Chapter 2

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, my voice barely a whisper.

‘Don’t lie to me, Jisoo.’ She stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of rain on her shawl. ‘I saw you three days ago, rushing from the old wing with dust on your hands. And tonight, I found a board that didn’t match the others—fresh varnish, still tacky. What’s under it?’

My mind raced. I could deny it, insist she was mistaken, but Seraphina was not easily fooled. If I lied, she would only dig deeper. If I told the truth, everything I feared would come crashing down.

‘It’s nothing,’ I said, hating how weak my voice sounded. ‘Just an old storage room. I sealed it because of the damp.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘The damp? Then why does it smell like death?’

I had no answer. The stench had followed me through the house, clinging to my clothes, my skin, my dreams. I could not hide it any longer.

‘Show me,’ she said. It was not a request.

I hesitated, my hand gripping the doorframe. ‘If I show you, you must promise not to tell anyone. Not yet.’

‘Jisoo—’

‘Promise me, Seraphina.’

She studied me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. ‘I promise. For now.’

I led her through the darkened corridors of the old wing, my lantern casting long, wavering shadows. The floorboard was still loose, the varnish gleaming wetly in the light. I knelt and pried it up, revealing the black mouth of the staircase.

The smell hit us both at once. Seraphina gagged, pressing her sleeve to her nose. ‘God above,’ she muttered.

I descended first, my footsteps echoing on the slick stone. She followed, her breath ragged. When the lantern illuminated the cellar, she stopped. I heard her sharp intake of air, then nothing but the drip of water from the walls.

The bodies were still there, piled against the far wall. Fifteen of them, their faces frozen in various stages of decay. The light played over their features, casting grotesque shadows.

‘Jisoo…’ Seraphina’s voice was hollow. ‘How long have you known?’

‘Five days.’

‘Five days?’ She turned on me, her eyes blazing with anger and disbelief. ‘You’ve known for five days and you said nothing? These people—they have families, they have names—’

‘I know.’ My voice cracked. ‘I know, but I was afraid. If anyone found out, I would be blamed. The estate would be seized. Everything my family built—’

‘Is nothing compared to this!’ She gestured at the bodies. ‘We have to call Detective Harding. Now.’

‘No.’ I stepped between her and the stairs. ‘Give me one day. One day to find out who they are, how they got here. I have maps, records—I can trace the property’s history. If I can find a connection, I might be able to prove I had nothing to do with this.’

‘And if you can’t?’

‘Then we go to Harding. But let me try first. Please.’

She stared at me, her jaw tight. I could see the war within her—the journalist’s instinct to expose the truth, the friend’s desire to trust me. Finally, she let out a long breath.

‘One day. But I’m staying here tonight. And if you try to hide anything else, I will go to the authorities myself.’

I nodded, relief flooding through me. ‘Thank you.’

We covered the floorboard again, and I led her back to the main house. As we crossed the garden, I spotted a figure near the hedge—Arthur Pendelton, his silhouette unmistakable in the moonlight. He was smoking a pipe, watching us with a lazy smile.

‘Jisoo, Seraphina,’ he called out, his voice smooth as oil. ‘Out for a late-night stroll? Or have you finally uncovered something interesting in that dusty old wing?’

‘Nothing of interest to you, Arthur,’ I said, quickening my pace.

He laughed softly. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve always had a nose for secrets.’

I felt his gaze on my back as we hurried inside. Seraphina glanced at me. ‘He knows something.’

‘He suspects. But he doesn’t know.’

‘Not yet.’

I spent the rest of the night in my study, pulling out old estate maps and property deeds. The basement was not marked on any of them, but I found a reference to a ‘subterranean passage’ in my grandfather’s handwritten notes. It connected the old wing to a chapel on the northern edge of the property—a chapel that had been sealed for decades.

My fingers traced the faded ink. Could the bodies have been brought in through that passage? Or were they killed elsewhere and stored here? I needed to see the chapel.

A soft rustle broke my concentration. I looked down and saw a folded piece of paper that had been slipped under the door. I picked it up, my heart pounding.

It read: ‘I know what you saw. Meet me at the old chapel at midnight. Come alone. – A friend.’

I read it twice, my blood turning to ice. Someone else knew about the bodies. And they wanted to meet me in the very place I had just discovered on the map.

I looked at the clock. It was half past eleven. I had thirty minutes.

Seraphina was asleep in the guest room—or so I hoped. I grabbed my coat and a small lantern, and slipped out into the night. The wind had picked up, carrying the scent of rain. The chapel loomed ahead, its broken spire silhouetted against the clouds.

I pushed open the heavy oak door. Inside, the air was thick with dust and decay. A single candle flickered on the altar, casting dancing shadows.

And then I saw him.

Detective Harding stood by the altar, his face grim. ‘I was wondering when you’d show up, Mr. Bethany.’

I stopped, my lantern trembling in my hand. ‘You… you wrote the note?’

‘No. But I found it on my desk an hour ago, along with a map of your estate and a key to the chapel.’ He held up a brass key. ‘Someone wants us to meet. And I have a feeling they’re watching us right now.’

A chill ran down my spine. I turned, scanning the shadows, but saw nothing.

‘What do you know?’ Harding asked, his voice low.

I swallowed hard. ‘Everything. And nothing. There’s a basement under the old wing. Fifteen bodies. I found them five days ago.’

Harding’s eyes widened, but he said nothing. He simply nodded, as if he had expected this all along.

‘Then we have work to do,’ he said. ‘But first, we find out who left that note.’

A creak sounded from the rafters above. We both looked up—and saw a dark figure silhouetted against the broken window, watching us in silence.

Before I could call out, the figure was gone, and the candle on the altar flickered out, plunging us into darkness.