Chapter 4 - The Threat in the Garden
By the end of the week, Eliza had begun to bloom. The hollows in her cheeks were starting to fill out, and a faint, healthy pink had returned to her skin. She spent her afternoons in the manor's conservatory, sitting among the exotic ferns and orchids, folding her paper cranes. She had already made twenty, placing them carefully on a marble bench.
But the peace of Silver Ridge was a fragile glass dome, and it was about to shatter.
Nathan was in his study when his security chief called. "Sir, we have a woman at the gate. She’s demanding to see you. She says she’s from St. Catherine’s and that you are harboring a ward of the state."
Nathan’s jaw tightened. "Let her in. Bring her to the library."
A few minutes later, Mrs. Pruitt walked into the room. She was wearing her Sunday best—a stiff, tweed suit—but her eyes were sharp and predatory. She looked around the opulent library with a mixture of envy and disdain.
"Mr. Wells," she said, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "I must say, I was shocked to find out that Eliza had ended up here. The poor girl is quite troubled. She has a habit of running away... and stealing."
Nathan did not rise from his desk. He sat back, his hands clasped, staring at her with cold, calculating eyes. "Is that so, Mrs. Pruitt? Because from what I’ve seen, the only thing Eliza is guilty of is being severely malnourished under your care."
Mrs. Pruitt’s smile faltered. "The orphanage operates on a very tight budget, Mr. Wells. We do our best. But Eliza is a ward of the county. You have no legal right to keep her here. I have brought the police with me. They are waiting at the gate. If you do not return her to my custody immediately, I will press charges for kidnapping."
"Are you sure you want to involve the police, Eleanor?" Nathan asked quietly.
The use of her first name made Mrs. Pruitt freeze. The color drained from her face, leaving her looking old and withered.
"I know about Chicago," Nathan continued, his voice dropping to a dangerous, low purr. "I know about the clinic fire ten years ago. I know about the 'anonymous' donation that saved St. Catherine’s just weeks after you retired from that clinic."
Mrs. Pruitt clutched her handbag tightly to her chest. "I don't know what you're talking about. That fire was a tragedy. I did nothing wrong."
"Then you won't mind if we do a quick DNA test on Eliza," Nathan said, leaning forward. "To see if she has any living relatives. Perhaps... a father who was told his child died in that clinic."
Mrs. Pruitt’s eyes darted to the door. She was trapped, and she knew it. But she was a woman who had survived by being ruthless.
"You think you’re so powerful, Nathan Wells," she hissed, her facade dropping entirely. "You think your money can buy everything. But you don't know the whole story. You don't know what Helen did. If you dig too deep, you’ll ruin your precious wife’s memory. Do you really want the world to know what kind of woman she was?"
Before Nathan could answer, a small gasp echoed from the doorway.
They both turned. Eliza was standing there, holding a half-finished blue paper crane. Her eyes were wide with terror as she looked at Mrs. Pruitt.
"Eliza," Mrs. Pruitt snapped, stepping toward her. "Get your things. We are leaving."
"No!" Eliza cried, shrinking back. She dropped her paper crane and ran.
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"Eliza!" Nathan shouted, jumping up from his desk. He pushed past Mrs. Pruitt, who tried to block him, and ran after the girl.
Eliza flew down the hallway, her heart pounding. She didn't want to go back to the dark pantry. She didn't want to go to the county home where no one knew her name. She ran out of the side doors of the manor, straight into the cold, gray afternoon.
