Page 90 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

He reached into his coat and produced a small brass button.

“This was found near the path to the crypt,” he said. “Buttons do not fall away on their own.”

Eliza regarded it without reaction. “No. They are sewn on.”

The gallery sconce nearest him guttered violently and went dark.

Ashwood flinched.

Eliza did not.

“I have no explanation for your curiosity,” she said. “Nor do I intend to provide one.”

He studied her for a long moment, recalibrating.

“I will find the boy,” he said quietly. “Hartleigh keeps secrets—but none beyond my reach.”

“Do inform me if you uncover anything of value,” she replied.

Ashwood’s mouth tightened. “I believe I already have.”

He turned away. His footsteps faded down the gallery.

Behind Eliza, the extinguished sconce flared back to life.

She exhaled slowly.

The house was not warning her.

It was standing with her. The awareness settled through her slowly, steady as breath returning after too long held.

And she was learning—at last—how to hear it.

Chapter Forty-Two

The house settled into an uneasy stillness after Ashwood left the gallery.

Eliza stood at the far window, steadying her breath. She had taken her place again within the structure of Hartleigh—calm, precise, composed—but the strain hummed beneath her skin.

Thomas was still with Sammy.

Ashwood was prowling the corridors.

And Hartleigh listened.

She had taken no more than three steps toward the stairs when Mr. Carter approached, bowing lower than usual.

“My lady, Mrs. Lane requests a private word. She is waiting in the blue antechamber.”

Eliza’s pulse caught.

Margaret Lane.

They had not spoken since their first, uneasy meeting, the woman too pale and brittle with nerves, her claim poorly constructed, her son too watchful. The story had not held. Eliza had known it then, yet something had stayed her hand.

Now that unease returned.

“Is she alone?” Eliza asked.