It took some effort, her hand shaking as she forced the old metal to turn.

With a dull click, the lock released.

She slowly opened the door, revealing the narrow, dim corridor of the pantry wing.

The house was silent, but it was a heavy, watchful silence.

The smell of beeswax, expensive polish, and old carpets filled the room.

We stepped inside, and I closed the door behind us, ensuring the latch clicked softly.

“The library is down the main hall,” Eleanor whispered.

She kept her hand on the wainscoting, guiding herself through the shadows.

We bypassed the kitchen, where a single copper pot hung over the darkened stove.

The staff seemed to have gone for the evening.

We reached the grand hallway.

The high ceilings made our breathing sound loud.

To our left, the double oak doors of the library stood closed.

I pushed them open, and we slipped into the room.

The library was massive, smelling of leather and woodsmoke.

High shelves held rows of gold-lettered spines.

Gregory’s massive desk sat in the center of the room, clean and orderly.