Chapter 66 The Whisper Beneath the Floorboards

Chapter 66 — The Whisper Beneath the Floorboards

The rain had stopped sometime before dawn.

By the time the first pale light slipped between the curtains of Breedlove Manor, the gardens were glittering with droplets, every leaf holding a tiny reflection of the grey morning sky.

Inside, the house was already awake.

Somewhere in the servants' wing, a kettle whistled.

Footsteps crossed the upper corridor.

A sleepy yawn came from one of the children's rooms, followed by a burst of laughter when someone apparently discovered that the morning fire had been coaxed back to life before they had even climbed from bed.

Breedlove Manor breathed with them.

It always had.

And lately, it seemed to be breathing a little deeper.

Beatrice stood beside the tall window in her chamber, one hand resting against the cool glass.

She watched a raven land upon the garden wall.

The bird tilted its head.

Beatrice smiled.

"Good morning."

The raven gave a quiet croak.

"I'll take that as agreement."

Behind her, the floor gave a soft creak.

Beatrice turned.

Nothing.

She waited.

Another creak.

This time, it came from somewhere below.

Not from the corridor.

Not from the staircase.

From beneath the floorboards.

Beatrice's expression changed.

She crossed the room slowly and placed her palm against the wooden floor.

For several seconds, there was only silence.

Then—

Tap.

Beatrice lifted her eyebrows.

Tap.

Three seconds passed.

Tap.

She smiled despite herself.

"Three knocks?"

The floor remained still.

Beatrice lowered herself carefully, placing her ear near the boards.

At first, she heard nothing.

Then came the faintest sound.

A whisper.

Not words.

Not quite.

More like the sigh of someone remembering how to speak.

Beatrice sat back on her heels.

"Well," she murmured, "that's new."

A knock sounded at her door.

"Beatrice?"

Nathaniel's voice.

"Come in."

Nathaniel entered, already dressed for the morning. He stopped when he saw her sitting beside the floor.

His gaze moved from Beatrice to the boards.

"Should I ask?"

"I heard something."

Nathaniel's expression softened with curiosity rather than alarm.

"Something beneath the floor?"

"Yes."

He crossed the room and crouched beside her.

"Elias will want to hear about this."

"Probably."

Nathaniel placed two fingers against the wood.

Nothing happened.

He waited.

Then—

Tap.

Nathaniel looked at Beatrice.

She looked back.

A second tap followed.

Nathaniel's mouth curved into a small smile.

"I believe it has excellent timing."

"Or poor manners."

"Those are not mutually exclusive."

Beatrice laughed softly.

Before either could say more, footsteps approached.

Elias appeared in the doorway.

"I heard my name."

Nathaniel looked over his shoulder.

"We have a visitor."

Elias entered.

"Living?"

"At present," Beatrice replied.

Elias gave her an amused look.

"That narrows it down considerably."

Beatrice pointed toward the floor.

"Listen."

The three stood together.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

Elias crouched.

His expression became thoughtful.

"That is not coming from the pipes."

"No," Nathaniel agreed.

"And it isn't the settling of the foundation."

"I didn't think so."

Elias placed his hand against the floor.

The wood warmed beneath his palm.

A faint golden shimmer travelled through the grain.

Beatrice watched closely.

The shimmer did not spread outward like a warning.

Instead, it moved downward.

Toward the boards.

Toward whatever waited beneath them.

Then came a sound.

A single word.

So faint that Beatrice almost thought she had imagined it.

"Home."

Nobody moved.

Elias slowly lifted his head.

Nathaniel looked toward Beatrice.

Beatrice's eyes remained fixed upon the floor.

"Did you hear that?"

"Yes," Nathaniel said.

Elias nodded.

"I heard it."

Another pause.

Then the floor creaked.

Not beneath them.

Farther away.

Down the corridor.

A second creak answered from the opposite side of the house.

Then another.

And another.

Like someone walking beneath the Manor.

Not breaking through.

Not searching.

Simply travelling through corridors that existed somewhere beyond ordinary sight.

Beatrice stood.

"Perhaps the Manor is showing us something."

Nathaniel rose beside her.

"Perhaps."

Elias glanced toward the doorway.

"Then we should follow."

They stepped into the corridor.

The house was beginning its morning rhythm now.

Mrs. Isadora was speaking with one of the servants downstairs.

A child hurried past the landing with one shoe half fastened.

Someone called after them.

A door opened.

A chair scraped.

Normal sounds.

Warm sounds.

Home sounds.

Yet beneath them all came that faint, mysterious rhythm.

Tap.

Creak.

Tap.

Creak.

Beatrice followed it toward the older portion of the Manor.

The corridor became quieter there.

The wallpaper was darker.

The floorboards older.

The air cooler.

She stopped before a section of wall she had passed countless times.

There was nothing remarkable about it.

At least, there hadn't been yesterday.

Now a thin golden line had appeared between two boards near the baseboard.

Elias crouched.

"Well."

Nathaniel leaned closer.

"What?"

Elias touched the line.

"It isn't a crack."

The golden mark brightened.

A tiny symbol appeared.

A circle surrounded by three curved lines.

Beatrice recognized it immediately.

"The Manor's crest."

Nathaniel looked at her.

"Not quite."

She studied it again.

He was right.

It resembled the Breedlove crest, but this symbol was older.

Simpler.

Almost like a beginning.

The golden line faded.

The whisper returned.

"Home."

Beatrice smiled.

"We heard you."

The Manor answered with one final creak.

Then silence.

For the moment.

Elias stood.

"I suspect this isn't finished."

Nathaniel nodded.

"No."

Beatrice looked down the quiet corridor.

"I don't think it wanted us to find something."

She paused.

"I think it wanted us to remember something."

And somewhere beneath their feet, deep within the oldest foundations of Breedlove Manor, something gently tapped three times.