“You’ve a clever tongue,” he replied. With the horses shut back in their stables and their gear put away, he propped himself atop a bale of hay and asked, “You’d pay me out of your own pocket to help you solve a murder for a family you’ve only just met?”
“The Hawthornes have been kind to me,” she said in spite of his scrutiny, staring at the little scar upon his brow. “Besides, it’s not as though I’m wanting for money.”
His laugh was little more than a bewildered puff of breath. “I suppose you have a point. Very well, then. You have yourself a deal, Miss Farrow.”
She tried not to let her surprise register. She’d always known money held power. It was everything in this world. Yet this was her first time experiencing for herself just how much sway it carried. She allowed herself the tiniest sliver of a moment to relax her shoulders and bask in her relief over the fact that she would no longer be alone in this. She knew too little about the Hawthornes and had too little time to deal with this on her own. She needed someone like Sylas, and there was plenty for him to gain as well. Money had always been what people wanted from her, and if that’s what it took to get his help, then so be it.
“Tell me everything you know,” she urged him again. “Is there anyone who disliked Lillian?”
“There was an entire society who disliked Lillian.” He smoothed a hand through his hair, inky as the night. “You’ve seen the family’s wealth yourself. And I’d wager you’ve seen what jealousy and greed can do to people. People didn’t have to know her to dislike her.”
With great bitterness she thought of what had become of her parents, then of all the ways her guardians had treated her over the years. Though her friend Charlotte had made the time she’d spent with her uncle full of fond memories, the older she’d gotten, the more she thought about how often he’d left her alone. About how he would use the money meant to care for her on imported clothing and lavish gifts for his lovers. She’d spent most nights locked in her room, trying to drown out the strange noises of the guests she’d never been allowed to see.
It was Signa’s grandmother alone who had truly loved her, while the others craved only her fortune. Some of them had been decent enough to keep her fed and warm, but she’d never felt like a person to them. Never felt like anything other than an invisible girl dragging a hefty sum behind her.
Seeing the answer upon her face, Sylas nodded. “Lillian was a wonderful woman, but the Hawthornes will always be a target no matter how kind they are. There are people who would kill for money, Signa. People who will spin lies into sweet words and even sweeter smiles. You’d be wise to remember that.”
She doubted that would be an issue. There’d been times in her life when strangers showed her kindness, certainly. Until they’d seen her talking to a spirit or heard the rumors and would flee. Even when she had her inheritance, she couldn’t imagine that changing unless she secured a proper husband and made a name for herself among society.
Could it?
“If what you’re saying is true,” Signa said, “then why should I trust you? You agreed to take my money quickly enough.”
His response was simple. Firm. “You shouldn’t trust anyone but yourself, Miss Farrow. But for Blythe’s sake, I’m going to help you. First things first, we’ll need to get you back into Thorn Grove without suspicion.” Sylas stood and offered his gloved hand.
Tense in the shoulders, Signa accepted. He led her to a stall where his hound, Gundry, lay curled in the hay. The hound growled as Sylas motioned him aside and bent to shuffle several hay bales out of the way. Signa couldn’t help noticing the contraction of the muscles in his back as he worked, taking his distraction as an opportunity to observe the male physique. More and more, she found her interest in it stirring.
“Press your hand flat against that panel.” There was a stone wall hidden behind where the hay had been. Signa followed his orders and pressed the stone. It clicked and shifted beneath her hand. “Now turn it,” he said.
When she did, the wall slid open to reveal a pathway bathed in darkness. No lights, no sound, just a draft and an endless maze ahead.
Sylas grabbed hold of an oil lamp on one of the stable’s workbenches. Gundry rose, stretched himself out with a yawn, and padded to his master’s side. “Has anyone shown you the tunnels into Thorn Grove?”
As Sylas held up the lamp, Signa peered into the nothingness before her. The hairs on her arms stood on end. “Never. Where do they lead?”
“These? Into the kitchen pantry,” Sylas answered. “Though I’m sure there are a dozen more paths, I know of only a few. I don’t believe they’re used anymore, but this one was intended to be an escape route for the servants in the event of a kitchen fire. There are others that servants used to keep out of sight of those living at the manor. The tunnels are dark, but they’ll get you inside the estate undetected. Should anyone find you emerging from the kitchen, tell them you were roaming the property and lost your way, and found yourself in need of a late-night snack since you missed dinner. Now”—he ducked beneath the entrance and stepped into the tunnel, extending a hand—“do you trust me to escort you?”
The words felt like a trap. Sylas had warned her not to trust him. Not to trust anyone. And yet she reached to him, eager to feel the brush of his hand upon her once more. “Not even a little.”
“Very good, Miss Farrow. Now let’s get going.” His fingers curled around hers, and he drew her into the tunnels.
According to Sylas, parties at Thorn Grove were no rare occurrence.
“She loved few things more than company and a reason to celebrate,” he said as they took slow, cautious steps through the tunnels. The way he spoke of Lillian made Signa imagine someone so much grander than the ghostly spirit she’d encountered. It made her think of how she envisioned her own mother—as someone made for the spotlight. The type of woman who came alive beneath the dazzle of lights and music. One whose body was made to wear a ball gown, and whose smile charmed all who beheld it.
That made it easier to believe Sylas when he said that all who met Lillian fell in love, and that Elijah was no different. “There’s gossip that he wasn’t always known for his chivalry, or for being a man who belonged to only one woman,” he whispered. “That changed when he met Lillian.”
“Could the murderer be one of his jaded ex-lovers?” Signa squinted, using the dim glow of the lamp Sylas held to see where she was going.
“Maybe.” He lifted the lamp higher, trying to better spread its light. “I’ve heard Elijah’s brother favored Lillian as well, though it was rare to find a soul who didn’t. Lillian always said Thorn Grove was too magnificent a place to keep to themselves. Guests were in and out constantly.”
Signa nodded, though in her gut she knew there was more to it. Lillian had died of poison, alone in her garden. If there was one thing Signa knew about belladonna, it was that death came swiftly if enough was consumed. Yet Lillian had been sick for months, which meant someone had been slipping the poison to her in small doses, skillful enough to make her death slow and painful. They weren’t looking for a random passerby with a dislike for the Hawthornes; they were looking for someone with the time for precision. Someone with frequent access to the estate.