Chapter 37

The silence in the corridor felt stretched, taut. Julia waited until the last faint echo of Finch's retreating footsteps vanished. Only then did she straighten from her cramped hiding place, her muscles protesting with a dull ache. The lingering scent of starch and dust seemed to cling to her.

Elsie, a pale shadow beside her, also cautiously uncurled. Her eyes, wide and still shimmering with fright, met Julia's. A silent agreement passed between them. They had risked much. Now, they had to make it count.

Elsie, ever resourceful, pushed open the narrow, hidden door to the old laundry chute. A gust of cool, stagnant air, heavy with the smell of damp linen and forgotten dust, wafted out.

"Are you certain this is safe?" Julia whispered, peering into the gloom beyond the small opening. The darkness inside seemed to swallow the faint light from the corridor.

Elsie nodded, her voice a low murmur. "It leads directly to the old linen room in the East Wing, Miss Harrow. It's never locked from this side. No one uses it anymore."

With a deep breath, Julia squeezed through the narrow opening, the stiff fabric of her dress rustling against the rough edges of the chute. Elsie followed, the coal scuttle with the food clutched in her arms. The chute was thankfully short, depositing them softly onto a pile of forgotten, dust-sheeted bundles in a small, square room.

The air in the old linen room was even colder, thick with the scent of mildew and decaying fabric. Cobwebs, heavy and grey, draped from the ceiling like mournful funeral shrouds. Julia shivered, a prickle of unease crawling down her arms. The East Wing. Marian's wing. It was just as she remembered it from that terrifying night, only now, the faint morning light revealed its decay in starker, more brutal detail.

"This way, Miss Harrow," Elsie whispered, leading the way towards a door at the far end of the linen room. "The main corridor of the East Wing."

Julia's heart hammered against her ribs as Elsie pushed the door open. A long, dim corridor stretched before them, swallowed by shadows that morning light struggled to penetrate. The peeling wallpaper, which had seemed merely dark by night, now showed its true mottled plaster beneath, snaking with dark water stains like ancient, forgotten rivers. Dust motes, disturbed by their entry, danced in the weak, fractured light filtering through grimy, high-set windows, casting ghostly patterns on the rotting carpets.

The silence here was profound, oppressive, broken only by the faint drip of water somewhere in the distant darkness, and the soft scuff of their shoes. Every sound, every breath, seemed amplified, absorbed by the decaying grandeur. The air was thick, stale, heavy with the scent of disuse, decay, and that unsettling, cloying sweetness of Marian's perfume, now more prominent in the morning chill. She remembered the child's shoe, the scratching from behind Marian's door. The very thought made her skin crawl.

"Silas?" Julia called out softly, her voice barely a whisper in the oppressive stillness. No answer. Only the chilling silence.

They moved cautiously, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of dust on the rotting carpets. Each step felt heavy, burdened by the unspoken secrets that clung to the air. Julia's eyes scanned the closed doors, the faint outlines of long-abandoned furniture beneath their dust sheets. Cobwebs hung like tattered banners from the high corners, swaying almost imperceptibly in the chill drafts. This wing felt like a tomb, a moment frozen in time, steeped in untold secrets.

Suddenly, a shadow detached itself from the deeper shadows at the end of the corridor. A tall, dark figure. Julia gasped, her hand flying to her mouth, her heart leaping into her throat. Elsie let out a strangled cry, dropping the coal scuttle with a resounding clatter that echoed through the silent wing.

"Bloody hell, Julia!" A voice, rough and familiar, emerged from the shadow. Silas. He stepped into a sliver of moonlight, his features sharp and wolfish, a smirk playing on his lips. "You scare easy, don't you?"

Julia felt a fresh wave of fury, hotter than any shame. "Silas Corwin, you absolute fool!" she snapped, her voice trembling with indignation. "That was not funny! Do you have any idea the risk we took to get here? Agnes almost caught us! Finch almost caught us! And you think scaring us is amusing?"

Silas merely chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that did little to soothe her frayed nerves. "A little levity, Julia. You're too serious. But I suppose you're right. This house does have a way of making one jump at shadows." His amber eyes, glinting in the dim light, flickered to the coal scuttle. "Is that… food?"

