Rain tapped gently against the windowpanes the next morning. Eleanor woke with the taste of dreams lingering shadows, whispers, her mother's voice calling from just out of reach. She sat up, disoriented, her gaze falling on the portrait now resting against her bedroom wall.
Her mother's eyes seemed to follow her.
She dressed quickly and wandered the corridors. Ashford Hall, though grand, often felt like a maze its walls too thick, its silence too deep.
Near the old music room, she stopped. A draft passed her shoulder.
Then she heard it.
A whisper. Faint. Like a breath drawn between words.
"Eleanor…"
She froze. "Who's there?"
Silence.
She pushed the door open. The room smelled of age and lavender polish. The grand piano stood untouched, keys yellowing. No one.
She turned to leave and noticed a loose panel beside the fireplace.
Heart racing, she pried it open.
Behind it: another envelope.
She opened it slowly.
To my daughter,
If you've found this, then I failed to tell you the truth when I had the chance. Ashford is not only a home it is a mirror. And it will show you everything, even what you wish to forget. Protect your heart. And trust no one fully… not even the ones who seem to care.
Your mother, Evelyn
Eleanor staggered back.
Later, over tea, she read the note aloud to Thomas.
He set his cup down. "Your mother feared something. Or someone."
Eleanor nodded. "I think my uncle knew. And I think the reason I was brought back has nothing to do with inheritance. There's something here I'm meant to find."
Thomas leaned forward, serious. "Then we find it. Together."
She smiled, faint but genuine. "I'm glad you're here."
For the first time, she felt it not fear, not confusion but resolve.
Ashford Hall had whispered.
Now, Eleanor was ready to listen.