Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(33)



“Very good, Miss Farrow. Now let’s get going.” His fingers curled around hers, and he drew her into the tunnels.



According to Sylas, parties at Thorn Grove were no rare occurrence.

“She loved few things more than company and a reason to celebrate,” he said as they took slow, cautious steps through the tunnels. The way he spoke of Lillian made Signa imagine someone so much grander than the ghostly spirit she’d encountered. It made her think of how she envisioned her own mother—as someone made for the spotlight. The type of woman who came alive beneath the dazzle of lights and music. One whose body was made to wear a ball gown, and whose smile charmed all who beheld it.

That made it easier to believe Sylas when he said that all who met Lillian fell in love, and that Elijah was no different. “There’s gossip that he wasn’t always known for his chivalry, or for being a man who belonged to only one woman,” he whispered. “That changed when he met Lillian.”

“Could the murderer be one of his jaded ex-lovers?” Signa squinted, using the dim glow of the lamp Sylas held to see where she was going.

“Maybe.” He lifted the lamp higher, trying to better spread its light. “I’ve heard Elijah’s brother favored Lillian as well, though it was rare to find a soul who didn’t. Lillian always said Thorn Grove was too magnificent a place to keep to themselves. Guests were in and out constantly.”

Signa nodded, though in her gut she knew there was more to it. Lillian had died of poison, alone in her garden. If there was one thing Signa knew about belladonna, it was that death came swiftly if enough was consumed. Yet Lillian had been sick for months, which meant someone had been slipping the poison to her in small doses, skillful enough to make her death slow and painful. They weren’t looking for a random passerby with a dislike for the Hawthornes; they were looking for someone with the time for precision. Someone with frequent access to the estate.

“Did any of the staff hold grudges against Lillian?” she asked, rearranging the puzzle pieces in her head.

“No,” Sylas answered with confidence. “Everyone who worked at Thorn Grove during her time here loved Lillian.”

Signa wasn’t sure she believed that someone could be so well loved and admired. Surely, the woman must have had bad blood with someone. “And what about Elijah?”

Sylas bobbed his head and considered. “They enjoyed him less so. It wasn’t that they didn’t like him; Elijah was always a businessman first, and everything else second. He spent the majority of his time in his office or at the gentleman’s club.”

Signa remembered one person who clearly didn’t dislike Elijah. It hadn’t gone unnoticed by Signa how Marjorie had caressed his arm, or how she’d spoken to him with a familiarity unbecoming of a member of the staff. But that didn’t prove anything. If something was going on between Marjorie and Elijah, it could be a new development.

Signa braced one hand against the tunnel wall for balance, her thoughts racing too quickly to pay attention to her steps. “Tell me more about his job.”

“Grey’s is a family business,” he answered. “I think the Hawthornes are so invested in it for the pride, more than anything. It was started by Elijah’s great-grandfather Grey Hawthorne, and has been in the family for generations, allowing them access to some of the most affluential people in and out of the country. As the eldest son, Elijah inherited it from his father. He runs it with his brother, Byron, and one day it’ll pass to Percy.”

It took a moment for Signa to recall the name; for her to remember the man who had stopped her and Marjorie on the stairs the first night at Thorn Grove. The one who’d drawn out the sharpness of Marjorie’s tongue—Byron. It was Elijah’s brother who Percy was speaking with that night. The same brother who’d favored Lillian.

“Does Byron not have any children?”

“Even if he did, Percy is Elijah’s eldest and everything will go to him,” Sylas said. “But no. He never married.”

More and more puzzle pieces shuffled around in her head, not a single pair of them fitting together. There was more to all this, something Signa wasn’t seeing. Fortunately, this was only the second night. Now that she’d accepted Lillian’s task, perhaps she’d have a chance to sleep without the spirit bothering her. To think and check in on Blythe to figure out how the poison was being administered.

“I met Byron on my first night here,” Signa mentioned. “He seemed angry, though I never figured out why.”

Sylas grabbed the back of Signa’s borrowed cloak and steered her to the side before she could trip over a small pit. He did it effortlessly, and Signa was glad that he would not be able to see her embarrassment in the darkness. She glanced sideways at his black hair strewn around him like a dark halo, noticing again how large he was. Like a walking tree trunk, really. A tree trunk with muscles. It was astounding.

“Elijah hasn’t been back to the club since Lillian’s death,” he said, the corner of his lip twitching upward when he caught Signa staring. “There’s been talk that he’s no longer fit to run it, yet its ownership belongs solely to him and he refuses to let Byron take over.”

If what Sylas said was the truth, then perhaps that’s why Byron had been at Thorn Grove, talking to Percy, the night she’d arrived. Was his relationship with Percy a way to take control of the business himself? She was about to voice the question aloud when the toe of her boot caught the edge of another dip in the ground. She should have tripped—she felt the momentum of herself falling and prepared for the impact—yet Sylas was there before her, using his free hand to brace her by the shoulders as her face smacked into his chest.

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