Chapter 4
The heavy oak door of the third-floor nursery clicked shut, followed by the definitive, heavy thud of a deadbolt sliding into place from the outside. Elena rushed against the wood, rattling the brass handle with frantic desperation, but it wouldn't budge. Inside the room, the air smelled faintly of old lavender and polished mahogany. It was a prison disguised as a child’s bedroom, complete with antique dolls staring blankly from glass shelves and a large, ornate window that had been bolted shut from the exterior.
Clara sat on the edge of the velvet-lined four-poster bed, still wearing her damp white dress. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself to ward off the chill of the cavernous estate.
“Mommy, are we locked in here forever?” Clara asked, her small voice trembling with exhaustion.
Elena turned away from the door, wiping her tears with the back of her hand, and forced a warm, reassuring smile onto her face. She rushed over to the bed, pulling a heavy wool quilt from the footboard and wrapping it tightly around her daughter’s shoulders.
“No, sweetheart, never forever,” Elena said, her voice steady despite the absolute terror gripping her insides. “Mommy is going to figure a way out of this. They can lock the doors, but they can't lock our minds.”
Elena examined the room, looking for any possible escape route. The fireplace was blocked by an intricate iron grate secured with a padlock. The vent above the wardrobe was far too small for a child, let alone an adult. They were completely trapped in the belly of the beast.
Suddenly, a sharp knock echoed against the door. Before Elena could answer, the heavy wooden panel swung open. Eleanor Vance stood in the doorway, flanked by two stone-faced maids carrying dry clothes and a tray of lukewarm soup. Eleanor’s green sequined gown rustled softly as she stepped into the room, her expression completely unreadable.
“Put the tray on the vanity,” Eleanor instructed the maids without breaking eye contact with Elena.
“We don’t want your charity, Eleanor,” Elena said, stepping defensively in front of Clara.
Eleanor stopped a few feet away, her gaze drifting briefly to the shivering child before returning to Elena.
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“This isn't charity, Elena. It’s damage control,” Eleanor said quietly. “Arthur is moving faster than even I anticipated. If you want to save your daughter, you need to know what’s hidden in the basement vault.”
***
