Chapter Five
Rebecca stood on the wide front porch, her hand brushing the weathered railing. The old house breathed with character tall windows, creaking boards, and a charm that seemed to lean into her bones.
"Afternoon, Ms. Earl," he said with a nod, his tone even and polite. "How's the house treating you?"
Rebecca managed a smile. "It's beautiful. More than I expected, honestly. Though it still feels like… someone else's life I've stepped into."
Rebecca hesitated, then asked lightly, "I think I met your sister yesterday. Clara Boyd? At the clinic."
Taylor straightened, his expression tightening for a moment before settling back into calm. "Ah. Clara. Yes, she told me."
"Would you like some coffee?" she asked, her voice careful but warm. "I just brewed a pot."
Taylor glanced up, surprised, then gave a small smile. "Don't mind if I do." He wiped his palms on a rag tucked into his belt and followed her inside.
"Thank you, Ms. Earl," he said, wrapping his hands around the cup. "Most folks just let me work and be on my way. Nice to sit a spell."
Rebecca smiled faintly. "It's Rebecca. And honestly, it's nice to have company. The house feels too quiet."
Taylor, He was in his fifties, solidly built, his hair already silvering at the edges. He gave Rebecca a nod.
"So, you're liking the place?" he asked, voice steady and matter-of-fact.
"I do," Rebecca said with a small smile. "More than I expected, honestly. I was hoping… maybe, if the price was right, I could buy it?"
Taylor chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head. "Now, I can't do that. This house ain't for sale. I've been looking after it since I was about eighteen, and that's been some years now. It was a ladies' home back then. She left one day and never came back. Been mine to keep up ever since."
Rebecca tilted her head. "She? Who was she?"
Taylor hesitated, studying her face as if weighing whether to say more. "Star could tell you better, she knows all the gossip. But the name was Weatherman, I believe."
Rebecca froze, her heart skipping. "Weatherman?"
"Mm-hmm." Taylor glanced up at the tall windows as though expecting a ghost to peer back. "She was well-liked, from what little I recall. Folks said she had fire in her, but one day she just went. Never returned. Shame, really. Left this house behind, and I couldn't bear to see it rot."
Rebecca swallowed, her throat tight. "Her first name do you know it?"
He shrugged. "Tina, Why?"
Rebecca felt the air press heavy around her. She forced a steady breath. "She was my grandmother."
Taylor blinked, eyebrows lifting. Then a slow, almost respectful nod. "Well, then. Maybe it's fitting you're here. But I'll say again the house isn't mine to sell. If you can prove your kin we can figure something out.
Rebecca managed a smile, though her hands trembled against the porch rail. "That'll be fine, Taylor. More than fine."
The clock ticked in the corner, the sound of it filling the quiet between them. For the first time since arriving, the house felt less like a museum and more like a place where living voices belonged.
Rebecca hesitated as Taylor sipped his coffee, the silence stretching comfortably enough that she dared to take a risk. She rose, walked into the parlor, and returned with the leather-bound album she'd discovered her first night.
She set it on the table between them. The cover was cracked, the brass corners dulled by age.
Taylor's eyes wide and skipped to it immediately, his expression changing to pain. "Haven't seen that thing in years."
Rebecca opened it carefully, the pages whispering as they turned. Photographs stared back at her sepia tones fading into black-and-white, then into washed-out color. Families on the porch. A woman at the vanity. Children lined in their Sunday best.
She tapped one with her finger. "This is her, isn't it? Tina Weatherman?"
Taylor leaned closer, his broad hand resting on the edge of the album. He studied the faces faintly smiling and said nodded. He pointed to the young girl in the picture "That's her. Your grandmother." His voice carried a note of respect, and maybe a little awe.
Rebecca's throat tightened. "I never met her. My mother never really spoke about her. She said a few things about her here and there. I do know that she loved blue and her favorite flowers where lilacs."
"That woman," he said, tapping the photograph with one calloused finger, "is Elenor Weatherman.
Rebecca's breath caught. The woman's eyes seemed to stare straight through the camera, cold and commanding even across decades.
Rebecca swallowed hard, tracing the blurred outline of Elenor's face. "She looksterrifying."