Julia ignored the question, her gaze falling on his hand. It was swathed in a rough bandage, thick and clumsy. The sight brought back Elsie's words, the mirror shard. A surge of genuine concern, sharp and immediate, cut through her anger.

"Your hand," Julia demanded, her voice softening despite herself. "Let me see it. Elsie told me you cut yourself. How bad is it? What happened exactly?" She took a step towards him, her brow furrowed with worry. The thought of him, alone and injured in this desolate wing, gnawed at her.

Silas waved a dismissive hand, a hint of annoyance in his eyes. "It's nothing, Julia. A mere scratch. Elsie bandaged it up for me." He gave a rueful chuckle. "The mirrors in this wing, they practically leap out at you. Broke one, quite by accident, when I was trying to… inspect something."

"Accident?" Julia retorted, her gaze narrowing. "It was the same shard that cut me, wasn't it? The one that seems to belong to the shattered mirror in Marian's room? What were you doing that you would break a mirror?" Her voice tightened with a touch of frustration. "And what if it gets infected, Silas? You're sleeping in this dust-ridden place. It's hardly sanitary."

Silas sighed, stepping fully into the faint morning light. His hair, black and unruly, fell across his forehead. "Relax, Julia. I'm quite accustomed to less-than-sanitary conditions. This is a palace compared to some of the holes I've slept in. And it's Marian's wing. It feels… safe. Knowing this was hers." A wistful, almost possessive note entered his voice, a brief glimpse beneath his usual cynical exterior.

Julia bit her lip, a flicker of understanding passing through her. She reluctantly dropped the argument about his hand. She still worried, but she knew arguing would be fruitless.

"Food," Silas declared, his eyes suddenly bright with hunger. "Please tell me that is for me. I'm starving. I haven't eaten since yesterday evening." His gaze, sharp and intense, was now fixed on the coal scuttle.

Elsie, flustered, bent to retrieve the apron-wrapped bundle. "Yes, Mr. Silas. We brought you bread and cheese and apples."

Silas snatched the bundle, his movements quick and eager. He tore into the bread with a savage hunger, taking large, almost frantic bites. He chewed, eyes closed, a sound of profound satisfaction escaping him. Julia watched him, a strange mixture of pity and exasperation. He truly was ravenous.

Suddenly, Silas swallowed, his eyes snapping open. He looked from the bread to Julia, then to Elsie. "Water? You didn't bring any water?" His voice held a note of bewildered dismay.

Julia and Elsie exchanged a mortified glance. "Oh, dear!" Elsie whispered, her face falling. "We forgot! Agnes was watching so closely…"

"Of course we forgot!" Julia exclaimed, slapping her forehead lightly. "How could we be so foolish? You must be parched!"

Silas merely shrugged, taking another large bite of bread. "I'll sneak down to the well later. It's no matter."

"The well?" Julia's voice rose with alarm. "Silas, no! That water is… it's unhealthy! You mustn't drink from it. You'll be ill. Or worse." She recalled the chilling sensation of something reaching from the fountain in the Lady Garden, the cold dampness of the earth.

Silas smirked, his amber eyes dancing with amusement. "Now, now, Julia. Don't get your knickers in a twist. I've drunk from worse. Besides," he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, "I rather like this bossy side of you. It suits you."

Julia felt a blush creep up her neck, despite herself. "Don't be ridiculous, Silas!" she retorted, trying to sound stern, but a small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of her lips. "This is hardly the time for flirtation."

"It's always the time for flirtation, my dear," Silas countered, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He tore a piece of cheese, offering it to her. "Besides, a little charm never hurt anyone. Except perhaps Alistair." He winked.

"Miss Harrow! Mr. Silas!" Elsie interjected, her voice sharp with anxiety, cutting through their banter. "We must hurry! Before someone comes. We need to know what you've found."

Julia's playful annoyance vanished, replaced by her focused determination. Elsie was right. "Silas, she's right. What have you discovered? Anything useful? Anything about Marian?" She pressed him, her voice urgent.

Silas, however, merely chewed slowly, his gaze fixed on the bread. "All in good time, Julia. Let a man eat in peace. You're distracting me." He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

"Silas!" Julia insisted, stepping closer, her patience wearing thin. "This isn't a game! Marian's life… her death… they depend on what you find. You must tell me. Now."