Chapter 6: Packing Bags in the Nursery
The heavy oak door of the nursery clicked shut behind Clara, sealing us inside a fortress built of whispers and polished mahogany. Outside the tall arched windows, the golden light of the late afternoon was bleeding rapidly into bruised shades of violet and gray. Jura sat cross-legged on the floral rug, clutching a worn cloth rabbit to her chest, her dark curly hair catching the amber glow of the bedside lamp. Her pink ruffled dress was slightly rumpled from our frantic dash up the grand marble staircase, but her eyes were remarkably dry. She understood danger better than a child her age ever should.
"He locked the courtyard gate," Clara said, her voice trembling slightly as she hurried across the room to latch the heavy wooden shutters. Her black maid dress swished against the floorboards, the white lace apron stark against the darkening room. "I saw him from the pantry window. Victor sent the stablehand away on an errand and threw the heavy iron bolt himself. Nobody is leaving this estate tonight."
I stopped folding a woolen sweater, my hands hovering over the open leather trunk resting at the foot of the brass bed. "Did he see you?"
"No, Mr. Julian. But he knows we're restless. He's battening down the hatches. He thinks we're trapped." Clara turned, her face tight with a mixture of terror and fierce loyalty. "The front gates are impassable without his key, and the telegraph wire in the study was snipped an hour ago. I checked."
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. Victor wasn't just managing accounts anymore; he was staging a quiet siege. He intended to isolate us completely, letting fear and time wear down our resistance until we had no choice but to surrender our inheritance to his silent coup.
"We aren't completely trapped," I said, keeping my voice low and steady for Jura's sake. I knelt down beside my niece, brushing a stray dark curl from her forehead. "Do you remember the stories my grandfather used to tell us about the old servants' quarters, Jura? The ones beneath the floorboards?"
Jura nodded slowly, her pink hair bows bobbing. "The ones with the stone stairs where the mice live."
"Exactly," I said, looking up at Clara. "The historical blueprints in the sub-basement show a secondary service tunnel leading past the old stables out to the north perimeter road. It hasn't been used in forty years, but the stone is dry."
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Clara crossed her arms, her gaze sharp. "If Victor has the estate locked down above ground, he might not be watching the foundations. But we need a light, Mr. Julian. And we need to move before full night settles."
"Get the heavy lantern from the pantry," I instructed, standing up and snapping the trunk shut. "We're leaving this place before midnight."
