The moonlight filtering through the conservatory glass seemed to crystallize around Davies, transforming the familiar, stoic butler into an enigmatic figure. The crimson 'Annelise's Heart' rose he held was a mirror to the one I'd worn, a silent, loaded question. My mind, still reeling from the vellum's revelations, struggled to process this new, unnerving variable. Was he the mysterious "P.F."? Had Penny, fearing exposure, sent her most trusted confidant? Or was this an elaborate, terrifying trap, sprung by Olivia and Caroline, with Davies as their impeccably mannered executioner?
"Mr. Davies," I managed, my voice a strained whisper, the feigned surprise of being discovered morphing into genuine alarm. "You… you startled me. I didn't expect anyone else to be… tending the roses at this hour." The lie felt flimsy, transparent under his unwavering gaze.
He took a slow, deliberate step closer, the shadows playing across his impassive features. "Lady Annelise's Baccara rose often benefited from nocturnal ministrations, Miss Eleanor. As, it seems, do some of her granddaughters." His voice was its usual low, even timbre, yet it carried an unfamiliar weight, a resonance that hinted at depths I had never suspected. "The note you received at the Atherton Gallery… it found its way to me."
My heart constricted. "Found its way?" I echoed, feigning ignorance. "I'm not sure I understand. I received no note, Davies." It was a desperate gamble, a denial in the face of his clear knowledge.
A ghost of a smile, so faint it might have been a trick of the moonlight, touched his lips. "Indeed, Miss. Perhaps it was merely a stray piece of paper, then, bearing the initials 'P.F.' and mentioning the oldest rose. My apologies for the assumption." He wasn't buying it. His calm, his precision, was more unnerving than any overt accusation. "This particular bloom," he lifted the crimson rose slightly, its petals like dark velvet in the gloom, "was a favorite of your grandmother. She said it represented a truth that was beautiful, yet fiercely protected by its own thorns."
His words, a direct echo of Arthur Grimshaw's warning on the vellum, sent a chill through me. He knew. He had to know more than he was letting on. "Davies," I said, abandoning the pretense, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial hush, "who are you really? And why are you here?"
"I am, as I have always been, Miss Eleanor, the butler of the Vance estate," he replied, his gaze unwavering. "And my presence here is… a continuation of a long-standing duty. A duty to the memory of Lady Annelise, and to the preservation of her true wishes."
"Her true wishes?" I pressed, my hand instinctively going to the pocket where the locket and the vellum now resided. "Are you… are you 'P.F.'?"
He neither confirmed nor denied it directly. "Penelope Featherworth is a woman of great loyalty and discretion, Miss. She, like myself, served your grandmother for many years. She understands the… complexities… of the Vance family. She also understands that direct contact, at this juncture, might prove… hazardous. For all parties involved."
Hazardous. The word hung heavy in the fragrant air. "Is Penny in danger?"
"Let us say she is taking precautions," Davies said, his eyes scanning the shadowy corners of the conservatory. "The walls of this house have always had ears, Miss Eleanor. And some ears are sharper, and more malevolent, than others." He paused, then added, "Your recent… activities… have not gone unnoticed."
My blood ran cold. "My activities?"
"Your visit to Queens. Your inquiries into a certain defunct law firm. Your discovery in the attic." His knowledge was precise, terrifyingly so. "You are treading on dangerous ground, Miss. Ground that others have fought, and perhaps even died, to keep undisturbed."
"Who are these 'others'?" I demanded, a new fear coiling in my stomach. "Caroline? Olivia?"
"They are certainly… invested parties," Davies conceded. "But the roots of this, as Mrs. Gable might say, run deeper. Your grandmother made powerful enemies by trying to protect her legacy, and by extension, her true heir. Those enemies, or their descendants, may still be active."
"The man Olivia was speaking with at the Atherton auction," I said, the image of his cold, watchful eyes flashing in my mind. "He seemed… dangerous. Do you know who he is?"
Davies' expression, for the first time, showed a flicker of something akin to concern. "Mr. Julian Thornecroft. A man with… varied interests, and a reputation for resolving delicate situations with ruthless efficiency. His association with Miss Olivia is a recent, and troubling, development. He is not a man to be trifled with."
Julian Thornecroft. Another name to add to the growing list of shadows. "So, what now, Davies?" I asked, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. "You know what I've found. You know what I'm trying to do. Are you here to help me, or to stop me?"
He held out the crimson rose. "Lady Annelise believed in courage, Miss Eleanor. She also believed in prudence. This path you are on… it is fraught with peril. But the truth, she always maintained, has a right to see the light of day, no matter how deeply it has been buried." He placed the rose gently in my hand. Its thorns, though small, pricked my palm. "I cannot fight your battles for you. My role has always been one of quiet stewardship, of observation. But I can, perhaps, offer a guiding hand, a word of caution when the shadows lengthen."
"So, you are an ally?" I whispered, hope battling with ingrained suspicion.
"I am an ally to Lady Annelise's memory, and to what she stood for," he stated, his voice regaining its familiar, formal cadence. "Consider me… a resource. But a resource that must be used with extreme discretion. You are not the only player in this game, Miss Eleanor, and your opponents are not sentimental."
He then imparted a piece of chilling information. "The silver box you retrieved from the attic… Miss Olivia was aware of its general existence, though not its precise contents or the means to open it. Your grandmother, in her later years, spoke cryptically of a 'heart of silver' that held a 'thorned truth.' Olivia, with her mother's prompting, has been searching for it intermittently ever since she gained access to Lady Annelise's private rooms. Your… focused search… merely accelerated her timeline, or perhaps, confirmed her suspicions about its location."
So Olivia hadn't just stumbled upon it. She'd been looking. And my actions had inadvertently led her closer.
"She doesn't know about the vellum, though?" I asked, my voice tight.
"Not specifically. But she and Mrs. Sterling are aware that your grandmother took steps to create… alternative provisions. They fear what those provisions might contain. Your possession of the locket, and now, presumably, whatever the silver box contained, makes you a direct threat to their carefully constructed reality."
The air in the conservatory suddenly felt colder, the sweet scent of jasmine cloying and oppressive. "What should I do, Davies?"
"Proceed with caution," he advised. "The vellum is a powerful piece of evidence, but its premature revelation could be… counterproductive. You need more than just your grandmother's words. You need to understand the full scope of the Rose Guard Fund, its assets, its current status. Alistair Finch in Florida… he is your next logical step. But reaching him will be far more challenging than visiting Miss Featherworth."
"Why?"
"Because, Miss Eleanor," Davies said, his voice dropping to an almost inaudible whisper, "Mr. Finch has been incommunicado for the past six months. His retirement community reports he left abruptly, leaving no forwarding address. Some believe he simply sought greater seclusion. Others… others fear something more sinister."
Alistair Finch, the keeper of "further keys," had vanished. Was it a coincidence? Or had Caroline and Olivia, or perhaps the menacing Julian Thornecroft, already reached him, silencing him before he could reveal the full truth to my grandmother's true heir? The single rose in my hand suddenly felt like a brand, a symbol of a legacy that was not just hidden, but actively, dangerously, suppressed. My path had just become infinitely more perilous. The game wasn't just about reclaiming my inheritance; it was about uncovering a conspiracy that might have already claimed its first victim in this new, deadly round. And who was truly watching whom in this gilded cage of secrets and lies?