Chapter 11 #2
Blindly trusting my instincts, I retraced my steps. A shiver ran through me. Where had it gone? Where in the house was I?
I made a mental note to beg Jasper for a quick tour of the manor while I was still in his good graces and then, just as I was about to give up, I heard it.
A sound so faint I almost missed the susurration—the tiniest click, the softest scrabble of tiny metal legs tinkling against wood.
I spun on my heel just in time to catch a gleam of gold—it had gone down another hallway, impossibly quick.
I followed, faster now, a thrill of excitement pumping through my veins as the hallway stretched on, winding and twisting like a maze.
The spider didn’t slow. It seemed to be taking me on a tour of the house’s most forgotten corners, past neglected cobwebbed rooms, through narrow stairwells, and across floors so old the wood creaked beneath my feet. It had a destination—I could feel it.
Finally, after an eternity of turns and near-misses, it scurried under a large, ten-foot-tall door.
I came to a stop before that door, just a bit ajar; I could see where a sliver of morning light broke through.
From the outside it was no different from any other door in this giant house, but the moment I saw it, I knew something important was inside. I could feel it.
I pushed the door open, my heart pounding, and stepped inside, gasping when I realized where it had led me.
Jasper’s bedroom sat before me engulfed in a heavy, haunted silence. A light breeze from my opening the door swept through the room, stirring the dark curtains slightly. And then my eyes landed on it: the trunk.
It was the most peculiar thing, standing at the foot of the bed like an artifact from another world: dark, textured wood, nearly black with age, brass handles that had long since lost their gleam, the trunk looked both heavy and fragile, ancient and enduring all at once.
The skeleton-key spider scuttled toward the trunk, its long golden legs tapping like the clicking of a clock, each step deliberate, as though it had completed this task a thousand times and was simply finishing another turn. It reached the trunk, climbed up the side, and then paused at the keyhole.
I watched, breathless, as the spider crawled into the key-shaped hole—no hesitation, no struggle. It fit perfectly, as though the lock had been waiting for it, and the sound of the lock turning was as soft as a sigh. A click, and the lid of the trunk fell open.
My heart leaped in my chest. I took a step forward, though my feet felt heavy, as I was afraid of what I might see. But inside was simply a stack of letters—old, yellowed, and brittle as though they had been kept hidden from the world for centuries.
Each letter was opened; its paper was slightly curled at the edges.
But it wasn’t the letters themselves that made me catch my breath.
It was the wax seals—dark red, almost black in the stream of sunlight that poured into the room.
An intricate, sharp, but strangely beautiful symbol was stamped into the wax.
A bird’s wing? No. Something…other. A twist, a jagged line—was it a flower?
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my heart still racing as I peered at the stack of letters. The spider had led me here, but to what end? What did these letters hold? What was it that had been hidden away, so carefully, so purposefully, for so long?
Nervously, I glanced around the room again.
The luxurious furnishings were different in here than the rest of the house.
A small collection of expensive-looking watches in a case on the dresser, a sleek-looking bottle of cologne, a few books that looked to be about war, and nothing else to say for certain whose room it was, but no one else in this house would have such expensive possessions but Jasper.
Not wasting another second for fear the room’s owner would return, I grabbed the letter closest to the top and began to read. It was dated only a few months ago.
Dearest Son,
I know you dislike my letters, but I can’t bring myself to stop writing them.
Your father is out at the moment. He is making great strides with these foreign officials and was asked to attend an event that could change the fate of all the children in India. He really is such a wonderful man—just like you are now.
I came across a lovely family whose son is a doctor somewhere in the States.
Darling, please do be certain you are getting regular checkups.
Every time, have them run all the blood panels and everything offered.
You never can be too careful. Also, your father mentioned something about your stocks the other day with the market’s current volatility; he recommended putting 60% of your portfolio into stable, blue-chip stocks—companies and the remaining 40% into bonds or other low-risk assets for balance, ensuring you’re protected should the market take a downturn.
