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What function did these grates serve beyond allowing air to circulate? And why were they so elaborately decorated if they were merely utilitarian?

He pulled back, studying the grate’s position. It was set at an odd height. Too low to be a vent, too high to be a simple air intake. Almost as if it were positioned to allow someone to …

To what? Look through from the other side?

Angelo shook his head at his own fanciful thinking.

And yet the sensation of being watched had been undeniable. In the library, in the Hall of Reflections, in Nicholas’s chamber, that prickling awareness that had raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Basta, he told himself firmly. Enough.

He was tired from travel, his mind playing tricks on him. There was no mysterious watcher, no hidden observer. Just an ancient hall with old ventilation systems and his own overactive imagination.

Angelo left the grates, allowing himself to truly examine the bedchamber. He ran his fingers along the carved wood of the bedposts, noting the Tudor roses worked into the design. This furniture was old, perhaps as old as the hall itself.

Moving to the washstand, Angelo stripped off his coat, waistcoat, and cravat with relief. Four days of travel had left him feeling grimy despite his earlier washing. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it over his head, setting it aside for laundering. His skin prickled in the cold air, but the sensation was refreshing after hours confined in heavy clothing.

The water in the ewer was cold, but Angelo did not mind. He poured it into the basin and washed thoroughly, scrubbing away the dust of the road. The cold water was bracing, clearing his head and reviving his spirits. He had always preferred cold water for washing. It woke the body, sharpened the mind, reminds me that I am alive and capable.

As he washed, his thoughts circled back to Nicholas’s treatment. The leg was improving, but the traveling had taken its toll. But, with continued treatment, his uncle should recover almost normal use of the leg. At least, much more flexibility than he currently enjoyed. Angelo recollected the young man’s temperament.

Or, rather, does not enjoy.

But, despite Nicholas’s ill temper, Lady Trafford had already proven that he could get better, much better. Nicholas had admitted grudgingly that his mobility had improved, that the constant ache had diminished somewhat.

What his uncle needed was to increase the aggression of the intervention. Lady Trafford had begun the work, and Nicholas had likely needed her gentle touch at the outset. But now it was time to step up the application. The kind that hurt in the short term but prevented permanent disability in the long term. The kind that required a healer willing to push past the patient’s complaints and resistance.

Angelo could be that healer. He had treated far more difficult patients in Florence. Stubborn old men who insisted they knew better than their physicians. Proud artisans who refused to admit they were in pain. Wealthy merchants who believed money could buy health without effort.

Nicholas was no more challenging than any of them. Just more tart in his complaints.

Angelo dried himself with the towel provided, then pulled on a clean shirt from his trunk. He left it open at the collar, enjoying the freedom of informality. No need to button every fastening when he was alone in his chamber.

He hung his discarded clothing carefully so it might air out, then shook out his coat and waistcoat thoroughly before hanging them on the pegs provided. Traveling inevitably crushed fabric, but proper care immediately upon arrival could prevent lasting damage.

These small rituals of order soothed him. In Florence, he had lived in comfortable chaos. The farmacia was always in controlled disarray, his uncles were perpetually arguing about organization systems, and customers interrupted any attempt at systematic arrangement. But Angelo himself craved order in his personal space. Everything in its place, everything serving its purpose.

Perhaps that was why the mystery of this hall bothered him so much. It represented disorder. Secrets hidden where they should not be, passages concealed for unknown purposes, maybe even watchers who remained unseen.

Or perhaps he simply did not like puzzles he could not solve, like the hidden chamber whose Latin title, Hall of Reflections, was inscribed on the wall in mirror text.

Angelo pulled on his waistcoat and coat again, the afternoon was too cold to go without them, and began a more thorough exploration of his chamber. He opened the wardrobe, finding it empty except for spare blankets and a faint scent of lavender. He examined the fireplace, noting the quality of the stonework, the way the flue was angled to draw efficiently.

And everywhere he looked, those iron grates. Not just by the fireplace, but set into the walls at various points. One near the ceiling in the corner. Another at knee height beside the wardrobe. A third positioned oddly near the door.

Angelo knelt beside the grate near the wardrobe, tilting his head to peer through the decorative ironwork. He could see now that the passage behind was narrow. Perhaps only wide enough for a single person to move through sideways. The stone walls were rough, unfinished. This was utilitarian space, not meant to be seen.

But why? Simple ventilation did not require passages a person could move through. And the number of grates, their odd positioning, suggested something far more complex than air circulation.

Unless …

Angelo sat back on his heels, an idea forming. Unless these passages were designed to allow someone to move through the walls themselves. To traverse the hall unseen, to access rooms from hidden angles, to observe without being observed.

Priest holes. England was full of them, remnants of the Catholic persecutions when hiding priests could mean the difference between life and death. Many old halls had secret rooms, concealed staircases, hidden passages where fugitives could hide or escape. But Grimsfell’s passages seemed more extensive than simple priest holes. And the grates were too numerous to merely hint at emergency escape routes.

Someone had designed this system with a specific purpose in mind. And that someone had wanted to be able to watch, to listen, to move through the hall without being seen.

The question was why.