The narrow door opened into a spiral staircase descending into darkness. The air that rushed out was cool and stale, carrying a faint scent of old paper and candle wax. Liam led the way, one step at a time, his flashlight cutting through the blackness. The staircase seemed to go on forever, coiling like a snake until it ended in a small underground room. The space was small, but everything was perfectly preserved.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with ornate boxes and porcelain trinkets. In the center stood a writing desk covered in dust, and on top of it a neat stack of letters tied with lace. Emily picked one up gently. The paper was yellowed, the ink faded. “Clara Whitmore,” she read aloud from the signature. “That must be who lived here.” Each envelope was dated between 1923 and 1924. There were dozens of them, each addressed to Henry Bell. “A lover?” Liam guessed. Emily nodded. “Or someone she wasn’t supposed to love.” They sat down on the cold stone floor and began reading.

Continue reading on the next page to uncover what the letters revealed!