Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Never Died

Mrs. Bell wanted to run toward the staff wing.

Adrian stopped her.

“If that is Beatrice, she wants you to react.”

“That is my daughter.”

“It is a woman who looks like your daughter and knows how to hold a book in front of a camera.”

Mrs. Bell pulled her arm free. “I know my own child.”

“After seventeen years?”

Her face sharpened. “Would you know your father?”

Adrian did not answer.

The question was unfair.

That did not make it weak.

Marcus joined them with his phone pressed to one ear. “South lawn accounted for. Callen is missing. Owen is missing. Mateo says the guards were hit with something aerosolized, probably sedative.”

Nathan crouched beside one of the guards in the dining room. “Pupils are responsive. Breathing is normal.”

Adrian looked toward him. “Can you identify what they used?”

“Not without a sample.”

“Find one.”

Nathan gave him a look. “I am still one doctor.”

“Tonight you’ve been a doctor, tailor, and toxicologist. Adapt.”

Nathan muttered something rude and went back to work.

Emma approached Mrs. Bell.

“Why would Beatrice have my mother’s book?”

Mrs. Bell looked at her. “I don’t know.”

“Did she know Sarah?”

“Yes.”

“How well?”

The hesitation answered before the words did.

Emma’s expression changed.

“How well?”

“They were friends.”

“Friends?”

“More like sisters for a time.”

Emma laughed in disbelief. “I have never heard her name.”

“Sarah stopped speaking it after Beatrice disappeared.”

“Why?”

“I thought grief.”

“You thought wrong a lot.”

Mrs. Bell flinched.

Adrian stepped between them before the argument turned useless.

“We find Beatrice first. History later.”

Marcus held up the tablet. “Staff-wing door opened three minutes before the camera saw her. Master credential.”

“Whose?”

Marcus’s face hardened.

“Yours.”

Adrian stared at him.

“My credential is biometric.”

“Not the old emergency version.”

“I destroyed that card ten years ago.”

“Someone didn’t.”

Mrs. Bell whispered, “Vittorio kept copies.”

Adrian looked at her. “How many?”

“I do not know.”

“Of course not.”

His frustration echoed down the corridor.

Emma touched his arm.

He looked at her.

“Anger later,” she said. “You said it yourself.”

He held her gaze for a moment, then nodded.

“Marcus, split the house by zones. No one searches alone.”

“Pairs?”

“Triples. One person can lie. Two people can coordinate. Three makes it harder.”

Marcus almost smiled. “Comforting philosophy.”

“Use it.”

Adrian turned to Emma. “You stay with Nathan and Lily.”

“No.”

“This is not a debate.”

“Beatrice held up my mother’s book.”

“Which makes you bait.”

“And useful.”

“Those are often the same thing.”

Emma stepped closer. “I remember that book.”

Adrian paused.

“What do you remember?”

“There was a stain on the back. Coffee, maybe. And a ribbon inside.”

“What color?”

“Green.”

“The book on camera?”

“I couldn’t see a ribbon.”

Mrs. Bell whispered, “Grace used green ribbon in the trust files.”

Emma looked at her.

Adrian saw the connection.

“The book could be real.”

“Or a copy,” Emma said. “Either way, if Beatrice wants me to recognize it, I should be there.”

He disliked the logic because it was good.

“Fine. You stay behind me.”

“Again?”

“Until people stop trying to abduct you, yes.”

They moved toward the staff wing with Marcus and two guards.

The corridor there was narrower and plainer than the formal parts of the estate. Emma’s room stood open.

Inside, drawers had been pulled out. The mattress was cut along one seam. Lily’s small suitcase had been emptied onto the floor.

Emma went rigid.

“She searched this.”

Adrian looked at the mess. “Or Owen did.”

“No.”

“How do you know?”

Emma pointed to a sweater folded neatly on the chair.

“Whoever did this put Lily’s sweater there instead of throwing it on the floor.”

Marcus frowned. “That proves what?”

“Someone who cared that it stayed clean.”

Mrs. Bell entered behind them and looked at the sweater.

“Beatrice folded like that.”

Adrian studied the room.

The window was locked.

The door showed no damage.

On the bedside table sat a glass of water Emma had not touched.

Beneath it was a circle of condensation.

Adrian lifted the glass.

A word had been written into the moisture on the polished wood.

CHAPEL.

Emma saw it.

“She wants us to follow.”

Marcus said, “Or someone wants us out of the house.”

Adrian nodded. “Exactly.”