Taylor gave a short laugh. "You wouldn't be the first to say that. Elenor was a force. Folks still talk about her as if she's listening. She used to terrify me as a kid."
"And those two beside her?" Taylor continued, voice low. "Tina's brothers. Thomas and Samuel Weatherman. Samuel died young accident out by the river. Thomas he's still alive. Keeps to himself now, out past the marsh road. Folks say he doesn't take kindly to company."
She pointed. "Who's this? Not Tina, not Thomas or Samuel."
Taylor leaned closer, his jaw tightening as recognition flickered in his eyes. "That," he said slowly, "is Carolina Edgeworth. Elenor's best friend. Nathaniel's great-grandmother."
Rebecca's chest tightened. The woman's gaze, even blurred by age, seemed to pierce through the sepia tones as though she'd been caught mid-thought.
From the yard, the wind stirred, carrying with it the faint scent of lilacs her grandmother's favorite flower according to her mother.
Her pulse quickened. "So the Edgeworths and the Weathermans they were close?"
Taylor gave a humorless laugh. "Close enough to make the town freeze in their tracks if they were out for a Sunday Stroll. People just never knew what would happen when the Weathermans and the a Edgeworths were out on the town. But that kind of closeness has sharp edges, Rebecca. Remember that."
Before she could press him further, three measured knocks rattled the door precise, deliberate.
Rebecca and Taylor exchanged a startled glance. Taylor set his empty mug down with a quiet click. "You expecting anyone?"
Before she could answer, the front door eased open on its hinges someone had already turned the latch.
Nathaniel Edgeworth stepped inside as if the house had opened for him. He wore a dark suit despite the late light, his presence drawing the evening cool in with him. His storm-gray gaze flicked to Taylor, then settled on the leather album between Rebecca's hands.
"My apologies for the intrusion," he said, voice smooth as glass. "The latch was obliging."
Taylor's jaw set. "And speak of the devil and he will appear."
Taylor straightened, a protective posture. "Door was shut."
"And yet," Nathaniel replied mildly, eyes never leaving Rebecca, "I'm here."
He turned his head to her. "Ms. Earl."
"Nathaniel," she managed, fingers tightening on the album's edge. "May I help you with something?"
"Not me but my grandmother" A faint curve touched his lips too brief to be called a smile. "My grandmother, Carolina Edgeworth, requests the pleasure of your company for dinner this evening. Seven o'clock. Edgeworth House."
The name settled in the room like a dropped stone.
Taylor's jaw tightened. "Short notice."
"Grandmother is fond of decisiveness," Nathaniel said. "And of introductions made at her table." He shifted, and for the first time his attention grazed the album.
Rebecca's pulse drummed in her throat. "why me?"
"Because you are here," he said simply. "And because Carolina wishes it."
Taylor's gaze cut to Rebecca, low and warning. "You don't owe anyone your evening."
Nathaniel's eyes cooled. "Nor does she owe anyone the fear of it."
Silence pressed close. The ticking kitchen clock seemed suddenly too loud.
Rebecca closed the album gently, as if not to wake something sleeping inside it. "Will Dr. Greyson be there?"
Nathaniel's answer came without pause. "Of course it's home I can't see why he wouldn't be."
Her mouth was dry. "I don't have anything appropriate to wear."
Nathaniel considered this as though weighing a clinical finding. "Grandmother appreciates sincerity over costume. But if it eases your mind, a car will call for you at half past six." He glanced once at the red cloth folded over the muffin basket, then back to her. "Bring nothing."
He stepped back onto the porch without a creak of floorboard, and the cooling air rushed in to fill where he had been. The door closed with ease like it wasn't heavy at all.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then Taylor exhaled, the sound rough in the quiet kitchen.
"You don't have to go," he said.
Rebecca stared at the album cover, the dulled brass corners winking in the late light.
"I think," she said, surprising herself with the steadiness in her voice, "I do."
Taylor's expression softened resigned, protective. "Then I'll be here at six twenty. Don't open the door to anyone before that."
Rebecca nodded, but her gaze had drifted to the stairwell, to the hush gathering at the landing like breath held.
Seven o'clock. Edgeworth House.
The house around her seemed to listen.