Chapter 64 — The Book That Knew Her

The words remained on the page long after Beatrice stopped reading them.

She came seeking the child who had already been taken.

Beatrice read the sentence again.

Then once more.

Nothing changed.

The ink remained faded.

The letters remained steady.

Yet something inside her refused to accept them as merely words written by a stranger nearly a century ago.

“Taken,” Elias said quietly.

Beatrice looked up.

“Yes.”

“That is a very particular word.”

Nathaniel closed the record he had been examining.

“Perhaps the writer meant rescued.”

“Perhaps.”

Elias glanced at Beatrice.

“But you don't believe that.”

“No.”

She touched the page with one fingertip.

“I think whoever wrote this knew exactly what they meant.”

Mara stood near the doorway.

“There are missing pages.”

Beatrice turned.

“How many?”

“I don't know.”

“You said your family preserved these records.”

“We did.”

Mara's expression tightened.

“But preservation and protection are not always the same thing.”

Nathaniel looked toward the shelves.

“Someone removed them.”

Mara nodded.

“Generations ago.”

“Why?”

“I don't know.”

Silas, who had been examining the lower shelves, suddenly spoke.

“Perhaps this will help.”

He held up a narrow book.

Unlike the others, it had no dust along its spine.

Beatrice crossed the room.

“Where did you find it?”

“Behind the records.”

Elias took the book.

“Someone has been here recently.”

Nathaniel looked at him.

“How can you tell?”

“The dust.”

Elias brushed his thumb across the shelf.

“This section has been disturbed.”

Mara stared at the book.

“I have never seen that one.”

Beatrice held out her hand.

Elias gave it to her.

The cover was plain brown leather.

There was no title.

No family crest.

Nothing to identify it.

Yet the moment Beatrice touched it, warmth travelled through her fingers.

She opened the cover.

The first page contained a list of names.

The second contained dates.

The third had only one entry.

October 21, 1823.

Beneath it was a description.

A child.

Female.

Approximately two years of age.

Dark hair.

Violet eyes.

Beatrice stopped breathing.

Nathaniel moved closer.

“What is it?”

She could not answer.

Elias read over her shoulder.

His expression changed.

“Violet.”

Beatrice looked at him.

“My eyes.”

“Yes.”

She turned the page.

There was more.

The child had been found in the care of a travelling woman.

The woman refused to give her name.

She claimed the child belonged to a family whose home had been lost.

Beatrice's hands trembled.

“Lost?”

Mara came closer.

“Read the next line.”

Beatrice did.

The child carried a silver token bearing an unfamiliar crest.

She looked at Nathaniel.

“Do you know what this is?”

He shook his head.

“Not yet.”

Elias pointed toward the bottom of the page.

“There.”

A small drawing had been made beside the words.

Beatrice stared at it.

The symbol was simple.

A curved shape surrounding a tiny central mark.

She knew it.

She had seen it before.

Not in Blackmere.

At home.

In the Breedlove archives.

“That's impossible,” she whispered.

Nathaniel studied the drawing.

“Where have you seen it?”

“In the Manor.”

Mara's eyes widened.

“You are certain?”

“Yes.”

The room seemed to grow colder.

Beatrice turned another page.

Nothing.

Another.

Blank.

The record ended there.

“That's all,” Elias said.

“No.”

Beatrice shook her head.

“It isn't.”

She looked toward the shelves.

“Someone stopped writing.”

Nathaniel nodded.

“Or someone stopped them.”

A deep sound suddenly rolled through the tower.

The bell.

All four looked upward.

Mara's face went pale.

“It hasn't done that before.”

Beatrice closed the book.

“Perhaps it has.”

The bell sounded again.

Once.

Nathaniel stiffened.

Beatrice noticed immediately.

“What is it?”

He touched the area near his chest.

“The mark.”

Elias stepped toward him.

“Your Ravenwood Mark?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“It is warm.”

The bell rang a third time.

Nathaniel's breath caught.

A faint shimmer appeared beneath the fabric of his clothing.

Beatrice reached for him.

“Does it hurt?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

Nathaniel looked toward the ceiling.

“It feels like recognition.”

The bell stopped.

Silence returned.

Then something struck the floor above them.

A soft metallic sound.

Mara lifted the lantern.

“What was that?”

Silas was already moving toward the stairs.

“I'll look.”

Nathaniel stopped him.

“No.”

Silas turned.

Nathaniel's expression had become serious.

“We go together.”

They climbed the stairs.

The bell chamber was empty.

The great bell hung motionless above them.

On the stone floor beneath it lay a small object.

Silver.

Beatrice approached slowly.

She knew what it was before she touched it.

A token.

The same shape as the drawing in the book.

She picked it up.

A strange warmth passed through her palm.

Then the token turned.

On its reverse was a single engraved letter.

V.

Beatrice stared at it.

“Veymont,” Elias whispered.

Nathaniel looked at the token.

Then at Beatrice.

“This belonged to the child.”

She nodded.

“But how did it get here?”

Mara looked toward the bell.

“I don't know.”

Silas pointed to the floor.

“There.”

A thin line had appeared between two stones.

Beatrice crouched.

The stones were slightly separated.

She slipped the edge of the silver token into the opening.

Something clicked.

A hidden compartment opened beneath the floor.

Inside was a folded piece of cloth.

Beatrice lifted it.

The cloth was old.

Very old.

And embroidered into one corner was the Breedlove crest.

Nathaniel stared.

“That is ours.”

Beatrice unfolded it carefully.

A faint scent of lavender escaped from the fabric.

For one fleeting moment, she saw a room.

A woman holding a child.

A lake beyond a window.

A voice whispering,

“Keep her safe.”

Beatrice gasped.

The vision vanished.

Nathaniel caught her.

“Beatrice.”

She gripped his arm.

“I saw her.”

“Who?”

“The woman.”

Elias stepped closer.

“What woman?”

Beatrice looked down at the cloth.

“I don't know.”

Her voice trembled.

“But she was carrying a child.”

Mara's face had gone completely still.

“And the child?”

Beatrice closed her eyes.

A small hand.

A silver token.

Violet eyes.

She opened them.

“The child was me.”

No one spoke.

Not even the bell.

For the first time, Beatrice understood that Blackmere was not simply revealing her family's history.

It was revealing pieces of her own.

And somewhere inside the old tower, something still remembered the day she was taken away.