“To say I was bewildered would be an understatement,” Mr. Collingwood confessed, his eyes scanning the room as though searching for answers among the shadows. “The letter had revelations that were both new and perplexing, potentially explaining so many things. But what was I supposed to do next? Where could I turn for answers? I couldn’t simply rush down to South Carolina—my mother was dead. Who should I even ask about this?”

Julie and Amanda listened intently as Mr. Collingwood continued. “I hesitated to approach the New York law firm she once used. The last thing I wanted was for them to think I was trying to make a claim on the property. There seemed to be no straightforward path.”

Then his gaze fell on the envelope he had discarded earlier. “The envelope was postmarked Rockridge—a name that immediately sparked recognition. Rockridge was close to my old home. That made my decision clear. I needed to visit immediately, explore the area, and see if there were any leads that might justify further investigation.”

Mr. Collingwood’s expression darkened as he recalled his assumptions. “I had assumed the property had changed hands multiple times, and that my mother’s belongings had either been sent to her or sold off by her. So when I arrived and saw the old house still standing, forlorn and neglected, unchanged since my memory, I was shocked. The sight of it seemed to defy logic.”

He took a moment, his face reflecting the weight of the discovery. “Then I noticed the small door in the boarding was slightly ajar. That was enough to prompt me to take action. I approached and knocked, and Miss Julie answered. She mentioned a member of the Collingwood family was here on business. Given that I believed no family members remained, this struck me as bizarre.”

Mr. Collingwood paused, reflecting on the irony of his situation. “I decided to introduce myself as Mr. Arthur Calthorpe to avoid any immediate complications while I figured out what was really going on. The mystery deepened when I walked into that old room. It was lit exactly as I remembered it from years ago. For a moment, I was overwhelmed by nostalgia. The room transported me back to my youth.”

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He smiled faintly at the memory. “I found the old piano and, driven by a sudden impulse, played a few bars of a song I had composed for my mother—a secret song, one I never shared with anyone else. I was stunned when Miss Julie, who had been listening, recognized it. It was as if the past was reaching out to me.”

Julie took a deep breath. “There’s something that’s been on my mind,” she said, her tone shifting to one of curiosity. “Why didn’t Mrs. Collingwood ever come back to the house, or at least arrange to retrieve the belongings left behind?”

Mrs. Collingwood looked thoughtful as she replied. “It must have seemed odd from the outside. In the years immediately following, my grief and anger were so intense that I couldn’t bear the thought of returning to the house or seeing its contents. Eventually, I donated the property to the Southern Society, as I had no family to leave it to and my financial situation allowed me to do so.”

She paused, her gaze distant. “As time went by, my feelings softened. I regretted letting the house fall into disrepair. I even planned to come North to oversee its restoration myself. But just as I was preparing for the trip, I fell gravely ill with typhoid fever. It left me weak and unable to travel for months. The journey seemed insurmountable, and I never regained my strength fully. My plans were set aside.”

Mrs. Collingwood’s eyes met Julie’s and Amanda’s. “Had it not been for Miss Amanda’s letter, I might never have come. But enough of that. My son is eager to know how you two became entangled in this mystery. Would you share the story with him?”

Julie and Amanda exchanged glances, then began recounting their tale. They detailed their initial curiosity, their playful role as amateur detectives, and how their interest deepened into something far more significant. They admitted to their trespassing and meddling but expressed genuine regret and a desire for forgiveness.

Mrs. Collingwood’s face softened with understanding as she listened. “You’re the dearest little meddlers I’ve ever met,” she said warmly, embracing them both. “Forgiveness is unnecessary. You’ve brought life back into this old house.”

Amanda, still deep in thought, spoke up. “There’s one thing we never figured out. The room upstairs was locked, and the key is missing. Do you know anything about it?”

Mrs. Collingwood’s cheeks flushed slightly. “That room…” she began, her voice trailing off as if grappling with a hidden truth. “There’s a reason it was locked. The key was misplaced a long time ago. There are things in there that I hoped would remain undisturbed.”

The room fell into a contemplative silence, the air thick with unresolved mysteries and the weight of the past.