You said I could go whenever I wanted.”

“Ah.” He scratched at his chin and Tess got a look at his ring again. The letters engraved on it, she now saw, were I and H, intertwined; she wondered, briefly, what they stood for. “I did, didn’t I?”

“I just miss my friends,” Tess said, realizing as she said it how true it was.

Mr. Cleat’s frown smoothed out. “Friends come and go, Tess. I think you need to draw a line underneath that part of your life. Your future lies elsewhere now.”

Tess stared at him. “What? But—”

“You’ve been through a lot lately, don’t forget,” he interjected, and something in his tone made Tess’s skin prickle. He walked to the head of the table, pulled out his chair and settled himself into it. “You’ve had a lot of upheaval, all at once. It would be best to avoid even more of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

Tess pulled out her own chair. The lightheartedness of a few moments before had gone, like a candle snuffed out, and she began to wonder whether it had ever existed at all. Everything keeps shifting, she thought. I wish things would just be, without changing—but nothing seems real here.

“Perhaps we can think about it in a month or two,” said Mr. Cleat as Tess sat down. “Let’s get you settled in first and then we can see. It may be that Miss Ackerbee is too busy to write and she wouldn’t welcome a visit. Perhaps she’s trying to help you, Tess, by giving you the freedom to move on. I’ll bet that’s what it is.”

Tess simply stared at the empty plate in front of her.

Mr. Cleat forked a syrup cake onto her dish. “Let’s hear no more about it for now,” he said, licking some treacly ooze from his thumb. “Get stuck in. They’re better when they’re warm.”

Tess poked at her cake while Mr. Cleat polished his off and helped himself to a second, and she wondered if he was right: her mind had felt out of focus since she’d arrived at Roedeer Lodge, and it was spinning now. She was in a strange new place. Perhaps it was only to be expected that she’d be confused and unsettled—and anyway, going back to Ackerbee’s wouldn’t change the fact that she’d have to return here in the end.

“May I leave the table?” Tess asked after a few minutes.

“You have free run of the house, Tess,” Mr. Cleat replied, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He gave her a smile that was warm but short-lived. “You don’t need permission.”

She pushed back her chair. “Thanks,” she muttered. “For the cake.” Mr. Cleat nodded, spearing the last cake with his fork. He waved her goodbye with it.

Tess left the room and wandered toward the black-and-white tiles of the front lobby. It felt like a hundred years had passed since she’d first seen them. She checked her pocket for the note with the phone number of Ackerbee’s on it, and that was enough to bolster her spirits. I will get back, she told herself. I will. Despite what he says, I know where my home is. I know what’s real.

Just then the sudden clang-clang of the front doorbell shattered the silence of the house. Tess yanked her hand out of her pocket and ran.