"She found a small notch beneath the black stone."
Abigail frowned.
"A notch?"
Martha nodded.
"She thinks it's a key."
Rachel looked skeptical.
"A ring?"
"Your father was a clever man."
Abigail glanced toward the mansion.
"So was Ashcroft."
Crowe studied the gates.
"There's an old service entrance on the northern side. It leads into the kitchen cellars."
Rachel raised an eyebrow.
"How do you know?"
Crowe looked away.
"I've been here before."
Abigail studied him.
"When?"
"Three years ago."
"Why?"
Crowe hesitated.
"Voss brought me here to meet Ashcroft."
Rachel's expression hardened.
"And you didn't think to mention that earlier?"
Crowe sighed.
"I wasn't proud of it."
Abigail stepped closer.
"Then tell us everything now."
Crowe nodded.
He explained that Ashcroft used the mansion as a private headquarters. Important visitors arrived at night. Business records were kept in locked rooms beneath the house. Several servants lived on the property, but few were allowed into the western wing.
"And Emily?" Abigail asked.
Crowe's face tightened.
"I never saw her here."
"Then why do you think she's inside?"
"Because Voss once told me she was staying somewhere safe. Somewhere no one could reach her."
He looked toward the mansion.
"And because Ashcroft House is the only place in the county Voss doesn't fully control."
Rachel frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Crowe lowered his voice.
"Voss is powerful. But Ashcroft owns him."
Abigail looked toward the dark windows.
"Then we need to get inside."
Martha folded her arms.
"And how exactly do you propose doing that?"
Rachel smiled.
"I have an idea."
Martha looked suspicious.
"That expression worries me."
Rachel turned toward Crowe.
"Does Ashcroft know you've turned against him?"
"Not yet."
"Good."
She looked at Abigail.
"Then we use that."
An hour later, a carriage approached the main gates of Ashcroft House.
Sheriff Crowe sat in front, holding the reins.
Beside him sat Rachel Whitmore, her wrists loosely bound with rope.
She wore a dark cloak and kept her head lowered.
Two guards stepped forward.
One raised a lantern.
"Evening, Sheriff."
Crowe nodded.
"Evening."
"What brings you here?"
"Prisoner."
The guard leaned closer.
Rachel lifted her head.
The man's eyes widened.
"Whitmore?"
Crowe nodded.
"Rachel Whitmore."
The guard grinned.
"Mr. Ashcroft will be pleased."
Rachel glared at him.
"Don't count on it."
The guard laughed.
"Still got some fight in you, eh?"
Crowe looked impatient.
"Open the gate."
The guard hesitated.
"Orders are to keep everyone out."
Crowe leaned forward.
"Do you want to explain to Mr. Ashcroft why you refused to admit a prisoner he's been hunting for two days?"
The guard considered that.
Then stepped aside.
"Open it!"
The iron gates creaked.
The carriage rolled forward.
Rachel kept her eyes lowered.
But beneath her cloak, her hands were already working against the loose rope.
Behind the mansion, Abigail and Martha moved through the trees toward the service entrance.
Lucy remained hidden with Peter Bellamy and two trusted townsmen near the northern fence.
Abigail had insisted that her youngest sister stay behind.
Lucy had argued.
Rachel had argued louder.
Martha had threatened to tie both of them to a tree.
In the end, Lucy agreed to remain outside and watch for approaching riders.
But she had one condition.
"If you find Emily, bring her out."
Abigail had promised.
Now she crouched beside the cellar entrance.
The door was old and reinforced with iron.
A heavy lock hung from the latch.
Martha examined it.
"Well?"
Abigail removed the silver ring.
She studied the notch beneath the black stone.
Then pressed it against the lock.
Nothing happened.
She tried turning it.
Still nothing.
Martha sighed.
"Perhaps Lucy was wrong."
Abigail looked closer.
The lock had a narrow opening shaped like a small triangle.
She pressed the ring against it.
A faint click sounded.
Martha's eyes widened.
Abigail turned the ring.
The lock opened.
For a moment, neither woman spoke.
Then Martha smiled.
"That girl is definitely her father's daughter."
They slipped inside.
The cellar smelled of damp stone and old wood.
Rows of shelves lined the walls.
Barrels stood stacked beneath the stairs.
Somewhere above, footsteps echoed.
Abigail lifted a small lantern.
Martha caught her arm.
"Not yet."
They waited.
A servant descended the stairs carrying a basket of empty bottles.
She was a young woman with dark hair and tired eyes.
When she saw them, she froze.
Abigail raised one hand.
"Please don't scream."
The servant stared.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Abigail Whitmore."
The woman's expression changed.
"Whitmore?"
Abigail nodded.
The servant looked toward the stairs.
Then whispered, "You shouldn't be here."
"We know."
"They'll kill you."
"Maybe."
The woman stared at her.
Abigail stepped closer.
"We're looking for a girl named Emily Crowe."
The servant's face went pale.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered, "How do you know about Emily?"
Abigail felt hope surge through her.
"She's here?"
The woman glanced toward the stairs.
"Yes."
Martha stepped forward.
"Where?"
The servant hesitated.
Then whispered, "West wing. Third floor."
Abigail looked toward the ceiling.
"Is she safe?"
The woman lowered her eyes.
"She's alive."
The answer frightened Abigail more than she expected.
"What does that mean?"
The servant swallowed.
"Mr. Ashcroft keeps her locked in a room. She isn't allowed visitors. She isn't allowed outside."
Martha's expression hardened.
"How long?"
"Years."
Abigail felt sick.
"Years?"
The servant nodded.
"She was very ill when she first arrived. But she recovered."
"And they kept her here?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
The woman looked away.
"I don't know."
Abigail did.
Emily Crowe had become a hostage.
A living chain around her father's neck.
Martha took a slow breath.
"What's your name, child?"
"Anna."
"Anna, can you help us?"
The servant looked terrified.
"If they find out—"
"They won't."
"You don't understand."
Martha reached for her hand.
"Then help us understand."
Anna's eyes filled with tears.
"My brother works in the stables. Mr. Ashcroft told him that if I ever tried to leave, he'd lose his job."
Abigail looked at her.
"Is that all?"
Anna shook her head.
"He said my brother might have an accident."
Martha's face hardened.