Mrs. Bell looked between them. “The old drainage tunnel Owen mentioned runs under the chapel.”

Marcus checked the property map on his tablet. “And the north woods are beyond it.”

Adrian made a decision.

“Marcus, you stay here.”

Marcus stared. “Absolutely not.”

“If the chapel is a diversion, the real target is inside the estate.”

“You’re the real target.”

“Then I’ll be where they expect.”

“That is not comforting.”

Adrian handed him Grace’s letter copy he had photographed earlier. “Protect Lily. Protect the original documents. If I call twice and disconnect, lock the entire house and trust no master credential.”

Marcus looked at Emma. “And she goes with you?”

Emma answered. “Yes.”

Marcus sighed. “I preferred it when my biggest problem was drunk cousins at weddings.”

Mrs. Bell said, “I’m going too.”

Adrian shook his head.

“She is my daughter.”

“If Beatrice is alive, she will come back for you.”

“If she is in danger—”

“She survived seventeen years. Tonight I need you to survive one more hour.”

Mrs. Bell looked ready to argue, then saw something in his face and stopped.

Adrian and Emma crossed the courtyard under heavy rain.

The chapel stood apart from the main house, a small stone building built by Antonio Moretti for a faith he rarely practiced.

Emma pulled Adrian’s jacket tighter around herself.

“You always have this much trouble at home?”

“Usually the trouble waits for dinner.”

She glanced at him.

He almost smiled.

The chapel door was unlocked.

Inside, candles burned near the altar.

Adrian stopped.

“Those weren’t lit earlier.”

“How do you know?”

“I checked the cameras.”

Emma looked toward the dark pews. “Someone is here.”

A woman’s voice came from the confessional.

“Close the door.”

Emma froze.

Adrian moved in front of her.

“Beatrice?”

The confessional door opened.

The woman from the camera stepped out.

Up close, the resemblance to Mrs. Bell was undeniable, though harder years had sharpened her face. A pale scar ran from her left temple into her hairline.

She held the red book in both hands.

“No guns,” she said.

Adrian spread his hands. “I didn’t bring one.”

Beatrice looked at him skeptically.

“I’m trying something new.”

Her eyes moved to Emma.

“You look like Sarah.”

Emma’s mouth tightened. “Apparently everyone knew my mother except me.”

Pain passed across Beatrice’s face.

“She wanted it that way.”

“Why?”

“To keep you alive.”

Emma laughed bitterly. “That worked well.”

Beatrice accepted the accusation.

Adrian pointed to the book.

“Is that the red ledger?”

“Partly.”

“What does that mean?”

“It is a key to the ledger.”

“Another key?”

“Grace did not trust one hiding place.”

“She had good reason.”

Beatrice gave him the smallest nod.

Then Emma asked the question that mattered more to her.

“Did you betray my mother?”

Beatrice’s eyes filled.

“Yes.”

Emma went still.

Adrian watched Beatrice closely.

“Explain.”

“Seventeen years ago Vincent told me Matteo had proof my mother stole from the estate. He said she would go to prison. I was young enough to believe documents with official stamps meant truth.”

Mrs. Bell had been a loyal housekeeper for decades. The idea that she had been framed made immediate sense.

Beatrice continued.

“Vincent said if I told him where Sarah was staying, he would make the charges disappear.”

Emma whispered, “So you told him.”

“Yes.”

“And what happened?”

“Matteo’s men went there first.”

Emma’s breath caught.

“My mother never told me that.”

“She escaped. Vittorio helped her.”

Adrian’s eyes sharpened.

“My father?”

“He arrived before Matteo did. He moved Sarah and confronted me.”

“What did he do?”

Beatrice laughed once, painfully. “He forgave me.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“That sounds convenient.”

“It destroyed me.”

Beatrice looked at her directly.

“He said if I wanted forgiveness to mean anything, I had to spend the rest of my life making sure the mistake could not be used again.”

“So you disappeared.”

“I infiltrated Matteo’s organization.”

Adrian stared.

“For seventeen years?”

“Not continuously. I moved between identities. I gave your father information. After he died, I gave Sarah what I could.”

Emma’s voice shook. “Did you know they were hurting her?”

Beatrice’s expression broke.

“I knew Vincent found her again. I did not know how close he had gotten until three months ago.”

“Three months?”

“That is when I arranged for you to get the job here.”

Emma looked stunned. “Mrs. Bell said she hired me.”

“She did. I made sure the vacancy existed.”

Adrian saw the layered manipulation and disliked it.

