THE WHITE LILLIES
1038 Words
Lina didn't sleep after the hallway.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the key still warm in her hand.
The humming was gone. But the feeling of being watched wasn't.
At 6AM there was a knock.
"Flowers, miss," a delivery boy said. "For the manor."
Lina took the box. Inside were white lilies. Dozens of them.
A note was tucked in:
`For Elena. Every Thursday. -A`
Thursday. Today.
Her chest felt heavy.
She brought the flowers to the study. The Duke was already there.
He looked worse than yesterday. Like he hadn't slept at all.
"You saw her too," he said the moment Lina walked in. No greeting.
Lina set the flowers down. "I think so."
The Duke picked up one lily. He held it like it might break.
"Every Thursday for three years," he said quietly. "I send them.
To the church. To her grave. To anywhere she used to go."
He looked at Lina. "But I've never brought them here. To the house."
A pause. "Until last night."
Lina frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I left them at the East Wing door," he said. "After I sent you to your room.
I don't know why. I just... did."
The air in the study felt colder.
"Adrian," Lina said. She used his name carefully. "What if she's trying to tell us something?"
"What if she's trying to say goodbye?" he answered.
They worked in silence. But it wasn't the same comfortable silence as before.
It was tense. Waiting.
At 2:30 PM, Mrs. Hawthorne came in.
"There's a priest at the door, Your Grace. Asking about the lilies."
The Duke stood up so fast his chair scraped. "Send him in."
Father Thomas was old. Kind eyes. He'd known Elena.
"I came to ask," he said, "if you’ve been having... disturbances."
The Duke didn't answer.
"I've heard things," the priest continued. "Music. At 3AM.
People in town say the Blackwood Manor is haunted."
Lina watched the Duke's jaw tighten.
"My wife died here," he said flatly. "People like stories."
The priest looked at the lilies. Then at Lina.
"Miss," he said gently. "Have you seen anything?"
Lina hesitated. Then nodded. "A shadow. In white."
Father Thomas sighed. "Elena was a good woman. She loved this house.
And she loved you, Adrian."
He turned to leave. "If you need me, I'm here. But some doors, once opened,
are hard to close."
After he left, the Duke walked to the window.
"Do you want to go see her?" he asked suddenly.
Lina blinked. "What?"
"The grave. Elena's grave. It's in the garden. Behind the East Wing."
He turned. "I haven't been in three years."
Lina's heart pounded. "Okay."
---
The garden was overgrown. Dead roses. Broken statues.
And in the middle, a small marble stone.
`ELENA BLACKWOOD`
`1998 - 2023`
`Loved. Missed. Never Forgotten.`
There were no flowers on it. Until now.
The Duke set the lilies down.
For a long time, he didn't speak.
Then: "I wasn't here when she died."
His voice cracked. "I was in London. Closing a deal.
She called me. I didn't answer."
Lina didn't know what to say. So she just stood next to him.
"I came back the next day," he said. "And the house was already cold."
He knelt. Touched the stone. "I keep thinking if I had answered,
if I had come home sooner..."
"Adrian," Lina whispered. "You can't blame yourself."
"Can't I?" He laughed, but it was bitter. "She wrote in that letter
to play the piano. To live. And I've done neither."
The wind picked up. The lilies swayed.
And then— a sound.
Soft. Like fabric brushing against grass.
Both of them turned.
At the edge of the garden, near the East Wing wall, stood the shadow again.
White dress. Long hair. Face turned away.
She wasn't looking at them. She was looking at the house.
"ELENA?" The Duke's voice broke.
The shadow didn't move.
Lina took a step forward. "Please," she said. "If that's you—"
The shadow turned. Slowly.
For a second, Lina thought she saw eyes. Sad. Tired.
Just like hers.
Then the wind died.
And the shadow was gone.
Just empty garden.
The Duke collapsed to his knees. Not in grief.
In relief. In pain. In everything.
"She's here," he whispered. "She's really here."
Lina knelt next to him. "What do we do?"
He looked at her. His eyes were wet, but he wasn't crying.
"We listen," he said. "We finally listen."
---
That night, they didn't go to their rooms.
They sat in the study. Together.
The key was on the desk between them.
At 2:55 AM, Lina felt it.
The air got cold. The candles flickered.
3:00 AM.
A note.
From the East Wing.
Then another.
Then a melody.
Slow. Sad. Beautiful.
The same song from the first night.
The Duke stood up. He looked at Lina.
"Come on."
They walked together. No fear this time.
The chains on the East Wing door were on the floor again.
The door was open.
Inside, the piano was playing by itself.
No one at the bench.
But the keys were moving.
On top of the piano was a new photo.
Not Elena.
It was Lina.
Taken last week. When she was sleeping in her room.
Lina gasped. "How—"
The music stopped.
The candle blew out.
In the dark, a whisper.
So soft Lina almost missed it.
`Take care of him.`
Then silence.
The Duke struck a match. Lit the candle.
The room was empty.
But the key on the piano was gone.
Lina looked at her hand.
It was there. In her palm.
Warm.
The Duke looked at her. Then at the key.
"She chose you," he said. "To take care of me."
Lina shook her head. "I don't—"
"Shh," he said. He reached out and brushed her cheek with his cold fingers.
"Thank you, Lina."
For the first time, he didn't let go right away.
Outside, the first birds started to sing.
Dawn was coming.
And for the first time in three years,
Blackwood Manor didn't feel like a tomb.
It felt like a home that was waiting to be lived in again.
End of Chapter 6
- Writer
