Chapter 4 - The Hallway Secret
The corridor of the east wing was quiet at midnight, illuminated only by the pale moonlight cutting through the tall arched windows and casting long, barred shadows across the runner. I carried a dusting cloth I didn't need, my soft-soled black shoes moving without a sound over the carpeted floor. Ronan had retired to his private quarters on the western wing hours ago, but the memory of his warning lingered in the air like ozone after a lightning strike.
I paused outside the carved double doors of the Elderly Mistress's private sitting room. The door was ajar by an inch, a thin sliver of warm amber light spilling out onto the dark floorboards. My heart gave a nervous flutter. I knew the risks—Ronan had made it abundantly clear that any unauthorized movement would bring down his full wrath. Yet the look in the Mistress's eyes earlier, just before Ronan appeared, had not been one of fear toward me; it had been a desperate plea for deliverance from something hidden within the house.
Pushing the door open with agonizing slowness, I slipped inside.
The room was warm, smelling faintly of lavender and old paper. The Elderly Mistress was seated in her high-backed armchair, wrapped in a dark cashmere shawl over her black lace evening gown. Her pearl earrings caught the lamplight as she turned her head sharply toward the sound of my entrance. Her face softened instantly, the anxious micro-expressions easing into lines of profound relief.
Before she could raise her hands, I crossed the room swiftly and dropped to my knees beside her chair, exactly as I had done earlier in the hallway. I took her frail, wrinkled hands in mine, feeling the coldness of her skin.
"I'm here," I whispered, keeping my voice down to the barest rustle of sound. "He's in the west wing. We have a few minutes."
Her fingers moved with surprising speed, tapping against my palms, spelling out words in the tactile sign language we had used during the summers of my youth, before my family was driven from the valley. *He watches everyone,* her fingers spelled out, trembling slightly. *They are watching him too. The new staff... they aren't what they seem.*
"Who?" I signed back, my fingers flying over hers with practiced fluency. "Who else is in the house?"
May you like
Her grip tightened on my fingers, her knuckles whitening against the dark lace of her gown. *The accountant. He brings papers every night. He wants the signature on the trust.*
A sudden, sharp click of a door latch echoed from the far end of the suite.
