Surely Not. But…

Evelyn Thornton had made a promise to herself—she would not buy more antiques this month. Her flat was already bursting at the seams, the shelves filled with vintage pieces, decorated with a theme she referred to as artful disarray. But as she stood outside a darling little antique shop tucked between a bakery and a florist, that promise felt as fragile as one of the very pieces she swore she wouldn’t buy.

The moment she crossed the threshold, her resolve shattered into a thousand tiny, glittering pieces.

The moment Evelyn stepped inside, she felt as if she had entered a world suspended in time. Sunlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting a soft, golden glow on the polished wooden floors. The air was filled with the comforting scent of polished wood and beeswax, mingled with a hint of freshly brewed coffee, creating a sense of warmth and welcome. It was the kind of place where every object had its own history, where time slowed down and you could lose yourself in the past for as long as you liked. Evelyn felt an immediate sense of calm, a quiet joy, as though this shop had been waiting just for her. She found herself relaxing in a way she hadn’t in days. Or weeks, if she was being honest.

Behind the counter sat the shopkeeper—a woman with bright green hair that seemed to glow in the sunlight and round glasses perched jauntily on her nose. She looked up from a well-worn novel, her smile warm and just a touch mischievous, as though she knew exactly what kind of person had walked into her shop.

“Take your time,” she said, her voice almost sing-songy. “There’s always something waiting to find you.”

Evelyn offered a sheepish smile, reaching for a reason to be here, even if she didn’t buy anything. “Thanks. I’m a writer, and this place…” she gestured vaguely at the lovely chaos surrounding her, “I feel like I might find something that’ll unclench my brain.”

The shopkeeper’s smile widened, and her glasses glinted in the light. “Oh, we get a lot of writers in here. Most of them leave with more inspiration than they bargained for.”

Evelyn laughed appreciatively, then turned her attention back to the shelves. Her fingers carefully grazed the worn spines of old leather-bound books, each one with faded gold letters and that distinct smell of time. She coaxed herself into only two—then wistfully picked up a small, carved wooden box, the kind of box you could imagine holding love letters or hidden treasures long ago. And then there was a piece of uranium glass—glowing faintly green under a strip of ultraviolet lighting. I do have a weakness for anything that looks like it could hold a secret, she thought wryly, already picturing it on the shelf above her desk as her fingers closed around the custard glass.

As she made her way to the counter, something caught her eye. Near the register, a little wooden sign dangled from a wire, painted in neat calligraphy: MYSTERY ITEMS—£10 EACH. Beneath it, a basket of small, brown-paper-wrapped packages, each one tied up with twine like a gift waiting to be opened.

Evelyn bit her lip, her curiosity practically buzzing. What could be inside? A priceless relic? A crumbling letter from a century ago? Or perhaps, an old spoon. Still, the idea of unwrapping something unknown was irresistible.

“One of those as well?” the shopkeeper asked, her eyes twinkling as she watched Evelyn’s fingers hover over the basket.

“I mean, I can’t resist a good mystery,” Evelyn replied, laughing lightly as she plucked one from the pile. “It feels like a bit of an adventure, doesn’t it?”

“That’s the spirit,” the shopkeeper said with a playful smile, wrapping the mystery item with practiced hands. “You never know what stories you’ll uncover.”

Evelyn handed over her card, already imagining the excitement of unwrapping her mystery package later at home. With her treasures tucked into a cloth bag, she left the shop feeling a strange mix of satisfaction and anticipation.

On her way home, the roads wound lazily through the countryside, the autumn leaves swirling in vibrant reds and golds under the crisp afternoon sun. Evelyn hadn’t intended to pass by Castle Rowley, but when she glimpsed the estate, its towering stone walls half hidden by ivy and time, she found herself turning left, slowing down and parking her car, even getting out to gaze at the beautiful structure. 

She’d visited the museum before, but it had been ages. The last time she was there, they’d been talking about the old Baron’s scandals in the 17th century.

As she began to spin a story in her mind, a figure appeared near the gates leaving the grounds. A man, mid-thirties perhaps, with an easy stance and a warmth that seemed to radiate even in the cool breeze. He caught her eye as he approached, his smile friendly but curious.

“Admiring the old place?” he asked, tilting his head toward the estate. His voice was deep, the kind that made you listen a little more closely.

Evelyn smiled, feeling a flicker of interest. “Guilty. I have a soft spot for old buildings… and old things in general. I haven’t been to the museum in months, though.”

He gave a mock gasp and raised an eyebrow, making her laugh. “Well, you’re missing out. Though, we’re still missing a few pieces ourselves—plus, there’s a somewhat mysterious locket in the exhibit that hasn’t been opened in decades. No one’s figured it out yet.” There was a glimmer of joy in his hazel eyes, as if he enjoyed the mystery.

“That sounds exactly like the kind of thing that would get me back through those doors,” Evelyn said, her pulse quickening. “I’ve spent enough time around antiques to know they always have more to say than we think.”

“I hope it does,” he said with a grin, his eyes lingering on her just a moment longer than necessary. He offered a small wave before heading down the path to the parking lot. “I’ll be there tomorrow if you decide to stop by.”

