Chapter 3 - FIRE IN THE WEST WING
Elena threw herself against the door.
It did not move.
Smoke thickened along the ceiling as flames climbed the old wallpaper in the corridor. Whoever had locked her inside expected the fire to erase the nursery and everything hidden beneath its floor.
She ran to the window.
Three stories below, gardeners arranged white roses along the courtyard fountain. Music from the orchestra rehearsal drifted through the glass.
Elena struck the window with the silver hairbrush.
It cracked but did not break.
Heat spread across the room.
She wrapped a blanket around her hand and hit the glass again.
The window shattered.
“Fire!” she screamed.
The orchestra continued playing.
A section of burning wallpaper fell across the doorway.
Elena looked down at the courtyard. The drop would break both legs, perhaps worse.
Then the wardrobe door opened behind her.
Julian emerged through a narrow passage.
“Move!”
He pulled her into the wardrobe and slammed the hidden panel shut.
They entered a dark service tunnel between the walls.
Smoke followed them.
“How did you know?” Elena asked as they hurried downward.
“I saw the alarm disabled.”
“Who locked the door?”
“My mother’s security chief was leaving the west staircase.”
The tunnel ended behind a bookcase in an abandoned sitting room. Julian pushed it open, and they stumbled into clean air.
Elena coughed until her lungs burned.
Julian grabbed the tin box.
“Is everything still inside?”
She snatched it back.
“Yes.”
The mansion alarm finally sounded.
Staff members shouted below. Guests arriving early were guided toward the gardens.
Isabella appeared in the doorway.
She wore a dark red velvet gown and diamond earrings. Her gaze moved from Julian to Elena, then to the tin box.
“My God,” she said calmly. “You could have been killed.”
Elena stared at her.
“The door was locked.”
“Old doors swell in the summer heat.”
“The alarm was disabled.”
Isabella turned toward Julian.
“Were you in the west wing?”
“I smelled smoke.”
“You were told not to enter that section.”
“A woman was trapped.”
“A servant,” Isabella corrected.
Julian’s eyes hardened.
“A human being.”
For a moment, Isabella looked genuinely wounded.
Then she smiled.
“Of course.”
Security Chief Marcus Vale arrived behind her. He was a broad-shouldered former military officer who had watched Elena since the day she entered the mansion.
“The fire is contained,” Marcus reported. “Electrical fault.”
“It started in a corridor with no electricity,” Elena said.
Marcus ignored her.
Isabella’s gaze remained on the tin box.
“What did you save?”
“Cleaning supplies.”
“Show me.”
“No.”
The word surprised everyone.
Isabella stepped into the room.
“You work for me.”
Elena’s fear settled into something colder.
“I work for Lady Celeste.”
“My mother is not mentally capable of employing anyone.”
“Perhaps she would be if you stopped drugging her.”
Julian turned sharply toward Elena.
Marcus moved forward.
Isabella raised one hand, stopping him.
“Where did you hear such an ugly accusation?”
“From the person administering the medication.”
Isabella’s eyes flickered.
Nurse Vivian was in danger.
Elena realized it instantly.
She pushed past Isabella and ran toward the east wing.
Marcus caught her at the staircase.
Julian seized his arm.
“Let her go.”
Marcus shoved him into the wall.
Isabella did not intervene.
Elena kicked Marcus in the shin, twisted free and rushed upstairs.
Celeste’s room stood open.
The wheelchair was empty.
Medicine bottles had been knocked from the bedside table. A lamp lay shattered on the carpet.
Vivian was gone.
On the mirror, someone had written a message in red lipstick.
THE GALA ENDS AT MIDNIGHT.
SO DOES CELESTE’S STORY.
Elena heard Isabella enter behind her.
“What have you done with her?” Elena demanded.
Isabella looked at the message.
“How theatrical.”
“Where is your mother?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing.”
“You expect anyone to believe I moved her?”
“A desperate maid with a stolen family keepsake and an obsession with a confused old woman?”
Isabella turned toward the staff gathering in the corridor.
“It is more believable than you think.”
Marcus reached for Elena.
Julian stepped between them.
“No one touches her until we review the security footage.”
Isabella sighed.
“The cameras failed during the fire.”
“Convenient.”
“Careful, Julian.”
“No. I’ve been careful for eighteen months. Where is Grandmother?”
Isabella’s expression chilled.
“You should prepare to receive our guests.”
She walked away.
Marcus followed.
Elena noticed a folded piece of paper beneath the overturned wheelchair cushion.
She picked it up.
May you like
The note contained three words in Vivian’s handwriting.
Below the chapel.