“You used Emma to bring the secret back into the house.”

“I brought her to the only place Matteo could not attack openly.”

Adrian gestured around the empty chapel. “Your confidence in my security is flattering.”

Beatrice ignored the sarcasm.

“I did not expect Callen to be compromised.”

“Who is the third insider?”

Beatrice’s eyes moved toward the chapel windows.

“That depends whether you count me.”

Adrian’s expression hardened.

Emma took a step back.

Beatrice quickly added, “I have used the passages. I have disabled cameras. I taught Lily the lullaby when Emma was working late.”

Emma’s anger surged. “You went near my daughter without telling me?”

“I needed the song to survive if something happened to both of us.”

“You had no right.”

“I know.”

Emma stared at her with the same cold disappointment she had shown Owen.

Beatrice looked away.

Adrian said, “Owen said at least three people were working for Vincent inside the house.”

“Then Owen does not know the whole network.”

“How many?”

“Callen. Owen. One member of the finance office who comes twice a week. And someone closer to you.”

Adrian felt the last words settle.

“Name.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Then what do you have?”

“A payment trail.”

Beatrice opened the red book.

The first half contained recipes in Sarah’s handwriting. Soup. Bread. Cake. Ordinary domestic notes.

The second half looked empty.

Beatrice held one page near a candle flame without touching it.

Pale numbers slowly appeared.

Emma whispered, “Invisible ink.”

“Lemon and iron salt. Sarah learned it from Grace.”

Rows of dates and account fragments emerged.

Adrian leaned closer.

“Those are transfers.”

“Yes.”

“To whom?”

“The coded names are in the real ledger.”

“Where?”

Beatrice closed the book.

“Your father moved it the night he died.”

“Where?”

“He never told me.”

Emma frowned. “Then why bring us here?”

“Because he left one message.”

Beatrice pointed toward the altar.

“The chapel bell was removed fifteen years ago.”

Adrian looked up.

He remembered the empty bell tower.

Beatrice continued.

“Officially, the bronze cracked.”

“Unofficially?”

“Vittorio ordered it taken down at 1:50 a.m. the night he died.”

Adrian frowned. “Why would he do that?”

“Because he needed something no one would question leaving the estate.”

The implication arrived at once.

“The ledger was inside the bell.”

“Maybe.”

“Where is the bell now?”

“According to the estate inventory, melted for scrap.”

Adrian smiled without humor. “According to the same people who said Matteo died in a boat.”

Beatrice opened her coat and handed him a folded shipping receipt.

The paper was old and fragile.

Destination: St. Agnes Foundry, Newark.

The receiving signature was illegible.

Adrian looked at the date.

The day after his father died.

Emma asked, “If the bell left the estate, what are we doing here?”

Beatrice looked toward the altar again.

“Finding out whether it actually left.”

She walked behind the altar and knelt.

A stone tile bore three scratched lines.

The same mark as the painting and rabbit.

Beatrice pressed it.

A panel shifted at the base of the altar.

Inside lay a bronze clapper.

Not a bell.

A clapper.

Wrapped around it was a narrow strip of paper.

Adrian unfolded it.

His father’s handwriting.

IF MATTEO RETURNS, FOLLOW THE DEAD MAN’S WEIGHT.

Emma read over his shoulder. “What does that mean?”

Beatrice looked confused.

Adrian did not.

He had seen the phrase once before.

On a shipping invoice from the week of Matteo’s supposed death.

A discrepancy his father had dismissed as clerical error.

The reported weight of Matteo’s body and coffin had been unusually high.

Adrian looked toward Beatrice.

“The bell never went to the foundry.”

“Then where?”

Adrian’s voice turned cold.

“With Matteo’s coffin.”

Emma stared.

“If Matteo never died…”

“Then something else was buried under his name.”

A noise came from the rear of the chapel.

Adrian turned.

The door slammed shut.

The candles went out.

Emma whispered, “Adrian.”

He heard the click of a lock.

Then a man’s voice spoke from the darkness outside.

Vincent Roche.

“You always were quicker than your father.”

Adrian moved toward the door.

Vincent laughed softly from the other side.

“That did not save him either.”

Smoke began to curl beneath the threshold.

Emma coughed.

Beatrice swore.

Adrian looked toward the altar, the windows, the hidden panel.

Vincent had not come to kill them with a gun.

He had come to burn the chapel with all three of them inside.

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And for the first time that night, Adrian understood the advantage Vincent believed he had.

He did not need the ledger if he could eliminate everyone who knew how to find it.