Chapter 2: First Steps Into The Mistery.

Early the next morning, the sun seeped through the curtains of Katherine's modest room. The chirping of the birds outside her window and the creaking of steps down the hall woke her up. She felt a bit disoriented, lying in bed, wondering where she was for a moment. Then there was her unpacked suitcase by the desk, and in a flash, it all came back: downtown, the Beaulieu estate.

She dressed quickly and went downstairs to the kitchen, where a plate of fresh bread and fruit, and a note in Lucien's firm handwriting, sat waiting.

"I will be in the western garden if anything is needed of me."

Katherine looked out the window, glimpsing Lucien through overgrown hedges. Crouched near a weathered stone bench, he was tending to a patch of wildflowers. Thus-she saw him, unpolished, quiet, virtually alone-and a spark of curiosity had gone off in her. But there was no time to dwell on it.

She had a job that needed to be done.

The archives were just as she had left them on the previous day, dusty, disorganized, overwhelming.Katherine pulled her hair back into a loose bun and heaved up the sleeves of her shirt, ready to make some sense of this confusion. She was checking all the columns and rows on the shelves, she noticed that there was a small door leading to a secret room closed for years.

"Oh no I can't believe this" she said.

Katherine opened the door and entered into a room the lights automatically turned on, she couldn't believe what was in there. She saw a box upon box of documents, books, thick ledgers.

She opened the first box, finding ledgers from the late 1800s. The script flowed but was faded, thus barely readable. She deciphered out names and dates, transactions of land sold, supplies bought, and workers paid.

But as she worked her way through the pile, something caught her eye. Underneath the ledgers lay a bundle of letters, secured with a thin piece of twine. The paper was yellowed; the ink had smudged in places. Carefully, Katherine untied the bundle and unfolded the top letter.

The handwriting was as different from that used in the ledgers as it might have been: less fine, more startingly rushed. And the tone Emotional, ney desperate.

"Dearest Celeste, With every passing day life weighs more heavy and seems very unfathomable in my view but your words rejuvenated the pain I keep to continue bearing. Without you, I shall have no hopes, no urges.

Katherine heart quickened. She reread the letter for more clues, but there was no signature. Who was the author? And who was Celeste?

By midday, the archives were warmer; the sun streamed through the windows in great golden shafts. Katherine had found more letters-only each as poignant, it seemed, as the first. They spoke of a woman named Celeste, apparently doomed to a life of servitude, and of one who loved her deeply despite the barriers between them.

While the letters had not named it-the Beaulieu estate- Katherine, since reading the very first lines of this letter, she somehow felt that all along, it corresponded. An 18th-century estate to which revolution, wars, and bankruptcies hardly leave the opportunity for much longer existence; is it related with one of such moments?

She had spent too much time hunching over, pouring over century-old letters and documents; Katherine stretched back and stood up for a breath of fresh air outdoors.

It was Lucien she found in the west garden, just as the note was saying, leaning against the bench now, cleaning his hand with a square of cloth. By the time their eyes met and he saw her approaches, he started to straighten up, eyeing her with caution and politeness.

"Settling in?" he asked.

"I am," she replied. "The archives are a treasure trove. Though, I can see why you needed someone to sort through it all."

Lucien smiled wryly. "It's been neglected for years, and I suppose nobody wanted to have the burden of it all on their heads.

Katherine hesitated, then held up one of the letters she'd brought with her. "I found this among the documents. Do you know who Celeste was?"

At the mention of the name, Lucien's expression changed. His shoulders stiffened, and the warmth in his eyes dimmed. He looked at the letter but didn't take it.

"Celeste." he whispered, his voice low and as if the name carried a weight he wasn't prepared to bear. After a moment, he added, "She was someone who lived here long ago. That's all I know."

His curt tone made it plain he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

"You mind if I continue looking into it?" Katherine pushed softly. "There's a feeling that whatever happened to her feels quite. significant there.

Lucien's gaze met hers, something unreadable flickering in their depths. Then he nodded. "Do what you must, but tread with caution. Not all stories are meant to have happy endings."

Katherine retreated to the archives, bothered by the reaction of Lucien. She could not get out of her mind that he was hiding far more about Celeste than he really did.

The rest of the afternoon she spent going through more documents-found bits of the estate's history, but there was no more mention of Celeste. In the evening, she was very tired but not beaten.

Lying in bed later that night, Katherine could not get the letters off her mind. Who wrote them? What happened to Celeste? Why did Lucien seem so adverse of speaking of her?

She found her mind wandering to Lucien himself: guarded, with something pulled in, as if tugged by a silent weight. There was more to him than met the eye, just as there was more to the Beaulieu estate than its crumbling walls and overgrown gardens.

And then, of course, the final arrival of sleep, Katherine made a decision: to find out the truth. Whatever secrets the estate was holding, she would bring them into the light.