By morning, the storm had passed, but Ashford Hall wore the damage like bruises. Fallen branches littered the grounds, and the ivy clinging to the eastern wing had partially torn away revealing something unexpected.
A doorway.
Eleanor and Thomas stood before it, staring at the crumbling stone outline hidden beneath decades of overgrowth.
"I've walked these grounds for years," Thomas muttered. "I never saw this."
"Because it wasn't meant to be seen," Eleanor said.
They pushed the door open.
The passage led downward cold, narrow, silent. Lantern in hand, they descended into the dark, each step echoing with a strange finality.
At the bottom: a small chamber.
Dust coated every surface. Old furniture, faded tapestries… and in the center, a child's cradle.
Eleanor approached slowly. Inside was a bundle of cloth, a rattle, and another note.
She unfolded it carefully.
He is safe for now. But if they ever discover his name, his bloodline, it will destroy everything we've tried to protect. Let history forget him, if it means he survives.
Her breath caught.
"The child… he lived," she whispered. "But he was hidden."
Thomas nodded, voice low. "And not just from the world. From you."
Later, back in the library, Eleanor searched the Ashford records births, deaths, adoptions. The name "J.A." never appeared.
Then Thomas said quietly, "What if he wasn't raised here at all?"
She looked up.
"You think someone took him away?"
He nodded. "A servant. A friend. Maybe someone your mother trusted more than her own family."
Eleanor leaned back, overwhelmed.
Everything she thought she knew was unravelling.
But one thing was clear:
She had a brother.
And someone had gone to great lengths to erase him from history.