Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dawn arrived reluctantly, a thin wash of silver filtering through the high chapel glass. The storm had quieted, though the wind still pressed at the walls in low, restless sighs.
Eliza had not slept.
Thomas had barely sat down.
The boy dozed beneath the heavy cloak Thomas had draped over him, small fingers curled into its wool as though anchoring himself to something solid. Each breath came easier now. Slower.
Eliza stood beside the cold stone altar, hands clasped more tightly than she realized, watching Thomas.
He was leaning against the wall near the crypt door, arms folded loosely, but fatigue marked him clearly. Damp curls clung to his temple. His shoulders were set in that particular way she had learned to recognize as watchfulness layered over exhaustion. He had not allowed himself to rest. Not yet.
And he was watching her as carefully as he watched the shadows.
She felt the attention like a steady presence at her back. Not intrusive. Not demanding. Simply there.
“Thomas,” she whispered.
He lifted his gaze at once. “Is he waking?”
She glanced toward the boy, reassured by the slow rise and fall of his chest. “No. I only…” she hesitated, then exhaled, “…needed to say something.”
His expression softened, as though he understood the pause as much as the words. “Then say it.”
She stepped closer, the chill of the chapel floor biting through her slippers. The cold had settled into her bones hours ago, but it was not what troubled her now.
“When I found him,” she said slowly, choosing honesty over composure, “I was afraid. Not only for him. For you. For what it meant.” The words cost her something. She let that show. “I didn’t trust anyone else. Not Nathaniel. Not the staff. Not even Clara.”
She lifted her eyes to his. “Only you.”
Saying the words aloud left her strangely unguarded, as though something she had protected for months had finally stepped fully into the light between them.
For a moment, he did not speak. Surprise crossed his face first. Then something deeper took hold, something that steadied rather than unsettled him.
“I won’t fail you,” he said quietly.
Her chest tightened. Not because she feared failure—but because she knew he meant it as a promise, not a reassurance.
“I know,” she said.
A small rustle interrupted them. A groan. Sammy shifted beneath the cloak, turning toward the sound of their voices.
Thomas moved immediately, kneeling beside him. “Easy, lad. You’re safe.”
The boy blinked awake. When his eyes focused on Thomas, relief flooded his face without reservation.
“Mr. Grey!” Sammy sat up so fast he swayed, and Thomas steadied him with both hands. “I didn’t lose it! I promise I didn’t lose it!”
Eliza and Thomas exchanged a quick glance.
Thomas softened his tone. “Lose what, Sammy?”
“The note!” Sammy’s small hands patted at his pockets frantically. “Da said I had to give it to Mr. Hacket at the mill. He would know to give it straight to you. I didn’t drop it—I didn’t—oh!”
His hands froze inside the torn lining of his jacket.
Slowly, reverently, he drew out a crumpled, damp sheet of paper. Still intact.
Thomas released a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
“You kept this with you the whole time?” he asked.
The boy nodded vigorously, tears gathering again. “Da said it was important. And I knew I had to get it to you. I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
Something tender and fierce moved through Thomas. He reached out and clasped the boy’s shoulder with care.
“You didn’t disappoint me,” he said, voice thickened with sincerity. “You did exactly what was needed.”
Eliza stepped closer as Thomas unfolded the note. Her heart beat a fast tattoo. Whatever lay on that page had already reshaped their night. It would shape what came next.
Thomas scanned the message quickly. His jaw set.
“It’s worse than I thought,” he murmured.
Eliza’s breath caught. “What does it say?”
He folded the note with careful precision before answering. “One of the support beams at Thornhaven was weakened deliberately. The roof collapse wasn’t an accident.”
She absorbed that in silence. “You suspected as much.”
“I did,” he admitted. “But this confirms it.” His gaze lifted to hers. “Someone wanted people hurt. Your tenants. Your land.” He paused. “Or you.”
The space between them shifted, protective now, instinctive.
Eliza drew in a slow breath. “What are you thinking?”
There was no hesitation. Only resolve.
“This is connected. Sammy’s disappearance. The attempt to blame me. The sabotage. Ashwood’s sudden arrival. None of it is coincidence.”
She swallowed. “You believe Ashwood…”
Thomas didn’t say the word. He didn’t need to.
“We need to move the boy before Ashwood begins searching.”
Eliza nodded. “Where will we take him?”
Thomas rose slowly and offered a hand to Sammy. “Somewhere safe. Somewhere he will never think to look.”
Sammy took his hand without question.
Eliza stepped closer, her voice barely audible. “And what of us?”
Thomas’s eyes flicked to hers, weary, fierce, and unbearably tender.
“We tell no one,” he said. “Not yet. But you and I—” His voice softened. “We stay aligned. Whatever comes.”
Her breath trembled, but her answer did not. “Yes.”
A soft creak echoed from above. Not a footstep. Not a presence, just the house settling.
Eliza lifted her gaze toward the shadowed ceiling. “Hartleigh agrees.”
Thomas looked at her with something like wonder.
“Eliza,” he said quietly, “I need you to trust me with what comes next.”
“I do,” she whispered. “More than I should.”
A soft smile touched his mouth, restrained, intimate, dangerous in its promise.
“Then let’s begin.”
He tightened his hold on Sammy’s shoulder. With Eliza at his side, he led them toward the hidden passage beneath the chapel, away from Ashwood’s reach, and toward a truth neither of them was ready to speak aloud.