Epilogue
“Much they marvelled, yet some were not pleased.”
Sir Thomas Malory, Le Morte d’Arthur
The sound of the carriage wheels on the gravel drive announced their visitors before Mrs. Roskelly’s knock on the library door. Henri glanced up from the sketches she and Gabriel had been studying in anticipation of their guests’ arrival.
“Signor di Bianchi has arrived, milady,” Mrs. Roskelly announced, her weathered features bright with curiosity. She likely had never encountered Italians before in such a remote part of England. “Along with two gentlemen companions. I have shown them to the morning room.”
Henri exchanged a meaningful glance with Gabriel, who was already rolling up their latest sketches.
They had sent word to Signor di Bianchi several days prior, describing their discovery of the concealed chamber but deliberately omitting the more mystifying details until they could explain them in person.
“Excellent,” Henri replied, smoothing her morning dress and ensuring her hair was properly pinned. “Please inform them we shall join them directly.”
As they made their way through the corridors of Grimsfell Hall, Henri found herself both eager and apprehensive about Signor di Bianchi’s reaction to their discoveries.
The Italian art trader had invested so much hope in this quest, so much faith in the possibility that his ancestor’s legacy would finally be revealed.
She hoped their findings would not disappoint him.
Gabriel opened the morning room door, and Henri stepped through to find Signor di Bianchi rising from a chair beside the fireplace.
His dark eyes held the same energy she remembered from their first meeting, though now tinged with barely contained excitement.
Beside him stood two gentlemen she recognized immediately, both of the Scott family.
“Lady Trenwith,” Signor di Bianchi said, advancing with outstretched hands and a warm smile.
“How delighted I am to see you well. And Lord Trenwith, of course.” He clasped Henri’s fingers briefly before turning to Gabriel with high interest. “Your message spoke of extraordinary discoveries? I confess I have barely slept since receiving it.”
“Signor di Bianchi, we are equally eager to share what we have uncovered thus far,” Henri replied, returning his smile with genuine pleasure.
She turned to greet her neighbors. Or rather, now that she was wed, her mother’s neighbors.
“And Mr. Angelo Scott, Mr. Nicholas Scott, what a surprise to find you here.”
Angelo Scott stepped forward, brimming with youthful energy.
“Lady Trenwith, Lord Trenwith, what a delight! We were with Lorenzo to help him in his search for you when you did not come back from the Danbury estate. He desired friends he could trust not to gossip while we endeavored to find you. When he learned you had uncovered something, he asked us to join him.”
Nicholas Scott, leaning slightly on his walking stick, offered a nod of his head. Henri and he had known each other many years as neighbors but never conversed much. It was Nicholas’s brother and her twin who had been inseparable.
“Miss Big—I mean, Lady Trenwith. I hope Cornwall is treating you well. Though I suspect it cannot be more challenging than my current company.” He cast a pointed glance at Angelo, who was practically vibrating with enthusiasm beside him.
Henri immediately understood the family dynamics.
Angelo’s zest contrasted sharply with Nicholas’s more guarded manner, while both clearly respected Signor di Bianchi’s pursuit on behalf of his family enough to accompany him on this journey.
“Angelo has time on his hands to assist,” Signor di Bianchi explained, “and Nicholas brings a practical perspective that helps keep our endeavors grounded in reality.”
“How flattering,” Nicholas Scott remarked dryly. “I have been reduced to the voice of reason. Clearly, my reputation has suffered irreparable damage.”
“Then you shall not be disappointed,” Gabriel said with quiet confidence. “What we have discovered defies simple explanation. Perhaps it would be best if we showed you directly.”
Signor di Bianchi’s excitement was palpable as they led the small party through the manor toward the library.
“I have dreamed of this moment for so many years,” he confided to Henri as they walked.
“To finally see my ancestor’s work, to understand what drove him to such elaborate secrecy.
It will vindicate everything I have believed about his genius. ”
Henri smiled politely, but she was worried that Signor di Bianchi would not be as ecstatic with their finding once he saw it. She exchanged another glance with Gabriel, who appeared to share her concern about managing the Italian’s expectations.
