“I’m surprised he didn’t just kill them all instead. There are plenty of examples of that in history.” My comment is a joke, but Ben nods seriously.
“I wouldn’t be surprised, but if he did, no one ever caught him.” I wait for Ben to crack a smile, but it doesn’t come.
“And the other secret?” I ask, taking the story a little more seriously too.
“Right here.” He knocks on the wood panelling beside thebed and taps along until it sounds hollow before pushing. The panel slips inward and slides along on rickety grooves. It’s more of a crawlspace than a door.
“There’s one in my room too,” he explains. “I think my room was originally supposed to be Sylvie’s room, but from what I can work out, she wasn’t here long enough to find the tunnel.” He crouches down to check the opening.
“Wasn’t here?” Why wouldn’t she be here?
Ben twists back to stare at me. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?”
“After Celeste’s mother died, she left with Sylvie. Moved into…”
Aiden’s apartment. “A loft in the Arts District,” I finish for him.
“Yeah, though it was part of the Vale back then. Not as trendy as it is now. I think that’s why her father began the gentrification project and created the Arts District.” So, Celeste took her little sister and ran away from her dad? Familiar story and yet I’m struggling to find any sort of sympathy for her. I’ve more curiosity than anything else.
I nod. “Celeste raised Sylvie there? Why not here?”
“Good question. One I haven’t been able to answer yet.”
“Okay. Wow, complicated.” This discovery feels like a needle under my skin. An irritation that will bug me until I find out why. Did Dax know he was getting involved with an heiress back then, or did he assume she was just another girl from the Vale? Why would her father leave the business to her after she left him? Guilt? Pity? Filial obligation?
Ben grunts in agreement, suggesting I don’t know the half of it. “This whole fucking family and its bullshit is complicated. This tunnel, however, is not. Come on.”
I follow Ben, either bravely or stupidly, through the crawl space and into a corridor, which is actually more of a staircase between the walls. He flicks a switch, and the lights flicker on, showing meit’s far less creepy or dusty than I expected.
“There are four flights of stairs leading straight down. They emerge under the house and lead to a tunnel,” he explains.
“This is how you get to the cottage, isn’t it?”
“Technically,thatis how I get to the cottage.” Ben points at a tiny stairway and crawlspace behind us that leads off at a right angle from my entryway. I follow him over and through the gap, my shoulders touching the walls on both sides, and into another bedroom. His.
“I think the cottage was a later addition to the grounds, or Celeste’s parents commandeered it and turned into a playhouse. When I first found it, there were toys and books everywhere. I tucked them into the attic and took over the space. Seemed perfect, especially as it led straight in and out of my room. Only later did I realise my door was more modern than yours. So, Celeste’s door must have come first, and later they added one for Sylvie, for when she was big enough to explore. At least, that’s my guess.”
It made sense. A folly of parental indulgence, but that was my envy talking. I could only imagine the wonder of having a place like that to retreat to as a child.
“You can use it too if you ever need to escape for a while,” Ben offers, fussing with the quilt on his bed and kicking clothing into a pile in front of his dresser. “I mean. I’m always on the move, so you’d have privacy. It’s so quiet down there you can hear a mouse fart.” He seems to realise what he’s said before he blushes again. “Right…well.”
“And I can visit you there too, right? When we need somewhere just to chill away from the house and have a chat or whatever?” I ask, offering what he really wants, companionship, friendship, someone to fill that gap left behind by loneliness.
“Yeah, of course. I’d like that.” He holds my gaze for a long, expectant moment and then seems to chicken out of saying whatever has been building in his mind.
“Okay. This way. There’s lots more to see.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Isee more of the compound with Ben than I have with anyone else. He shows me the ballroom and how the mirrored panels on the back wall all swing open, linking it to the banquet hall via discreet little switches hidden in the pillars dividing each panel. He turns on the chandeliers and explains the way the mirrors would have enhanced the candlelight in both rooms back before they made the light electric. The result is a golden glow that shimmers over everything. Pure opulence.
He points out the recessed shelving on the first-floor corridor and shows me that if you twist the statue of Eros, on the fifth shelf, ninety degrees clockwise, the entire thing swings open to reveal yet another staircase. One that leads to Sylvie’s room. It’s no wonder she manages to sneak out so easily.
“The key,” he explains, hopping ahead of me and walking backwards. “Is to look for geometric designs. Especially ones that have a sense of balance. The old man was obsessed with either balance or opposites. Yin and yang kind of stuff. Light and dark.Black and white; they both appear throughout the house. Normally marking a puzzle.”
“Like the two halves of the maze?”
