Page 20 of When 're Silent

“I’m Inspector Winters,” Ameliasaid. “This is Finn Wright, a consulting detective with the Home Office. We’rehere to speak with Lady Plantagenet about the untimely death of her niece.”

“Oh, it’s terrible news,” thehousekeeper said. “I know her ladyship is very pleased you are both on thecase.” She looked around and then whispered: “But she can be a little harsh atfirst, please bare with her.”

“I’ll use my New World charms,”Finn said, smiling.

The housekeeper blushed and thensaid “follow me, please.”

She led them through a narrowhallway lined with ancestral portraits—silent sentinels keeping vigil over thehome. Their gazes seemed to follow Finn and Amelia, adding to the weight ofscrutiny they already felt from the living.

Lady Agatha Plantagenet receivedthem in a drawing-room where time stood still. Heavy drapes framed tallwindows, filtering the light to cast a golden hue across the furniture. Familyportraits, ensconced in gilded frames, adorned the walls—each face painted withthe stern countenance of nobility.

“Detective Wright, InspectorWinters,” Lady Agatha began, her voice the rustle of dry leaves. “Your presencehere is both unexpected and unsettling.”

Finn took note of her poise, theway she held herself with the bearing of one who had weathered many storms. Hereyes, the color of faded denim, held a depth of sorrow that spoke of recentgrief.

“Apologies for the intrusion, LadyAgatha,” Finn said, his tone respectful. “We’re investigating circumstancesaround your niece’s death and believe you might be able to help us understandsome things.”

“Please, have a seat.” Lady Agathagestured to a set of wing back chairs before settling into her own. Finn notedthe delicate tremble of her hand, the only betrayal of her composed exterior.

“Thank you,” Amelia said, acceptingthe invitation. Finn remained standing, preferring to keep the vantage point.

“Your niece, Dominique—did she evermention anything about feeling under threat?” Finn asked.

“She mentioned receiving anonymouscalls before her death,” Lady Agatha said.

“Can you tell us anything aboutthat?” Finn inquired, getting straight to the point.

Lady Agatha’s gaze drifted to thewindow, as if the answer lay beyond the glass, in the encroaching night. “Yes,”she confirmed, her voice a whisper. “She was frightened. Said she felt eyesupon her at all times, as though she was being watched by someone withmalevolent intent.”

“Did she have any idea who could beresponsible?” Amelia asked gently.

"None," Lady Agathareplied after a long pause. "But I could hear it in her voice—the fear wasreal. And I must say, I always thought this would come from being in thetheater. I always said she didn't have the fortitude to put up with being inthe public eye. Stalkers are always a danger when you are as famous as myniece. I would have hired her a bodyguard, but she always said no."

Finn nodded slowly, processing theinformation. He could feel the day’s light dimming around them, much like theirchances of finding the killer before another life was taken.

The shadows of the room seemed tostretch and congeal as the day’s light waned, casting an aged patina over thefamily portraits that watched from the walls. The air was heavy with whispersof the past, and Finn felt its weight as he scrutinized Lady Agatha, whosesomber eyes held centuries of lineage. She reached beneath the mahogany coffeetable, withdrawing a parcel wrapped in brown paper, aged like the leaves of anold manuscript.

“Before Dominique... passed,” LadyAgatha said, her voice trailing off as she carefully placed the package on thetable, “she received this.”

Amelia leaned forward, the fabricof her blouse catching the last rays filtering through the window, creating asoft glow around her. But Finn’s attention remained fixed on the package, asense of foreboding tightening his chest. He stepped closer, his handsresisting the impulse to reach out and tear away the paper himself.

Agatha’s fingers worked slowly,deliberately, peeling back the layers to reveal a leather-bound script, itscorners worn, its spine cracked with age. Emblazoned on the cover was the title‘Richard III,’ the name etched as though by a quill from another era.

“An odd gift for Dominique,” Finnmurmured, his gaze locked onto the script.

“Indeed,” Agatha replied, openingthe cover. There, nestled between the pages, lay a note, the parchment yellowedand curling at the edges.

“This is an older form of English,”Amelia breathed, recognition flickering across her face. “Older than theprevious note. Harder to make out and understand.”

Finn didn’t need to understand itto know its origin; the looping script was unmistakable. His memory flashedback to the crime scene—Dominique’s lifeless hand, the paper clutched within.The note they’d found may have been written in an older form of English, but itbore the same archaic handwriting.

Lady Agatha’s hand trembled visiblyas she held up the note for them to see. Her eyes, once steely witharistocratic resolve, now brimmed with unspoken dread. The familiar scrawlseemed to mock them from the page, speaking of secrets long buried, of vendettasnursed through generations.

“Does this mean something to you,Lady Agatha?” Finn asked, his voice steady despite the pulse quickening at histemple.

“More than I wish it did,” shewhispered, the glint of ancestral jewelry at her throat dulling as if insympathy with her growing unease. “It’s Old English. In modern English it wouldsay something akin to: The curtain shall fall soon enough.”

Finn took the note, his fingersbrushing against Agatha’s. The contact sent a jolt through him, a current thatspoke of fear and dark histories intertwined. The script was a specter,conjuring images of hooded figures and whispered plots carried through time bysome malevolent force that refused to relinquish its grasp.

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