Chapter 62: Beneath the White Irises

 

The gardener's voice shook over the speaker.

“Not the orchids,” he said. “Everything. The soil, the roots, even the stone troughs.”

Elara gripped the phone. “What's your name?”

“Henri Duvall. I worked for your mother before the Calloways hired me.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I promised her I would only speak when the lower room was threatened.”

Rhys stepped closer. “How would you know it was threatened?”

“Because Augustin never let anyone touch that corner of the greenhouse. Yesterday he ordered the entire eastern bed stripped.”

“What's planted there?” Elara asked.

“White irises. Your mother's.”

She remembered the tiny silver iris on the blue folder. Odette's enamel box. The green ribbon tied around Lucille's unfinished formulas.

“Are they still alive?”

“This morning, yes. The contractors arrive at six.”

Elara checked the clock. Four forty-eight.

“Give Brandt your name and address,” she said. “Don't go back to the estate.”

Henri hesitated. “Madame, there's one thing Augustin doesn't know. I kept cuttings.”

“Where?”

“At my flat. But the originals are different. Lucille planted them above something she wanted protected.”

The line went dead.

 

Rhys was already calling the estate.

Elara stopped him with a hand against his sleeve. “Don't warn Augustin before Brandt gets there.”

“He has people preparing to burn a building.”

“And if he knows we know, they may start early.”

Rhys looked at her, then lowered the phone.

Priya spoke first. “Theo can authorize access to the greenhouse grounds as a trustee. He can't authorize excavation, but he can suspend the contractors.”

“Call him,” Rhys said.

“I did. He's on his way to the estate.”

Elara frowned. “He agreed?”

“He asked whether Henri was safe. Then he hung up.”

Brandt answered on the third ring. After hearing the gardener's warning, he was silent for several seconds.

“I'm requesting an urgent preservation order and notifying the fire service,” he said. “Nobody enters a sealed structure on an anonymous claim.”

“He gave his name,” Elara replied.

“I'll verify it. You can meet us at the public entrance, but you stay outside any restricted area.”

Rhys opened his mouth.

Elara squeezed his wrist before he could object.

“We'll be there.”

 

House Calloway emerged from the mist just after dawn.

The greenhouse stood beyond the west lawn, its glass walls wrapped in black tarpaulins. A truck waited beside it, loaded with empty metal bins. Two workers smoked near the gate.

Theo stood between them and the entrance.

For the first time Elara had known him, his expression held no trace of amusement.

“The contractors won't go in,” he said. “I suspended the work.”

“Can Augustin overrule you?” Rhys asked.

“He's trying.”

A guard approached, phone in hand. “Mr. Calloway wants to speak to his grandson.”

Rhys took it.

“Grandfather.”

Even at a distance, Elara could hear the old man's voice sharpen.

“You've brought police to my home?”

“You ordered the greenhouse destroyed.”

“Sanitized. The plants are diseased.”

“Then show us the inspection report.”

Silence.

Rhys handed the phone back.

“Apparently he doesn't have one.”

Brandt arrived with a fire officer and two investigators. He examined the contractor's paperwork, then spoke privately with the site supervisor. Minutes passed.

Elara watched the black sheeting flutter. Something beneath it released a faint fragrance: wet earth, cut green stems, and an iris note she had not smelled since childhood.

Her mother had called it the rain before rain.

She stepped closer to the barrier.

“Don't,” Rhys said.

“I'm not crossing it.”

She closed her eyes. Beneath the crushed flowers lay another smell. Bitter, metallic, and warm.

“Someone's already cut the roots,” she said.

A worker looked up sharply.

“No one told us not to start the preparation,” he muttered.

Brandt heard him.

“Show me exactly what you've done.”

 

Inside the opened greenhouse, rows of orchids stood untouched. Only the eastern bed had been disturbed. Fresh soil lay in heaps along the flagstones.

Elara remained behind the investigators as instructed.

Rhys crouched beside a wooden crate filled with severed white irises.

“Can they be saved?”

“Some,” she said. “If the roots haven't dried.”

He began carrying the crates into shade without waiting for anyone to ask.

Elara looked toward the exposed floor.

A square outline had appeared where the soil had been removed. In its center was an iron ring, sunk into stone.

The fire officer tested the surrounding air and waved everyone back.

“There's heat coming from below.”

Brandt ordered the workers away from the glass.

Then, from underneath the flagstones, came a heavy thud.

Everyone froze.

A second thud followed.

Someone was striking the underside of the stone.

And from the darkness beneath the greenhouse, a man's voice called:

“Elara Quinn? If you've brought Rhys, don't open this door.”