Chapter 5
The heavy French doors swung open with a soft, oiled creaking sound, releasing a rush of cool morning air mixed with the scent of wet grass and blooming roses. Julian stepped out onto the cobblestone courtyard, his polished black shoes clicking sharply against the stone.
"Hello?" Julian called out, his voice echoing off the high brick walls that enclosed the private garden.
There was no answer. The courtyard was completely empty. The manicured boxwood hedges cast long, sharp shadows in the morning sun, and the marble fountain bubbled softly in the center, its water clear and undisturbed. There were no footprints in the damp soil near the flowerbeds, no rustle of fabric in the wind, and certainly no woman in a white dress. The only way in or out of this courtyard was through the bridal suite, the heavy oak service door on the far wall, or scaling a twelve-foot ivy-covered brick wall—a feat impossible for anyone wearing formal attire, let alone a bridal gown.
Julian stood motionless by the fountain, a cold knot forming in his stomach. He turned back toward the open doors. Clara was still sitting on the floor inside, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees, weeping quietly into the lace of her bodice. Victoria stood in the doorway, peering out into the empty courtyard with a look of mild, detached curiosity.
"There's nobody out here, Victoria," Julian said, his voice laced with a strange combination of skepticism and creeping dread as he re-entered the room.
Victoria looked up at him, tilting her head again. "She went that way," the little girl said, pointing directly toward the small, locked service door in the corner of the courtyard—a door that required a heavy iron skeleton key, a key that currently hung on a brass hook inside the estate manager’s locked office fifty yards away.
May you like
Julian walked over to the service door and tried the heavy brass handle. It was firmly locked, the deadbolt fully engaged. He stared at the keyhole in disbelief. How could anyone have entered or exited through a locked iron door without a key?
Clara looked up from the floor, her tear-stained face pale and drawn. "It's her," Clara whispered, her voice barely audible. "My mother. She’s here."
