Page 74 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Her hands shook. She curled them into fists to steady herself.

“Sammy,” she murmured, “listen to me very carefully. You’re safe now. We both know it wasn’t Mr. Grey who brought you here.”

His lip quivered. “Is he gonna come back? The man with the buttons?”

“Yes,” she said honestly. “He might. That’s why we have to leave before he does.”

Sammy clutched her arm with both hands, trembling. “Where do we go?”

Eliza scanned the room. This cottage—Thomas’s childhood home—felt exposed now. A trap laid with precision. Ashwood would return with witnesses, with outrage, with false shock.

She could not allow him to find Sammy here. She could not allow him to destroy Thomas with this lie.

Her gaze shifted toward the distant rise of land where the chapel sat, quiet and self-contained. And below it, the crypt.

Not a place anyone would willingly search. Not a place Ashwood would set foot inside.

“It will be a strange place,” she admitted softly. “But safe. Safer than here.”

Sammy shivered. “Dark?”

“Yes,” she said. “But only for a moment. I’ll bring candles. And I will stay with you as long as I can.”

Eliza stood and gathered the extra blanket from the foot of the bed. She wrapped it tightly around Sammy’s shoulders, then helped him stand. His legs wobbled, but he held on.

“All right,” she murmured. “We must be quiet. And we must hurry.”

She opened the cottage door and stepped out first, scanning the path. Nothing moved except the trees bowing in the wind.

“Stay close,” she whispered.

Sammy pressed against her side. She drew her shawl wide, covering him as best she could, making him look like nothing more than bulky fabric at her hip.

Every step back toward Hartleigh felt like walking into rising danger. But the wind stayed at her back, never against her, nudging her along, urging her onward.

She had the irrational certainty the house would not betray them. She did not know where the thought came from, only that it felt true.

She kept to the narrow side paths, avoiding the main drive where anyone might see them. They reached the chapel terrace within minutes. The crypt door stood just below, heavy, iron-bound, and still.

Eliza descended the stone steps with care, guiding Sammy down beside her.

“Close your eyes if it helps,” she murmured.

He did.

She gripped the iron ring and pulled. The hinges groaned softly but opened without resistance. The air inside was cool, dry, and still. Not welcoming, but protective somehow.

She led him to the far alcove, where an old mourner’s bench sat beneath an arch of carved stone. She settled him onto it gently, layering both blankets around him until he was a cocoon of wool and trembling breath.

From the chapel niche, she retrieved a candle stub and struck a spark. The flame flickered, then steadied.

Sammy’s eyes opened.

“It’s not so dark now,” he whispered.

Eliza settled beside him on the stone bench, her back against the wall, her shawl wrapped around them both.

Whatever the night brought, she would not leave him to it alone.