Chapter 47
Conrad
Everyone was leaving New Harbor for the long weekend.
Technically campus didn’t close for another day, but most classes had wrapped up early—a Winchester tradition despite not every student recognizing the holiday.
The streets were crowded, so I decided to walk to the mausoleum.
Wasn’t like I had anything better to do.
Once here, I got right to work. My laptop was opened to the shared document housing Malena’s article. I’d been adding in all the parts she kept out of the narrative. I couldn’t undo every way she’d pushed me to change, so I was going to see this through.
“It’s your shift to check on me?” I called out after hearing some shuffling. “I can hear you, Isha.”
“I’m just popping in.” Isha leaned against the doorframe. “James and Lucy left for the city an hour ago. Felix flew back to Jalisco this morning.”
“Uh-huh…” I flipped through the journal I’d pulled off the shelf and scribbled more notes into the makeshift family tree that we’d made weeks ago. Malena and I had already gone through all the Amherst and Lancaster journals. That left me six Carrington journals to find something.
“And the Rutherfords will expect you on the tarmac by tomorrow evening to head out to the country house.”
“I’ll be there.” I didn’t look up.
“And we haven’t really seen much of you the past couple of days.”
She said something else, but I focused on the journal.
“Right,” I answered.
Dating back to the late eighteen-hundreds, the Carringtons were a wealthy family who’d made most of their fortune in shipping.
Some of the journals from the 30s and 40s detailed one of the members, Charles Carrington, having a home known for its art, furniture, and troves of jewelry—all imported from Europe.
Translation: they hustled priceless goods to the States under the guise of preservation during the war. The Carringtons had homes in London as well as a couple here in New Harbor, which had been a big port city at the time.
“Conrad.” She tapped my forehead with a mildly frustrated huff.
“Read through this, tell me if you find something that might be relevant to Scroll & Ivy—any mentions of paintings or Winchester.” I took the last journal, the one that came directly after Charles Carrington’s, and handed it to Isha.
If she wasn’t going to leave, she could at least help.
She looked up at me incredulously. “You told me to do something productive, remember?”
She set the journal on her lap and began reading through it.
“I need the names of any Carrington you find,” I added.
Malena was probably right. Maybe there was a student here with ties to the family.
It would explain how they knew the catacombs existed, and since the Carringtons were no longer a prominent name in today’s society, I surmised they’d lost their wealth and status, meaning they’d lost their admission to the club.
“So… we’re just ignoring everything that happened then?” Isha asked, her focus moving line by line down the journal.
“What would you have me do?” I asked curtly, trying to keep my voice steady so Isha would move past it.
“All I know is that if I were in her shoes…” Isha looked up. “I’d have done the exact same thing. And I’d venture a guess that you and James would have been my accomplices.”
“She doesn’t want an accomplice.” I stopped on a page and put a pen in the spine to mark my place. “So can you please drop it?”
Her shoulders fell a bit and she turned her attention back to the journal, quiet once more as she read.
“Ummm…” Ishani turned to me twenty minutes later. “This is the final Carrington journal, right?”
“Yeah…” I checked the spine—it was listed as 1948 and the member was Adrian Carrington. Charles’s son.
“Well.” Isha ran her finger along the minuscule font. “The year Adrian Carrington graduated, he attended his sister’s wedding to Victor Packham.”
Isha turned the book to me, where I confirmed her timeline. It stated that he left for London early in the winter semester to attend. “You think there’s any relation?”
“Maybe.” She tapped along the top of the page. “He’s the last Carrington to enroll in Scroll & Ivy,” Isha added, standing up. “You know who you should talk to about this?”
Before I could process any of it, a heavy thud from the front door echoed through the room, followed by the metallic clank of the brass handles against the library’s doors.
Malena stood in the doorway, her hair windblown like she’d run here and her eyes pulling my attention like a rip cord.
“Hi,” she squeaked. A cautious half smile burst open at either side. That smile, the one I’d stolen at first but had slowly become mine.
She blinked a couple of times, her lips straightening. The warm swell in my chest got rained out under the memories of the last few days, and everything I wanted to say was tangled up.
“I didn’t know where to go or where you’d be…” Mal took a step forward then stopped. “It’s Packham. She was a student here, and she has a house in New Harbor,” she blurted between breaths she tried desperately to catch. “It’s the Carrington property.”
“Well.” Ishani clapped her hands together, snapping our attention. “Isn’t that a serendipitous revelation.”
Malena’s brows scrunched as she looked between us.
“She might be related to the Carringtons,” I explained. It was all falling into place, days after everything else had fallen apart. “The Packham family comes up in the last Carrington journal.”
“You read the last set of journals?” She paused for a moment. Then, like she was scared to hear the answer, she kept going. “So, Packham would have known about the catacombs, where they lead, Scroll & Ivy, the paintings that were in circulation and the ones on the walls—”
“She’d know exactly what to make,” I cut in, unable to help myself because we’d just solved it.
“And she never got her key. But she may have one from her grandfather.” Malena’s voice rose and her words braided together—the way they always did when she was overcome with excitement. “It’s not a student, it’s President Packham.”
Relief and anguish filled me in equal measure. Seeing her now, knowing it was over, was so much worse than I imagined.
But she was here.
I braced myself and nodded, pushing past the uncertainty. “So, what now?”
“I have an idea.” Isha grinned like a maniac between us.