Chapter 3: The First Words in the Wax Cylinder

Only the faint sound of candle flames burning remained in the hall, and Elinor’s hand stopped over the descending pendant. The oval face of black jade had grown warm in her grip, while the fine silver line along its edge pressed into her palm. Beside the piano pedal, a rose-shaped cufflink lay dust-streaked, its golden pattern flashing in the candlelight like some eye that refused to close.

“This cufflink belonged to Edmund Blackwood,” Elinor said. “On the night of his accident, he was wearing a dark tailcoat, and one button was missing from the left sleeve. Sebastian said he had seen the body only before the funeral, yet he knew that the cuff had already been replaced.”

Henry Cole bent to pick up the cufflink and wrapped it in his handkerchief. “Your memory is remarkably precise. The ledger records a laundry charge, dated three days after the fall from the cliff, but the amount is far less than the cost of cleaning an entire tailcoat.”

“It was the cost of cleaning one sleeve.” Elinor placed the cufflink in her palm. “Agnes Peel said that when Edmund was buried, his hands were folded and both his cuffs were fastened neatly. She saw the cuffs then, but later changed her story and claimed she had only been responsible for his cravat.”

Henry looked toward the end of the east wing. “Do you wish to begin with the cufflink, or with the pendant?”

“With both.” She raised the black jade pendant. “If the key truly was melted into it, then tonight it ought to open the door for us. But if there is only a wax cylinder behind that door, Sebastian can still drag the will into the Court of Chancery.”

“You must understand that if the second will falls into your hands, the elder members of the family will say it was written by a widow overcome with grief.” Henry lowered his voice. “They will seize upon the clause stating that remarriage forfeits your right to inherit and force you to choose between the estate and your reputation.”

“I have guarded my reputation for three months already.” Elinor looked toward the east wing. “The estate’s coal accounts are short by twenty-seven pounds, while the stables have overreported feed for four horses. Someone is maintaining a troop that ought not to exist on Sebastian’s behalf. If I continue sitting decorously in the drawing room, tomorrow even the coal in the fireplace will be counted as his.”

Rainwater dripped into the hall along the window frame, while branches scraped against the glass beyond the stone walls. Elinor handed the cufflink to Henry and removed the pendant. On the back of the black jade was a fine line shaped like the teeth of a key. It had been hidden beneath the metal rim and could only be seen when the candlelight struck it from the side.

“Use a paper knife to cut along here,” she said. “Do not touch the front. If Edmund hid the key inside the pendant, he must have anticipated that someone might smash it from the front.”

Henry drew a small knife from his inner pocket and tested its tip beneath the silver rim. His hand was steady; only the silver chain of his pocket watch tapped softly against his waistcoat with each movement. After the third attempt, a line split open across the back of the black jade, revealing a piece of black iron as thin as a fish scale.

“This is no ordinary key.” Henry lifted it out. “It has three teeth, and an inverted laurel branch is engraved on the handle. The lock on the east-wing door used this kind of key. I have seen the same mark in the old ledgers.”

“The ledgers are kept in the solicitor’s office, and Sebastian has gone in there twice.” Elinor reached out and took the piece of black iron. “He searched through the property deeds but did not remove a single sheet of paper. He was looking for something in the east wing.”

“Agnes Peel said the east wing had not been used by anyone since Edmund’s birth,” Henry said. “She also said the piano there played by itself on the night before the funeral. If we question her tonight, she may still change her story.”

“She will not change her story.” Elinor fitted the piece of black iron back into the pendant. “She will merely choose which part of the truth is allowed to survive. Keep the cufflink safe. We will present it at the coroner’s inquest tomorrow morning. For tonight, do not alert her.”

They crossed the corridor. The flames of the gas lamps trembled inside their glass shades, stretching the portraits of generations past into long, thin shadows along the walls. A heavy oak door hung at the entrance to the east wing, its lock coated in a layer of verdigris undisturbed for years. Elinor inserted the piece of black iron into the keyhole and turned it halfway. From within the door came the muffled click of the bolt sliding into place.

Henry reached out to block the opening. “If there are servants inside, you must step behind me. Sebastian may already have sent someone to guard this place.”

