Chapter 3 - THE BLACKOUT AT ALDERWYNEmergency power returned to the east wing after forty-three seconds.
That was enough time for someone familiar with Alderwyn Estate to disappear.
Marcus stationed two guards outside the blue sitting room and took Julian upstairs. Nora insisted on going with them. Dr. Reed objected until she said the stolen photograph was the only childhood image she possessed.
“I will not sit here while someone destroys it,” she said.
Julian recognized the tone.
Helena had used it whenever powerful men told her to wait quietly.
They climbed the servants’ staircase instead of the marble one. The narrow passage smelled of dust and old cedar. Halfway up, Nora stopped beneath a brass wall sconce.
“There used to be a door here.”
Marcus examined the paneling.
“How would you know?”
“Helena brought me through it.”
Julian looked at her.
“The night she died?”
Nora nodded.
She remembered fragments.
Helena’s hand gripping hers.
The emerald in the locket cold against her chest.
Her mother whispering behind them, telling Helena that a car had entered through the west gate without being logged.
And a man’s voice from somewhere beyond the wall.
You should have signed when we asked.
Nora pressed her palm against the panel. A section moved inward.
Marcus found a concealed latch and pulled.
A thin door opened onto a dark corridor running inside the walls.
Julian had lived at Alderwyn for most of his life. He had never known it existed.
“Where does it lead?”
“Your mother’s bedroom,” Nora said. “And the old conservatory.”
The conservatory was where Helena’s body had been found.
Marcus ordered one guard to remain at the entrance. The three of them moved through the passage using phone lights. Dust covered the floor except for a trail of fresh heel prints.
Camille’s shoes had narrow diamond-shaped heels.
The prints matched.
“She lied,” Julian said.
Nora did not answer.
The passage ended behind a wardrobe in Helena’s bedroom. The room smelled faintly of perfume, although no one had used it in eighteen years.
Drawers stood open.
Books had been pulled from shelves.
The mattress had been cut along one seam.
Someone had searched violently, but selectively.
Marcus photographed everything.
On the carpet near the desk lay one silver sequin.
Camille’s gown was covered in them.
Julian picked it up with a handkerchief.
“She came here before confronting Nora.”
“She may not have been alone,” Marcus said.
The surveillance terminal beside the wardrobe showed a failed login. The username belonged to a security administrator who had retired twelve years earlier.
Marcus stared at the screen.
“Peter Lang.”
Julian knew the name. Lang had served as Malcolm’s personal security chief after Helena’s death.
“He lives in Florida.”
“He died six months ago,” Marcus said. “His credentials should have been deleted.”
Nora approached Helena’s writing desk.
One drawer remained closed.
She remembered Helena kneeling there on the final night, pressing something beneath its edge.
“There was a blue ribbon,” Nora murmured.
“What?”
She ran her fingers under the drawer and found a small fabric loop. When she pulled it, the bottom panel lifted.
The compartment beneath was empty except for a shallow rectangle in the dust.
Something the size of a diary had been removed recently.
Julian looked at the destroyed room.
“Camille found the compartment.”
Nora pointed at the dust.
“No. She found it after someone else removed what was inside.”
A torn corner of green leather remained caught beneath the hinge.
Evelyn Bennett had always carried a green notebook.
Marcus’s radio returned to life.
“Mr. Vale,” a guard said. “State police have arrived. There’s also a problem with Senator Prescott.”
“What kind of problem?”
“He is demanding the gates be opened. He says several guests have medical conditions.”
“The doctor can assess them.”
“He has called the governor.”
Julian took the radio.
“Tell Victor the gates stay closed until police assume control.”
A different voice answered from behind him.
“That would be a serious mistake.”
Malcolm Hawthorne stood in the open wardrobe.
He wore a midnight-blue tuxedo and carried his champagne glass as though secret corridors were ordinary parts of an engagement party.
“Uncle,” Julian said. “How did you know about this passage?”
Malcolm smiled.
“I grew up here.”
His eyes moved toward Nora.
“So did your mother, briefly.”
Nora’s skin turned cold.
“You remember me.”
“Of course. You were Evelyn’s little shadow.”
Julian stepped between them.
“Why did you never tell me Nora was present the night Helena died?”
Malcolm’s smile weakened.
“Because traumatized children invent memories.”
“She has my mother’s locket.”
“Which Evelyn stole.”
Nora opened her hand, revealing the memory card.
Malcolm looked at it for less than a second.
That was enough.
He knew exactly what it was.
Then a police officer called from the bedroom entrance.
“Mr. Hawthorne, no one touches anything else.”
Malcolm placed his glass on a shelf.
“Excellent advice.”
As he withdrew his hand, Nora noticed a faint green stain on his thumb.
The same shade as the torn leather caught beneath Helena’s drawer.
Malcolm had not come through the passage to find them.
The officer ordered everyone out while evidence technicians entered. Malcolm objected that the room contained private family property. Julian surprised himself by refusing to argue as an owner.
“It may contain evidence in my mother’s death,” he said. “The police decide what is touched.”
From the gallery, Nora could see guests clustered beneath the chandeliers, more interested in scandal than the injured worker at its center.
Julian asked why she had not approached him directly.
“Would you have believed an email from a maid claiming your dead mother gave her a missing necklace?”
He wanted to say yes.
His silence answered honestly.
Nora nodded.
“That is why I needed something your family could not dismiss as a story.”
May you like
Julian looked toward Helena’s open room. Wealth had not given him every answer. It had surrounded him with people paid to manage what he was allowed to see.
He had come through it carrying Evelyn’s missing notebook.
