Unconsciously she followed behind him. The east wing had not been touched in nearly five years.
Dust decorated every surface. The portraits lining the corridor wore veils of soot and cobweb, and the tall windows let in only pale, colorless light through sun-bleached curtains that hung like ghosts mid-curtsy. Arabella hadn't set foot here since the funeral.
Jonah was crouched before a frame when she arrived, a cloth in one hand, the other bracing himself against the floor. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if each painting had weight beyond its canvas. His bare feet left no sound on the wooden floors.
She didn't speak at first, she just stood and watched.
He was polishing the gold-leaf edge of a portrait she barely remembered of Elias's father, perhaps. The man's painted eyes had always seemed smug to her.
Then Jonah stood and turned around, not to her but to the last door at the end of the hall.
Arabella's breath caught in her throat. The door tall, made out of Mahogany and was unmarked. It fitted perfectly between the two shuttered windows. No keyhole on this side, only the iron handle, tarnished now with years of neglect.
That's the music room.
She stepped forward quickly, heels sharp against the wood. "I said not to go near that room."
Jonah didn't respond. He tilted his head slightly, like he was listening.
"Jonah." She called out anxiously
Still he said nothing.
Her voice tightened. "Jonah."
He turned his head at last, slowly, not startled or submissive just aware. His eyes met hers.
"He's still in there," he said softly.
It took Arabella several seconds to process the words. Her breath came too fast, and her fists clenched before she even realized.
"You do not speak his name in this house," she said through her teeth. "You do not presume to know what's behind that door. You do not listen at it like a dog sniffing rot."
Jonah simply looked at her, calm, and almost curious without a trace of fear in him.
Only silence.
She wanted to slap him. Wanted to shake him. Wanted to rip the calm from his face and make him feel what she had felt for years—
But her hand didn't rise.
Instead, she turned sharply on her heel.
"Finish the rest of the gallery," she snapped. "And if I find you near this door again, you'll wish I had left you in the river."
She walked away, not waiting for an answer.
Behind her, the hall remained still.
But her hands clenched at her sides trembled.