For your next move, consider buying into Aurora Solar Solutions now, while it’s undervalued, but don’t go above 5% of your total holdings.
Watch for the next earnings report—if the numbers are strong, you can increase your position.
Now for the always somber part of my letter where I tell you how much I love you and how horrible I feel for not being there.
No part of you can fathom what I wouldn’t give to be able to hug you again.
Should this letter have tear stains as all my others do, then I hardly need to sign it for you to know it is from me.
As always, my darling son, know that everything I’ve done has been with nothing but love for you in mind. One day I pray I will rest with a heart of peace knowing you’ve forgiven your father and me for what we did. Please God, forgive us, Son.
With every ounce of my love,
Mom
P.S. Remember to get a checkup!
I barely had time to finish reading it before the sound of footfalls outside gave away that someone was approaching.
Just as the door creaked open, I flung the letter back into the trunk and slammed the lid shut, spinning in time to see Sowerby peeking in the door.
“Eliza. What are you doing in here?” he asked sternly. His eyes darkened as they danced about the room, looking for an answer.
I froze. I’d never been a very good liar, a fact that I’d always foolishly taken a bit of pride in until this very moment.
“I—uh—” I just stared blankly at the butler, his scowl growing more aware and concerned with every passing second. A blush at being caught heated my face.
Sowerby took another step in the room, looking quite angry now. His gaze touched the trunk behind me, and I saw something click in his eyes. He started to close the door behind him, and prickles of warning rolled over my skin. Why did he suddenly look so terrifying, like he was going to hurt me?
“I have diarrhea and Katya told me I could go to the private bathroom up here and no one would hear me.” I felt my face turn a darker shade of crimson blush. “Did I go too far? Is this not the right bathroom? I’m sorry.”
The muscles of his face relaxed, and I watched with unease as his shoulders let down a bit. “No, this isn’t the bathroom to go in. Did you already go in there?” he asked as he scrunched his face, pointing to the giant bathroom attached to the large suite.
“I—I’d rather not say.” If Sowerby didn’t kill me in this room, I may die of embarrassment anyway. “Could you please show me how to get to the conservatory from here?” I rushed past him, out the door, and back into the unfamiliar hallway.
“Yes, of course.” He closed the door behind him, latching it in a way that said he’d done it a thousand times in his lifetime.
I said a silent prayer and steadied myself. “Sowerby?”
He glanced at me with knowing eyes that warned me not to say another word, but I couldn’t help myself, I had to ask and there never seemed to be a right time. “Are there any pictures of Hester and Darius hung up in the house? I wondered what they looked like.”
He stopped abruptly as if unable to control his legs, but quickly started up again, this time at a faster pace, as if trying to get away from my question faster.
“No. Master Blackwood has burned all photos of his parents. If you are interested in any further inquiries on the subject matter, I suggest you use Google and not me,” he snapped gruffly.
There was an edge of discomfort in his tone that made goose bumps erupt across the back of my neck.
Why would he be so defensive about this?
Though it did serve as a reminder to google what I could about them.
Something about the interaction felt dangerous, which struck me as odd.
Sowerby had always been a grumpy, too-stern man, but he’d never really frightened me, not like Jasper did…
until now. Something about the way Sowerby was acting felt like a warning.
Still, I had been waiting to ask him some questions, and I needed to know the answers now.
“Did Jasper kill his parents?”
The butler turned on me so fast, I ducked with a flinch. He moved his face so close to mine, all I could see were his yellowing, bloodshot eyes. The smell of cigarettes and roasted coffee beans strangled my senses.
“Questions like that get people buried around here. You want to keep digging, be sure to bring a shovel.” He gave me a cold glare.
“Lucky for me, I arrived with my own shovels,” I muttered back, cowering against the hallway wall.
“Well, if you want to leave with them, I suggest you keep your nose out of places it doesn’t belong,” he warned, finally backing up a little.
“I’m sorry. I just—” I began to stammer, unsure of how to get myself out of this mess and back on good ground with the butler. Would he tell Jasper that I was asking? Of course he would. What was I thinking?