Chapter 95 - Footsteps in the Cellar
"The root cellars," Clara gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "The tunnel under the east foundation—it connects straight through to the carriage house and the old weir pump room!"
Vance was already moving toward the hallway that led to the service entrance. "Katherine, get back out to Caleb. Take Lily, lock yourselves in the truck, and head straight for the main highway. Don't wait for us."
"I'm not leaving you or Clara in this house," I replied fiercely, stepping forward into the beam of his light. "You don't know the layout of the sub-basement. Arthur built those lower passages during the prohibition years. My mother showed me the floor plans when I was a girl. If Julian is down there, he knows every blind corner and false wall. You'll walk right into an ambush without someone who knows the turns."
Vance looked at me, seeing the steel in my eyes, and gave a terse, reluctant nod. "Fine. But you stay three paces behind me, and if I yell run, you don't look back."
We stepped out onto the veranda just long enough to signal Caleb. In the pale beam of my pocket flashlight, Caleb's rugged face looked drawn with concern. I held up three fingers—the prearranged signal that meant danger remained active—and shouted across the gravel drive.
"Caleb! Stay with Lily! Keep the engine running and watch the treeline! If you see anyone approach this porch, don't ask questions!"
"Understood!" Caleb yelled back, his massive hand resting on the frame of the driver's window where Lily was peering out through the glass, her pale face illuminated by the green dash lights. "Be careful down there, Katherine! The timber’s alive with movement!"
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Returning inside, Vance led the way through the swinging pantry doors into the cold, cavernous kitchen. The smell here was sharper—vinegar, stagnant brine, and centuries-old stone. At the back of the scullery stood a heavy iron door with a massive latch, reinforced with crossbars of weathered oak. It hung open by three inches, a trail of fresh mud smeared along the stone sill.
As Vance pushed the door inward, the hinges shrieked like a dying animal, opening into a dark, yawning pit of stone steps that descended into the bowels of the estate. The cold air rising from the darkness smelled faintly of wet earth, iron... and fresh lamp oil.
