Chapter 10 - Rosemont Manor BurnsRosemont Manor had survived wars, recessions, scandals, funerals, and three generations of terrible people pretending to be respectable.
By midnight, it glowed red against the sky.
Claire saw the smoke first from the hospital window.
Then Ethan’s phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered without speaking.
Eleanor’s voice came through soft and almost affectionate.
“You always did make me repeat myself.”
Ethan’s hand tightened around the phone.
“Where are you?”
“At home.”
Claire stood slowly, one hand on her ribs.
Ethan turned away, but she heard every word.
Eleanor continued, “The house has become inconvenient. Too many files. Too many memories. Too many servants who suddenly found courage.”
“You set fire to Rosemont Manor?”
“I am cleaning.”
Claire grabbed the phone.
“Where are the staff?”
Eleanor paused.
Then laughed.
“Still worrying about maids, Claire? That was always your problem. You confused servants with people.”
Claire’s blood turned cold.
“Rosa.”
Ethan looked at her.
Rosa had stayed at the estate to give another statement. She had family quarters above the service wing. If Eleanor locked the staff inside—
Ethan was already moving.
Detective Hale tried to stop them in the hospital hallway.
“The fire department is responding.”
“My staff may be trapped,” Ethan said.
“Then let professionals handle it.”
Claire stepped forward.
“Eleanor called us because there is something she wants us to see.”
Detective Hale cursed under his breath.
They arrived at Rosemont Manor to chaos.
Fire trucks lined the drive. Flames crawled along the east wing roof, spilling sparks into the night. Staff stood barefoot on the lawn wrapped in blankets. Some were crying. Some coughed black smoke.
Rosa was not among them.
Claire moved through the crowd.
“Rosa?”
A cook grabbed her arm.
“She went back inside.”
Claire’s heart dropped.
“Why?”
The cook pointed toward the burning service wing.
“Her little brother. He sleeps in the staff room when she works late.”
Ethan turned to the fire chief.
“There’s a child inside.”
The chief barked orders immediately. Two firefighters prepared to enter, but part of the roof collapsed, sending sparks across the courtyard.
“Back!” someone shouted.
Claire pushed forward.
Ethan caught her.
“You are not going in.”
“My son was stolen because people stood outside locked doors and waited for permission.”
“Claire—”
But before either could move, a figure appeared at a second-floor window.
Rosa.
She was coughing, holding a small boy against her chest.
The ladder truck was still turning into position.
The flames climbed behind her.
Claire screamed her name.
Rosa looked down and shook her head, terrified.
Then another figure appeared in the window behind her.
Eleanor.
Even through smoke, Claire recognized the silver dress.
Ethan froze.
Eleanor placed one hand on Rosa’s shoulder.
The crowd below screamed.
“No!” Ethan roared.
Rosa stumbled forward.
For one awful second, it looked as if Eleanor would push her too.
Then something strange happened.
Rosa turned.
She struck Eleanor across the face with all the force she had.
The lawn erupted.
Eleanor staggered back.
Firefighters reached the window seconds later, breaking glass, pulling Rosa and the boy onto the ladder. The crowd cheered when they descended alive.
Claire wrapped Rosa in her arms despite the smoke and pain.
Rosa sobbed. “She locked us in. She said servants should die with servant secrets.”
Ethan looked toward the window.
Eleanor had vanished.
Detective Hale shouted into his radio.
“Suspect still inside.”
The fire spread faster.
Claire watched as flames consumed the portrait gallery, then the upper library. Rosemont Manor was not just burning. It was being erased.
Ethan suddenly went still.
“The west study.”
Claire looked at him.
“My father’s study. It has a private vault.”
Detective Hale heard him.
“What’s in it?”
“Everything Eleanor wanted gone.”
The fire chief blocked the entrance.
“No one goes in.”
Ethan stared at the burning house.
Claire knew that look.
It was the look of a man choosing between survival and truth.
“Ethan,” she said.
He turned to her.
For a moment, all the years between them vanished. He was the man she married, the man who once danced barefoot with her in the kitchen, the man who held her after every cruel dinner Eleanor hosted.
“I have to,” he said.
“No. You don’t have to prove anything by dying in that house.”
“I’m not proving anything.”
“Then what?”
His eyes moved to Henry, asleep in Dana’s car across the lawn under police guard.
“I’m making sure my son never has to fight this again.”
Before Claire could stop him, Ethan ran toward the side entrance.
Detective Hale cursed and followed.
Claire screamed Ethan’s name.
Smoke swallowed them both.
The next minutes broke into fragments.
Firefighters shouting.
Rosa crying.
Maria arriving in a hospital transport against doctor’s orders.
The west wing windows cracking from heat.
Claire standing in the rain of ash, unable to breathe.
Then Ethan emerged.
He stumbled through the smoke, carrying a metal fireproof box against his chest.
Detective Hale came behind him, coughing violently.
The crowd surged forward.
Claire reached Ethan just as he collapsed to one knee.
“You idiot,” she sobbed, grabbing his face.
He coughed, then smiled weakly.
“You missed me.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
Detective Hale took the box.
“It better be worth it.”
Ethan looked toward the burning house.
“It is.”
Then a sound split the night.
A gunshot.
Everyone ducked.
Claire turned.
Eleanor stood near the fountain, soot streaking her face, a pistol in her hand.
The flames behind her turned her silver gown red.
Her eyes were fixed on Claire.
“You,” Eleanor whispered. “You ruined my son.”
Ethan stepped in front of Claire.
Eleanor smiled.
“Not you, Ethan.”
May you like
She raised the gun toward Claire’s stomach.
“My mistake was letting the next one live.”
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