Chapter 5
Mary motioned for Lily to stay put behind the large laundry hamper, pulling another blanket over the girl to conceal her completely. With a pounding heart, Mary stepped across the cold flagstone floor and slid the heavy iron bolt of the garden door. The heavy oak creaked open a few inches, letting in a gust of damp autumn wind mixed with the smell of wet earth and pine needles.
Standing on the threshold was a man she had never seen before in the estate’s inner circles, yet his face was vaguely familiar from local evening news broadcasts. He wore a heavy trench coat with the collar turned up against the drizzle, his breath pluming in the cold night air. His eyes were sharp, scanning Mary’s face with practiced authority.
“Is Julian Vance still in the main study?” the man asked, his voice low, firm, and carrying an accent that hinted at the East Coast elite.
“Who are you? You shouldn’t be here. The private gates are closed to outsiders after midnight,” Mary stammered, attempting to push the door shut.
The man placed a gloved hand against the heavy wood, stopping its progress with ease. He reached into his coat pocket and flashed a small leather badge before returning it to safety.
“My name is Detective Vance—no relation to the master of this house,” the man said dryly. “And I am here because an anonymous tip was filed less than an hour ago regarding financial discrepancies in the Sarah Vance Foundation. Tell Mr. Vance that Detective Miller from the state attorney’s office is waiting by the greenhouse. If he refuses to come out, I will be forced to execute a warrant with full media presence.”
Mary swallowed hard, her mind racing. A state investigator poking around the foundations of the Vance empire was exactly the kind of cataclysm Clara had seemed to be waiting for.
“He... he’s in the house,” Mary whispered. “I’ll tell him.”
As Miller turned to walk back toward the shadows of the overgrown garden, Mary closed the door and threw the bolt. When she turned around, Lily was standing by the laundry hamper, her blanket pooled around her feet. The girl had heard every word.
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“Is it about my mother?” Lily asked, her voice steady with a maturity that terrified the young maid.
“Yes, Lily,” Mary said softly, kneeling down to look the child in the eye. “The past is finally catching up with this house. And nobody is going to be able to hide from it anymore.”
