The decision to go did not come from a place of forgiveness, nor from a rekindled spark of feeling for Adrian. It came from a grim, almost archaeological sense of duty. The discovery of the Covington legacy had transformed Eleanor Vale from a peripheral figure into the central victim of the entire, sordid saga. To ignore her plea now felt not just callous, but morally reprehensible. Amelia was no longer just a jilted lover; she was a reluctant witness to a decades-old crime, and the primary victim was asking to be seen.
She did not reply to the anonymous number. Any communication felt like a breach in the wall she had built. Instead, she looked up the main line for the Vale estate, her stomach a tight knot of dread and resolve. A housekeeper with a professionally neutral voice answered. When Amelia identified herself and asked if Mrs. Vale was available for a visitor, there was a brief, telling pause.
