Chapter 1 - THE TEA SHE WOULD NOT LET ME DRINK
The rim of the porcelain cup had already touched my lips when bare feet slapped against the marble behind me.
“Daddy, don’t drink the tea!”
A small body collided with my arm.
The teacup flew sideways.
Hot liquid struck my tie, shirt cuff, and the polished floor. Porcelain broke beneath the edge of the breakfast table. A sharp herbal smell rose from the steaming puddle.
Lily gripped my wrist with both hands.
Her face was white with terror.
Until that morning, I knew her as Lily Hale, the quiet five-year-old Nora had brought into the east service wing three weeks earlier. Nora said the child was her late cousin’s daughter and needed somewhere temporary to stay.
Lily had always called me Mr. Blackwood.
“What did you call me?” I asked.
Before she could answer, Nora crossed the room.
Her hand rose.
The slap cracked across Lily’s face.
The child spun and fell heavily onto one hip. Her slippers slid beneath the sideboard.
“How dare you spill the tea I made?” Nora shouted.
For one second, I did not move.
Nora had worked in my family’s homes for fourteen years. She had managed my mother’s final illness, organized my wife’s funeral, and remained at Blackwood House after everyone else returned to ordinary life.
I had never seen her strike a child.
Lily pressed one hand to her cheek.
Her silver locket had opened during the fall.
A tiny photograph rested inside.
Claire.
My late wife wore a hospital gown and held a newborn against her chest. Her hair was damp. Her expression was exhausted and fiercely happy.
I had never seen the picture.
I had been told our daughter died minutes after birth.
Claire died before dawn the following day.
The newborn in the photograph had a crescent-shaped mark above her left collarbone.
Lily’s nightdress had slipped during the fall.
The same mark rested against her skin.
My knees weakened.
“Who is this child?”
Nora’s rage vanished.
“She stole that.”
“From whom?”
“It means nothing.”
Lily crawled toward me.
Her hands shook so violently that she dropped a small smartphone once before pushing it into my palm.
“He said after you drank the tea, Mommy was next.”
The screen was locked, but a notification appeared.
IF BLACKWOOD IS STILL ALIVE, MOVE ROSE BEFORE MIDNIGHT.
Nora lunged for the device.
I stepped between her and Lily.
“Do not touch her.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
Her eyes moved toward the broken cup.
Not toward Lily’s reddening face.
Not toward Claire’s photograph.
Toward the tea.
I pulled out my own phone and called emergency services.
“Nobody leaves the house,” I said.
Nora backed toward the service door.
I pressed the security lock on the wall.
Steel bolts engaged throughout the ground floor.
Lily wrapped both arms around my leg.
“Mommy said you wouldn’t know me.”
“Where is your mother?”
She looked at Nora.
Nora whispered, “Don’t.”
Lily pointed at the hidden phone.
“He calls her Rose.”
A second message appeared.
BURN THE LOCKET. CLEAN THE CUP. THE CHAIRMAN CANNOT SEE THE CHILD.
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My uncle Victor was chairman of Blackwood Holdings.
He was also the man who had identified Claire’s body six years earlier.
