Chapter 4 - The Shadow in the Stables
I flattened myself into the dark alcove behind a tall mahogany grandfather clock just as Madeline stepped out into the corridor.
She wore a long black waterproof coat with the hood pulled up over her platinum hair. In her gloved right hand, she clutched a small leather pouch.
She didn't look left or right; she moved with quick, frantic strides toward the secondary service staircase at the end of the east wing.
I waited three seconds, then slipped out from behind the clock and followed her.
The service staircase led down to the ground-floor laundry facilities and out through a heavy wooden door that opened onto the estate’s rear courtyard. The rain hit my face like needles as I stepped out into the cold night air, staying close to the stone wall of the kitchen garden.
Fifty yards ahead, a small beam of light from a pocket flashlight cut through the dark toward the brick stable block.
The Sterling stables were vast, housing six Thoroughbred horses, a tack room, and a massive hay barn, beyond which lay the estate’s private drainage fields.
I crept along the side of the stable wall, the smell of damp earth, leather, and horses filling the humid air. Inside, a horse shifted restlessly in its stall, a soft snort breaking the darkness.
“She’s near the wash rack,” a low, gravelly voice muttered from the gloom above me.
I jumped, looking up toward the half-open stable loft window.
A large, barn owl with dark brown feathers sat perched on the wooden sill, staring down at me with unblinking black eyes.
“The sharp-smelling lady,” the owl said, his voice deep and echoing. “She’s digging under the concrete drain cover. She smells like dead mice.”
"Where?" I whispered under my breath, hoping no human was nearby to hear me talking to a bird.
“Near the red tractor. Behind the manure pit.”
I edged around the corner of the stable block.
Madeline was crouched on her knees in the mud near the heavy iron grate of the main septic drain. Her flashlight lay on the ground, casting a flat beam across the wet grass. She had removed the iron grate and was using a small garden trowel to dig a hole in the thick mud beneath the drainage pipe.
Beside her lay three small, blue glass vials with black rubber stoppers.
I pulled my phone from my pocket. My hands were shaking so hard I nearly dropped it into the wet mud.
I opened the camera app, switched off the flash, and raised the lens.
The screen captured her clearly: Madeline Hale, crouched in the mud late at night, burying blue chemical vials beside a septic drain. I took three crisp photos, followed by a ten-second video recording her frantic digging.
Suddenly, my foot slipped on a patch of wet gravel.
SNAP.
A dry pine branch under my boot snapped like a gunshot in the quiet night.
Madeline froze.
The flashlight beam whipped around instantly, blinding me with white light.
"Who’s there?!" she shrieked, her voice high and terrified.
I dropped back behind the brick corner, shoving my phone deep into my coat pocket.
"I know someone is out there!" Madeline shouted, her footsteps splashing frantically through the mud as she ran toward the corner of the building. "Arthur?! Holloway?!"
I didn't answer. I turned and sprinted toward the shadow of the hay barn, my heart hammering in my ears.
Behind me, I heard her sharp gasp as she rounded the corner. She didn't see me in the pitch-black shadows of the barn entry, but she saw the fresh footprints in the mud leading toward the house.
“She’s panicking,” the owl called down from the roofline as I ducked into the side door of the greenhouse. “She didn't finish burying the blue glass.”
I stood inside the warm, humid greenhouse, surrounded by orchids and tropical ferns, pressing my back against the glass pane as I watched Madeline through the misty windows.
She didn't pursue the footprints. Panicked, she grabbed the flashlight, scooped up the three blue glass vials from the mud, shoved them into her coat pocket, and ran back toward the main house as fast as her boots could carry her.
She hadn't buried them. She was going to destroy them inside the house—or take them with her when the five AM courier arrived.
I checked my phone. The photos and video were saved on my cloud storage.
May you like
I had the proof.
Now, I had to survive until morning to show it to Arthur.