“If he sent someone to guard the door, then he has admitted that he is afraid of what lies beyond it.” Elinor pushed the door open. “Stand at my side. Tonight I will not hand the family estate over to any ivory-handled walking stick.”

The hinges gave a dry, rasping groan. The east-wing corridor was colder than the main house. The fireplace had not been fed with coal in years, and the damp wallpaper had curled away at the edges, exposing faded patterns beneath. At the far end, the pitch-black window gleamed from the rain, while branches moved back and forth outside in the darkness. Elinor walked beneath the window and raised her hand to knock three times on the stone wall.

“This is solid,” Henry said. “Do the intervals in your knocking match the marks in Edmund’s old letters?”

“Every letter was the same: three dots at the end of the first paragraph, two at the end of the second.” Elinor knocked once more with her knuckles. “That was not a writer’s habit. He was telling the recipient that there was a hollow space behind the wall—only the recipient never came.”

She ran her fingers along the seam in the wallpaper, stopping beneath a faded crimson rose. At the flower’s center was a tiny brass nail, its head painted the same color as the wallpaper. Henry used the tip of his knife to scrape away the paint, revealing a small metal plate that could be pressed.

“Did your wife hide something here?” Henry asked.

“I had been married into the estate for seven years, yet Edmund never once allowed me to set foot in the east wing.” Elinor pressed the metal plate. “He would lock the door after breakfast, then slip the key into his sleeve in the afternoon. At the time, I thought he was guarding against creditors. Later, I learned he was guarding against the people in his own household.”

A sound of shifting wood came from inside the wall, and a section of a hidden compartment sprang out from between the bricks. It was lined with old velvet, upon which rested a flat iron box and a roll of paper sealed with black wax. Fresh scratches marked the edges of the iron box, as though someone had recently tried to pry it open with a knife, only to stop at the last moment.

Henry picked up the paper packet. “The Blackwood family crest is stamped into the wax. If the second will is here, its date must be either earlier or later than the public will. Either possibility would be enough to drive Sebastian mad.”

“Don’t guess at the date.” Elinor opened the packet. “Look at the handwriting first, then the witness’s name. Edmund’s writing slanted to the right when he was ill. The forger learned only his usual strokes.”

The paper unfolded, and beside the creases lay two lines of ink. By the light of the oil lamp, Elinor examined each character, her lips growing paler and paler. The will stated that Blackwood Manor and its attached lands were to be placed under the management of his wife, Elinor, until she discovered the true circumstances of Edmund’s death. Should she remarry, the property was to be held temporarily by a designated trustee and returned once the children born to her reached adulthood. At the end, there was only one witness’s name: Henry Cole.

“This will bears no notary’s seal,” Henry said. “My signature is here as well, yet I have never seen this paper.”

“The ink is the same color as that in Edmund’s account books from his illness.” Elinor pointed to the date. “It was signed on the seventeenth of November last year. You were in Leeds that day, handling a dispute over the rents. You could not have been at the estate at the same time.”

“Someone forged my name.” Henry’s fingers tightened. “But why would they leave a record of my whereabouts? This will can prove forgery, but it cannot make you the heir.”

“It also tells me that Edmund knew someone would tamper with matters.” Elinor pressed the sheet back into the velvet. “Perhaps the true will was never given to the solicitor. There is something else in the iron box.”

A brass spring was concealed inside the lid. Elinor held it down, and the bottom plate of the iron box slid to one side. Lying within the hidden compartment was a cylinder of dark brown wax, its body wrapped in fine silk and its seal wound round with black thread. A date was carved into one end of the wax cylinder; on the other was the tiny impression of a family signet ring.

Henry stared at the engraving. “Edmund usually wore his ring on the index finger of his right hand. This impression is reversed. When he engraved the wax, he placed the cylinder on the table and pressed down on it with his finger from above.”

“He sealed it himself,” Elinor said. “If Sebastian had touched the cylinder, the black thread would carry the smell of his cigarettes. Edmund detested tobacco. He would not even allow the servants to smoke in the east wing.”

