Chapter 242

Chapter 242
Eileen's POV

I couldn't stop moving. Back and forth across Silas's study, my feet wearing an invisible track into the Persian rug.

"Evelyn tried to say 'Serena' before she died." I pressed my palms against my temples. My head felt too full, too hot. "She knew something. She had to."

Silas sat on the edge of his desk, arms crossed. Those gray-blue eyes tracked every movement I made.

"But she's dead," he said quietly. "We need someone else who knows."

I stopped mid-stride. The answer hit me so hard I actually stumbled.

"The butler." My voice came out breathless. "Grandfather's butler."

Silas straightened. "The one who said Emilia was jealous of your mother?"

"Yes." My heart started hammering. "That day at the estate, he said Emilia could never measure up. Silas, he's been with the Goode family for forty years. Forty years."

I spun to face him fully. "He must have seen things. Heard things we don't know about."

Silas stood, moving around the desk toward me. "If the butler really knows something..." His voice dropped. "Why hasn't Emilia silenced him?"

The question made my stomach twist.

"Maybe he's been careful?" I chewed my lip. "Or maybe Emilia doesn't know how much he actually knows?"

"But it's different now." Silas's hand found my shoulder. Warm. Steady. "Emilia just killed Evelyn. If she thinks the butler's a threat—"

"That's why we have to move fast." I grabbed his wrist. "Before she realizes he could talk."

Silas stared at me for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Tomorrow morning. When Marcus and Emilia are at the Council meeting. You go alone. Less suspicious."

I didn't sleep that night. Just lay there staring at the ceiling, rehearsing what I'd say. How I'd convince him. By the time dawn broke, my eyes felt like sandpaper.

The drive to Goode Manor took forty minutes. I made Gavin drop me at the main gates so no one would see the Keaton car. Walked up the long gravel drive with my heart in my throat.

The servants' quarters were in the east wing. I'd never been back here before. The hallway was narrow, plain white walls, simple wooden doors with brass numbers.

Number seven.

I stood there for a full minute, just staring at that brass number. My hand shook when I finally raised it to knock.

Three soft raps.

Footsteps inside. Slow. Careful.

The door cracked open. The butler's weathered face appeared in the gap, eyes going wide when he saw me.

"Miss Eileen?" His voice was barely above a whisper. "What are you doing here?"

I glanced down the empty hallway. "I need to talk to you. About my mother."

Something flickered across his face. Fear, maybe. Or guilt.

The door stayed cracked. "Miss Eileen, some things..." He swallowed hard. "Some things are better left alone."

"Evelyn's dead." The words came out flat. Hard. "She tried to tell me something before she died. She tried to say Serena."

The butler's face went white. Actually white, like someone had drained all the blood from his skin.

"You... you don't understand—"

"Then help me understand." I stepped closer. "You said Emilia was jealous of my mother. But jealousy..." My throat closed up. "Jealousy doesn't lead to murder. Does it?"

His hand tightened on the doorframe. For a second I thought he'd slam it in my face.

Then he stepped back. Opened the door wider.

"Come in. Quickly."

The room was small. Neat. Everything in its place. A single bed with military corners, a wooden dresser, a small table with two chairs by the window.

He closed the door behind me. The lock clicked.

"Miss Eileen." His hands were shaking. "What you're asking..."

"Evelyn tried to say Serena before the poison killed her." I forced myself to meet his eyes. "Emilia destroyed the recording. The one with evidence of her crimes. And then Emilia killed her to keep her quiet."

The butler stumbled backward. His legs hit the chair and he half-sat, half-collapsed into it.

"You know something." I moved closer. "Don't you? But you're afraid of Emilia."

"I'm just a servant." His voice cracked. "I don't know anything. I can't—"

"You do know." I crouched down in front of him. "You've served the Goode family for forty years. You watched my mother and Emilia grow up together. You saw things."

He closed his eyes. His whole body was trembling now.

Moby crawled out of my pocket. Up my arm. Onto my shoulder. His little tentacles patted my cheek, warm and gentle.

The butler's eyes opened. He stared at Moby for a long moment.

"Miss Serena had a familiar too," he whispered. "A silver moth. She called it Luna."

My throat went tight. I didn't know that.

"If you help me..." I took a shaky breath. "I have a plan."

"What kind of plan?" The butler's voice was stronger now. Steadier.

I pulled the other chair over. Sat down facing him.

"I can make a potion. One that causes high fever and delirium." The words tumbled out fast. "Real symptoms. Your temperature will spike, you'll shake, sweat. It'll look exactly like magical backlash."

His eyebrows shot up.

"When people are delirious, they say things. True things they'd never say otherwise." I leaned forward. "You'll talk about my mother. About Emilia. Things only someone who was there would know."

"And if Miss Emilia is guilty," he said slowly, "she'll react."

"Exactly. She'll give herself away." I grabbed his hand. His skin was thin as paper. "But here's the important part. Silas will be there. Hidden. Watching her every move. And I'll have the antidote ready."

He stared down at our joined hands for a long time.

"Miss Eileen." His voice was barely audible. "Do you really believe Miss Emilia would kill Miss Serena?"

I thought about Evelyn's dying eyes. The broken glass. The destroyed recorder. The poison in Emilia's storage room.

"Yes," I said. "I do."

His shoulders sagged. Like something inside him had finally broken.

Moby crawled down my arm. Onto the butler's hand. His tiny tentacles wrapped around the old man's gnarled fingers.

"If it really was Miss Emilia who killed Miss Serena..." The butler's voice cracked. "Then I want to help you."

Hope flared hot in my chest. "You will?"

He looked up at me. His eyes were wet.

"Miss Serena was kind to me. When my wife died, she paid for the funeral. When my son needed medicine, she got it for him." A tear rolled down his weathered cheek. "I've wanted to do something for her for years. But I was too afraid."

"You're not afraid anymore?"

"I'm terrified." He gave a shaky laugh. "But Miss Serena deserves justice."

I squeezed his hand. "Thank you."