Chapter 5: Secrets Revealed at Dinner

Emma’s steps were slow and deliberate as she walked to the grand dining room. Her mind raced, still reeling from the discovery in the study. The hidden passage, the cryptic journal, and the sense of being watched had unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Yet, as she entered the dining room, she forced herself to wear a mask of composure.

The room was as opulent as the rest of the manor, with a long mahogany table that seemed to stretch endlessly. A massive chandelier, its crystals sparkling in the dim candlelight, hung overhead, casting flickering shadows on the walls. The other guests were already seated, their faces illuminated by the golden glow.

“Ah, Miss Caldwell,” Figglesworth said, gesturing to an empty chair near the head of the table. “Please, join us.”

Emma hesitated, her gaze darting between the seated figures. Vivienne sat elegantly, her crimson dress striking against the dark wood of her chair. She toyed with her wineglass, swirling the deep red liquid as if savoring some private thought. Dr. Crane was seated further down, his sharp eyes scanning the room with a hawk-like intensity. Jamie, the teenager, slouched in his chair, his skateboard leaning against the table leg.

Emma took her seat, the weight of their collective gazes pressing down on her. Figglesworth, ever the composed host, began serving the first course. The delicate clink of silverware against porcelain broke the silence, but tension lingered in the air like an uninvited guest.

Vivienne was the first to speak. “So, Miss Caldwell,” she began, her tone honeyed but sharp, “have you been enjoying your inheritance?”

Emma’s fork paused mid-air. “I’m still... getting acquainted with it,” she replied cautiously.

Vivienne’s lips curved into a knowing smile. “Oh, I’m sure you are. The east wing is full of surprises. Dangerous surprises, some might say.”

Dr. Crane cleared his throat, his voice cutting through the tension. “Perhaps we should refrain from playing games. This entire situation is peculiar enough without the theatrics.”

“Oh, lighten up, Doctor,” Vivienne said, waving a dismissive hand. “A little mystery never hurt anyone. Besides, isn’t that why we’re all here? To uncover the secrets dear Uncle Reggie left behind?”

Jamie snorted. “Secrets? More like traps. This place gives me the creeps.”

Emma studied the teenager for a moment. Despite his flippant attitude, there was a flicker of genuine unease in his expression. “What brought you here?” she asked, her voice softer than she intended.

Jamie shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “Got a letter. Figured it’d be better than staying home.”

“And what about you, Dr. Crane?” Emma pressed, turning to the stern man.

He adjusted his glasses, his expression unreadable. “Lord Haverstone and I shared a professional interest in historical artifacts. I suspect that’s why he included me in his will.”

“Professional interest?” Vivienne echoed, her eyebrow arched. “How clinical. Let me guess, you’re after the same thing we all are: the truth behind his so-called legacy.”

Dr. Crane’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

The second course arrived, a rich stew served in ornate bowls. The savory aroma momentarily distracted Emma from the undercurrent of tension. Yet, as she lifted her spoon, her thoughts returned to the cryptic message she had found in the study. Trust no one, not even yourself.

“What do you think his legacy is?” Emma asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the ambient noise.

All eyes turned to her.

“I think,” Vivienne said slowly, “it’s power. Uncle Reggie was always obsessed with control. He had secrets—big ones—and he wouldn’t let just anyone get their hands on them.”

Dr. Crane’s gaze darkened. “If what you say is true, then perhaps it’s best those secrets remain hidden.”

Jamie snorted. “What, like a treasure chest you’re too scared to open?”

Vivienne’s smile returned, sharp and gleaming. “Treasure chests often come with traps, darling. One must tread carefully.”

The clatter of silverware punctuated her words as Figglesworth entered the room with the dessert: an elaborate chocolate soufflé. His expression remained impassive, but Emma couldn’t shake the feeling that he was observing them far too closely.

As the meal wound down, the conversation drifted into uneasy silence. Each guest seemed lost in their own thoughts, their faces shadowed by the flickering candlelight. Emma’s mind churned with possibilities. Who among them could be trusted? And what did they know that she didn’t?

When Figglesworth finally rose to clear the table, he cleared his throat, drawing their attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice as smooth as ever, “Lord Haverstone’s will stipulated that each of you remains within the manor until further notice. Your accommodations have been prepared. I trust you will find them... adequate.”

Vivienne’s laughter was sharp. “Accommodations? You make it sound like we’re prisoners.”

Figglesworth’s expression didn’t falter. “Not prisoners, my lady. Guests.”

Emma felt a chill run down her spine as the butler’s words hung in the air. Guests, perhaps, but of what? Or whom?

As they rose from the table, Vivienne brushed past Emma, leaning in close enough to whisper. “Be careful, darling. The more you dig, the more likely you are to find something you wish you hadn’t.”

Emma turned to reply, but Vivienne had already disappeared into the shadows. Jamie lingered near the doorway, his skateboard tucked under one arm, while Dr. Crane disappeared down the hall without a word.

Left alone in the dim dining room, Emma glanced back at the empty table. The flickering candlelight reflected off the silverware, creating the illusion of movement. She shook her head, banishing the thought, and turned toward the east wing. Whatever secrets the night held, she knew one thing: her role in this mystery was far from over.