“We should take the will and the wax cylinder back to the solicitor’s office at once.” Henry closed the iron box. “There are locks there, account books, and a rear door leading to the carriage house.”

“We can take the will.” Elinor looked up at him. “But the cylinder must be played here. Edmund hid it in the east wing. There may be the sound of a door, a bell, or even someone speaking on the recording. If we take it elsewhere, we may lose whatever can tell us where it was made.”

“If the gramophone makes a sound, the whole house will hear it,” Henry said. “Agnes Peel is keeping watch by the servants’ quarters, and Sebastian’s men may already be downstairs.”

“Then let them hear the first sound.” Elinor placed the wax cylinder into the portable gramophone. “Tonight, a corner of what they fear has already been exposed. I will not continue keeping their darkness for them.”

The gramophone was set on the small table before the hidden compartment. Henry wiped the dust from the needle with his cuff, while Elinor secured the wax cylinder onto the spindle. The machine was driven by a spring, and as the crank turned, it produced a deep clicking sound, like a carriage passing over frozen wheel ruts. She grasped the handle and turned it seventeen times in succession, remembering that Edmund had once written that number in the margin of an account page.

“If the needle damages the cylinder, the words on it may be reduced to half a sentence,” Henry said. “Are you certain you want to begin now? We still don’t know whether anyone is outside the door.”

“I’m certain.” Elinor glanced at the will. “If half a sentence can keep me alive until morning, I am willing to pay that price.”

The needle dropped, scraping out a burst of hoarse static. The candle flame bent low beneath the draft slipping through the window frame, and Elinor reached out to shield it. The wax cylinder made its first turn. From the gramophone came Edmund’s dry breathing, and in the distance, it seemed, a bell struck twice.

“If you are hearing this message…” The voice had barely reached those words when the sound of a key entering the lock came from the corridor outside.

Henry raised a hand and stilled the crank. Elinor made no sound. She seized the candlestick and pinched out the flame with her fingertips. Darkness swept across the tabletop. The lock turned for the second time, and the iron spring gave a clear echo.

“Madam, are you in there?” Agnes Peale’s voice came from outside the door. “I heard something in the east wing. Please open the door and let me in.”

Henry leaned close to Elinor. “If it’s Agnes, why does she have the east wing key? If it’s Sebastian, why did he give the butler’s name first?”

Elinor tucked the second will inside the waistband of her skirt and held the wax cylinder against her chest. A thread of dim yellow light appeared beneath the door. Someone outside had raised a lantern.

“You can give me the cylinder,” Henry said. “I’ll climb down from the window and draw whoever’s out there away. You leave with the will.”

“That would make you the only one they caught,” Elinor replied. “I can’t leave your signature and your life behind together.”

The gramophone’s spring was still unwinding, the needle resting in the groove of the wax cylinder’s first rotation. The person outside turned the key once more, and the door cracked open inward. Elinor’s fingers found the sharp edge of the black jade pendant. She remembered that when Edmund had melted the key into it, he had hidden an unsent letter beneath her dressing box.

“Madam, step back,” Henry said. “When the door opens, I’ll hold him off.”

“And after you hold him off?” Elinor placed her hand on the gramophone’s crank. “If I turn it now, the sound will cover our footsteps—and tell the person outside that the wax cylinder has begun to speak.”

The gap widened. Lantern light spilled inside, first catching Henry’s shoulder, then falling upon the black jade pendant at Elinor’s throat. She heard clothing scrape against the doorframe. She heard the tip of an ivory cane strike the stone floor. The sound was heavier than Agnes’s heels.

“Sebastian.” Henry breathed the name. “He has his cane.”

Elinor turned the crank. The gramophone suddenly gave off a harsh scraping sound, and Edmund’s broken breathing was lifted back into the air. The lantern outside jerked violently. The door was shoved open, a burgundy velvet waistcoat crossing the threshold first, followed by an ivory cane tapping against the floor.

The wax cylinder’s first complete sentence rang out: “If you are hearing this recording, the person who killed me is somewhere in this house.”

The door stood fully open. Sebastian Blackwood stood in the lamplight, the tip of his cane pressed against the broken-branch rose cufflink at Elinor’s feet.