In the library, Gabriel demonstrated the mechanism that opened the concealed entrance, and Henri watched the visitors grow ever more inquisitive as the shelf swung inward to reveal the hidden chapel.
Signor di Bianchi actually gasped aloud, his hands trembling slightly as he peered into the shadowed space beyond.
“Magnificent,” he murmured, his professional composure giving way to genuine awe. “The engineering alone is extraordinary. My ancestor apprenticed with da Vinci himself, which was where he learned these engineering arts. To maintain such a secret for three centuries …”
“The craftsmanship is remarkable,” Nicholas added with grudging admiration, clearly appreciating the mechanical ingenuity despite his reserved manner.
“Wait until you see the chamber itself,” Henri said, lighting an additional lamp to supplement Gabriel’s illumination.
They proceeded through the entrance, and Henri heard Angelo’s sharp intake of breath as the Hall of Reflections revealed itself in the lamplight. The mirrors caught and multiplied the flames, creating an almost supernatural effect that never failed to impress.
“Madonna mia,” Signor di Bianchi breathed, his Italian echoing strangely in the elongated space. “It is like stepping into another world entirely.”
He moved immediately to examine the mirrors more closely, assessing their age and construction. “These are not modern silvered glass,” he announced after a moment. “The reflective quality suggests polished metal, possibly bronze or silver amalgam. Renaissance techniques, certainly.”
“And the organ,” Nicholas added, approaching the magnificent instrument with careful steps that accommodated his injured leg.
“The craftsmanship is exquisite. This represents months, perhaps years of skilled work. Though I confess I am curious why anyone would go to such elaborate lengths to hide a musical instrument. Was Matteo di Bianchi perhaps lacking an ear for music and wished to spare his neighbors?”
Lorenzo di Bianchi, however, had grown strangely quiet. Henri watched him with increasing concern as he walked slowly about the chamber, inspecting the mirrors and examining every surface. His initial excitement gave way to disappointment.
“Signor di Bianchi?” Henri ventured after several minutes of silence. “What do you think of your ancestor’s creation?”
He paused in his circuit of the chamber, his shoulders gradually slumping as the reality of what he was seeing settled upon him. When he finally turned to face them, his expression was morose.
“Please, all this formal talk. My friends call me Lorenzo.”
“Is it not beautiful, Lorenzo?” Henri prompted, gesturing toward the infinite reflections and the masterful acoustics of the space.
Lorenzo shrugged, the gesture encompassing a lifetime of deflated dreams. “It is pretty and frivolous. Where is his mastery? His Sistine Chapel? His ode to the gods? Not a single brushstroke of his genius.”
The words fell into the chamber like stones dropped into still water, creating ripples of uncomfortable silence.
Henri felt her heart sink as she realized the depth of Lorenzo’s disappointment.
He had expected paintings, frescoes, artistic masterpieces that would establish his ancestor’s reputation for posterity.
Instead, they had uncovered an elaborate architectural puzzle, beautiful in its own right but devoid of the visual art that he sought.
Angelo Scott cleared his throat diplomatically, attempting to console his friend. “Perhaps there are other chambers, other discoveries yet to be made. This could merely be the beginning.”
“Yes,” Nicholas Scott added. “The complexity of this room suggests there might be additional layers to uncover. Perhaps the next chamber will contain nothing but elaborate coat hooks, and we can marvel at Matteo’s genius for domestic organization.”
But Lorenzo was already shaking his head, his disappointment too profound for such easy consolation or Nicholas’s attempt at levity.
Henri watched him with growing sympathy, understanding finally how much he had invested in this quest, how completely his expectations had been shaped by a lifetime of believing in his ancestor’s artistic greatness.
The Hall of Reflections, magnificent though it was, reflected back only Lorenzo’s broken dreams. Fortunately, there was, as Angelo Scott had suggested, more to be discovered if they could find a way to follow the damaged clue.
Uncover the secrets of Grimsfell Hall when Angelo Scott chases midnight symphonies and learns that sometimes love grows in the darkest of places.