Chapter One: The Men in Black

The two men moved through the stone passageway without urgency.

That frightened Eleanor more than if they had run.

Their long black coats barely stirred in the winter wind. Their faces were calm, almost bored, as though approaching a homeless child and an unarmed widow required no effort at all.

Thomas tightened his grip around the cello.

The taller man slipped one hand beneath his coat.

Eleanor closed her fingers around the tiny brass key.

“Stay behind me,” she whispered.

Thomas stared at her in disbelief. “You don’t understand. They killed my mother.”

“I understand enough.”

Eleanor rose slowly and stepped between him and the approaching men.

The shorter stranger smiled.

“Lady Ashford,” he said. “This does not concern you.”

“You seem to know who I am.”

“Everyone knows who you are.”

His gaze dropped to the cello.

For one brief second, his pleasant expression vanished.

“We only want the instrument.”

Thomas backed against the stone wall.

Eleanor heard the boy’s breathing quicken.

“What is inside it?” she asked.

The man’s eyes returned to hers.

“That is none of your concern.”

The taller man drew a pistol.

He kept it hidden beside his leg, but Eleanor saw the dark metal beneath his coat.

A carriage rattled through the street beyond the archway. Pedestrians passed at the far end of the corridor, unaware of what was happening in the shadows.

Eleanor made a decision.

She lifted her hand and struck the dented metal bucket with her boot.

Coins scattered across the stones with a violent crash.

Thomas understood immediately.

He dropped his bow, seized the cello, and ran.

The men lunged forward.

Eleanor stepped into their path.

The taller man shoved her aside, but she caught his sleeve and screamed.

“Help! He has a gun!”

The passage erupted.

People turned.

A shopkeeper rushed from a doorway. A constable at the end of the street raised his whistle.

The two men abandoned their pursuit and moved toward the black carriage.

Before climbing inside, the shorter stranger looked back at Eleanor.

His smile was gone.

“You should have remained a grieving widow.”

Then the carriage disappeared into the winter fog.

Eleanor found Thomas crouched behind a row of market stalls, holding the cello against his chest.

His entire body trembled.

“They’ll come back,” he said.

“Yes.”

“You should leave me.”

“No.”

His eyes hardened. “You don’t even know me.”

Eleanor looked at the scar above his eyebrow.

James had carried the same scar after falling from a tree when he was twelve.

“I know you may be my husband’s son.”

Thomas lowered his gaze.

“That doesn’t mean you have to help me.”

“No,” Eleanor said quietly. “But your mother believed I would.”

She opened her palm.

The brass key rested against her black glove.

“Tell me where it leads.”

Thomas hesitated.

“My mother called it the blue room.”

Eleanor’s breath caught.

Ashford Hall contained more than sixty rooms.

Only one had ever been called the blue room.

James’s private music chamber had been sealed on the day of his death.

No servant had entered it in fifteen years.

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Eleanor looked toward the fog swallowing the street.

“Then we are going home.”