The envelope was gone.
Sam checked his coat
and
again
for the second time.
It was gone.
Leon came up from behind him
“…You lost a letter?”I misplaced it.”
“That’s a lovely way of saying you have lost it.”
Iris couldn’t help but smile.
“The great Sam Valecroft defeated by mere paper,” she teased.
Sam gave her a look.
“I predict I will recover.”
“I believe you.” Iris nodded.
“You shouldn’t.” Edmund said as he took a step forward.
Unlike the others, his eyes were not on Sam, but rather on the coat, then the floor, then the hallway.
His face was unreadable.
“Young Master,” he stated finally.
“I fear it was not stolen.”
Leon was shocked.
“…How can you be sure?”
Edmund crossed his hands behind his back.
“Because, if an unwelcome guest has paid us a visit…”
“…I would know.” Sam said simply.
There was no arrogance in his voice, only certainty.
Edmund nodded.
Sam crossed his arms.
“So, either,” he started.
“There was no intruder…”
“…or there is one.” Edmund finished.
“…And wished us to believe so.” Sam said with a small smile.
“Precisely.” Edmund replied.
“I will search.”
Leon stood at once.
“I will assist.”
“No need.” Sam said coolly.
“…Why?” Leon asked.
“Because you’ll talk.”I can be quiet.”
Sam raised an eyebrow.
Leon sighed.
“Fine.”
Instead of touring the mansion like he said he would, Sam wandered it.
He strolled the west wing, and the music hall, then the old library and the greenhouse.
He was not looking for the envelope, but rather for some sort of change.
_Some sort of difference_.”Good evening, Young Master.”Good evening, Margaret.”
A maid bowed as she dusted some old cabinets.
Margaret had been working for the family for thirty two years.
She smiled brightly.
“I made your favorite, Little Sam.
“Thank you,” he replied.
She paused.
“…I almost called you Little Sam again.”
“You just did.” Sam replied.
“Oh dear.” She covered her face with her hands.
“I’ll never stop, will I?”
“I hope not.” Sam said as they both laughed,
Quiet so as not to disturb the mansion’s peace.
The mansion’s peace, which was, as always, interrupted.
“Louis!
Stop nagging the chefs!”
Chef Louis was arguing with one of his assistants about salt.
“Why must we argue about seasoning?!
It makes us appear fussy.”
One of the gardeners was gossiping with another about which rose bush would bloom first.
A pianist practiced in the music room.
Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful, only…
One thing seemed amiss.
Sam stopped next to the east hallway, where there was a grandfather clock.
He watched it for a while.
Edmund walked up behind him.
“Something wrong?”
“The clock.”
“It stopped?”
“No,
it’s two minutes slow.”
Edmund furrowed his eyebrows.
“The clock was serviced yesterday.”
“It shouldn’t be slow.”
There was an awkward pause.
Sam adjusted the minute hand, and the clock ticked back to normal.
“…Fascinating.” He said simply after a while.
As he walked away, Edmund continued to study the clock.
What was it about this clock that had interested Sam so?
Sam had taken interest in the library, one of his favorite rooms.
Floor to ceiling bookshelves held the room, and rain tapped gently at the windows.
Sam wandered in alone, and the scent of worn leather and old paper greeted his nose.
His eyes followed their usual path; the desk, the fire place, the reading chair, the bookshelf, the window.
And then he saw it.
A teacup.
Warm.
Sam touched it lightly.
“…Recent.”
“I don’t recall anyone using the library today.” Edmund said as he wandered inside.
“Neither do I.” Sam replied.
He glanced over at the reading chair, where someone had been sitting.
Someone who was not reading, but watching.
Sam walked over to the desk, and there he saw it.
The white envelope lay in the center, as if waiting for him.
Leon filed in a few minutes later.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Iris folded her arms.
“So…”
“It walked there on it’s own?” Leon asked.
“No,” Sam replied.
“Someone returned it.”
Leon reached out for it, but Sam stopped him.
“Wait.” He looked at the envelope.
It was straight, centered nicely in the desk.
It almost seemed…
Too nice.
Sam smiled slightly.
“…They’re organized.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He picked up the envelope.
He opened it, revealing two slips of paper.
The first one was as it was left.
_You opened it correctly._ He unfolded the second one.
_You still observe the room before reading the message.
That’s reassuring_.
Nobody said anything.
Leon looked puzzled.
“…Who’s writing these?”
“I don’t know.”
“But…” Sam glanced over at the empty reading chair where the note had been found.
“…they seem to know me.”
That night, the estate fell silent.
Most workers had gone home, and only a few had stayed over.
The rain outside had started up again.
And just outside the gates was someone.
A lone figure, who held a black umbrella.
The mansion was reflected in their eyes.
They didn’t move, didn’t say anything.
After a while, they simply turned around, and disappeared into the night.
No one knew who they were, or what they looked like.
All that was heard, was the sound of retreating footsteps, and the rain.
Far above, in his room, Sam looked out the window at the empty road.
His eyes met his reflection in the glass.
He quietly placed the second note into his desk, not bothering to lock it.
He didn’t need to.
He whispered to himself.
“…If you know my habits…” “…then I predict I’ll have to change them.”
End of Chapter 7
TO BE CONTINUED…..