A crash sounded somewhere above. Men shouting. Doors opening.
“They know you are in the house,” Clara said. “Soon they’ll check the service levels.”
Adrian straightened. “There is an emergency exit behind the wine cellar.”
“Blocked,” Clara said. “Two men there since five.”
“The garage tunnel.”
“Also watched.”
“The chapel passage?”
Clara blinked.
“There is a chapel passage?”
His mouth tightened. “Apparently we both know different parts of my house.”
Despite everything, something almost like a smile touched her face.
Then the lights went out.
The boiler room plunged into darkness.
Clara heard Adrian move. She heard the whisper of his coat. She heard her own breathing, too loud.
A red emergency bulb blinked on near the door.
Then came Celeste’s voice over the house intercom, smooth as silk.
“My love, I know you are here.”
Adrian went motionless.
Celeste continued, “You always hated being late. I should have remembered that.”
A soft click. A pause.
“Come to the east drawing room. Alone. If you make this unpleasant, Matteo will call the schools. I would prefer not to frighten the children before it becomes necessary.”
Clara looked at Adrian.
The man she had feared for almost a year had changed completely.
He no longer looked like a king.
He looked like a father whose kingdom had become a cage around his children.
“She is bluffing,” Clara whispered.
“No,” he said. “Celeste does not bluff when cruelty is more efficient.”
He turned toward the door.
Clara stepped in front of him. “You can’t go.”
“She has my children.”
“And if you walk into that room, she has you too.”
His eyes were cold. “Move.”
Clara did not.
It was the bravest and most foolish thing she had ever done.
“No.”
Adrian stared at her. “You are giving me orders now?”
“Yes.”
“Because you saved me once?”
“Because I know this house tonight better than you do. Because everyone loyal to you has been sent away, paid off, trapped, or killed. Because your wife is counting on you to act like the man everyone fears.” Clara stepped closer. “So don’t.”
For a long moment, Adrian said nothing.
Then the intercom clicked again.
Celeste sighed. “Adrian, darling. I know your temper. I know your pride. I know exactly how long you can stand being hunted in your own home.”
Adrian looked toward the ceiling as if he could see her through it.
Clara spoke quickly. “There is a dumbwaiter shaft behind the linen press. It goes to the old nursery corridor. From there, the chapel passage may connect to the side grounds.”
“You do not know where it is.”
“No. But you do.”
A muscle moved in his jaw.
Together, they left the ironing room.
The lower service corridor stretched before them in red emergency light. Somewhere nearby, men moved through the dark with guns drawn. Clara led the way until the corridor split. Adrian took over without speaking, turning down a narrow stone passage Clara had always assumed led to storage.
At the end was a locked iron door.
Adrian pulled a key from a chain beneath his shirt.
Clara stared. “You wear a key to a chapel passage?”
“My mother made me promise never to lose it.”
The door opened with a groan.
Cold air breathed out.
They entered a tunnel barely wide enough for two people. The walls were stone, damp and old. Adrian closed the door behind them just as footsteps entered the corridor outside.
The tunnel sloped upward.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Then Clara said, “Did you know?”
“About your family?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Would it have mattered?”
Adrian’s silence was answer enough.
Clara nodded. She had expected that. It still hurt.
They reached a narrow staircase and climbed into the old nursery hall. The east side of the house lay beyond a set of double doors. Candlelight flickered under the gap.
Voices came from the drawing room.
Celeste, Matteo, and at least three men.
Adrian crouched near the door, listening.
Matteo said, “We should sweep the lower floor.”
Celeste answered, “He will come here. Adrian cannot resist a stage.”
“He came back from the city alive. That means Silas failed.”
“Silas did not fail. Silas did what frightened men do when they see blood. He ran. Adrian took another car.”
Matteo cursed softly.
Celeste laughed. “Do not worry. My husband is wounded, angry, and sentimental about the children. That makes him predictable.”
Clara saw Adrian’s hand tighten around the pistol.
Then Celeste said, “Once he signs the transfer, kill him in the conservatory. Break the glass. Make it look like he entered through the storm doors and was shot by an intruder. By morning, I will be a widow, Matteo will be the grieving adviser, and the city will kneel because it always kneels to whoever survives.”
“And the maid?” one of the men asked.
Clara’s blood turned cold.
Celeste’s answer was casual. “Which maid?”
“The quiet one. Clara.”