Evelyn watched him walk away, a strange thrill settling in her chest. Attractive, friendly, and loved history…if only she’d caught his name.

The cool autumn breeze danced around her, swirling fallen leaves across the cobbled streets, carrying the earthy scent of damp wood and something that reminded her of cinnamon from a nearby café. She hugged the shopping bag to her chest, her steps quickening.

Back at her flat, the last of the day’s sunlight cast a soft, honey-colored glow across the floor. It was the kind of afternoon made for unpacking treasures, and as she set the bag down on her kitchen table, a familiar thrill bubbled up inside her, almost effervescent with excitement. She always loved this part—the quiet joy of peeling back layers and discovering the past one object at a time.

She started with the books—beautiful, worn with time, their spines lovingly cracked and the pages yellowed with age. The kind of books you could imagine being read by the fire on a rainy evening, wrapped in the comfort of another time. Evelyn smiled as she flipped through them reverently, wondering whose hands had held them before hers. She carefully set them aside.

Next came the uranium glass, a faint yellowed green in the soft afternoon light. Evelyn’s fingers lingered over the smooth surface, then smiling to herself, she moved to the small drawer near her desk, rummaging for a moment with her other hand until she found it—a pocket ultraviolet flashlight.

She flicked it on, and as soon as the ultraviolet light hit the glass, the piece came to life. The soft green glow intensified, shifting into a radiant, almost eerie neon as the glass reacted. Evelyn held it up to the light, turning it slowly, watching the way the glow seemed to pulse beneath the surface. It was like seeing the past illuminate itself in front of her eyes, a little piece of history glowing just for her.

Her smile widened as she admired the transformation. 

The jewelry box was next. Intricately carved, with swirls and delicate etchings, it felt cool and solid under her fingertips. She couldn’t help but wonder what had once been stored inside. Secret letters? A family heirloom? Maybe even a scandalous love note? She ran her fingers over the smooth lid and mentally added it to her small treasures corner.

Finally, the moment of truth: the mystery item. She took her time unwrapping the brown paper, savoring the anticipation before revealing… a frosted glass bottle. It was simple but elegant, with Frank Rowley embossed in raised letters across the front.

Evelyn laughed, the sound surprising her in the quiet room. Of course it was a bottle. Did she really need another glass relic? For a brief moment, she considered repurposing it into a vase for her mother—who was always more appreciative of “useful” gifts. Maybe pop a few wildflowers in it and make it look rustic? But as she turned it over in her hands, she hesitated.

Frank Rowley.

But as she turned the bottle over in her hands, something made her pause. Frank Rowley. The name tugged at her memory, like a half-forgotten tune playing in the back of her mind. She traced the raised letters, her fingers running over the cool glass, and then it clicked.

Rowley… the Castle Rowley she’d just been admiring.

Her pulse quickened as the pieces fell into place, her thoughts racing ahead. Could there be a connection? Surely not. But…

She tilted the bottle toward the light, inspecting it more closely now, the cool glass suddenly feeling weightier in her hands. And then she saw it—a small, barely visible slip of paper stuck inside the neck of the bottle.

Her heart raced as she carefully slipped her fingernail in the narrow opening and shook the paper loose, the faint rustling of it breaking the quiet. The handwriting was delicate, faded with time, but still legible: 

Turn the hinge twice, and you’ll find the way.

Evelyn frowned, turning the note over in her hands. Turn the hinge twice? She glanced back at the bottle, inspecting every inch, but there were no hinges to be found. Her thoughts raced back to the museum, to the guide’s mention of the unopened locket in the exhibit. The locket no one had been able to unlock. Was this note connected to it? 

Surely not. But…

Her mind buzzed with the possibilities. She hadn’t even planned to stop at the estate, hadn’t planned to meet that man—but something about today felt strangely aligned, like she had stumbled into a story waiting to unfold. Evelyn stood in the middle of her quiet flat, the note in one hand and the bottle in the other, a smile spreading across her face.

Maybe it was time for another visit to the Rowley estate—this time with a little more purpose.

The next morning, she wrapped the bottle carefully in a soft scarf and tucked it into her bag. The drive through the countryside felt different today, each turn of the road filled with a growing sense of anticipation. The autumn leaves painted the hills in brilliant shades of gold and crimson, a patchwork of color that stretched endlessly toward the horizon. As the cool breeze streamed through her open window, Evelyn felt her excitement building.

When Castle Rowley finally appeared in the distance, its ivy-covered stone walls towering over the grounds, she drew in a sharp breath. The estate was as grand as she had remembered, but there was something melancholic in its beauty—an air of mystery that clung to the stones, as if the estate itself had been waiting for someone to unlock its secrets.

Inside the museum, the familiar hush settled over her as she walked through the halls. The portraits of Rowley family members lined the walls, their eyes following her as if they had secrets to share. The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and aging books. Evelyn joined the small tour group, trying her best to look casual, even as her mind buzzed with anticipation.

As they passed through the first few rooms, she heard a familiar voice.

“Back for more history?” It was him—the museum guide from her brief encounter outside the estate. He stood just ahead of her group, a playful smile on his lips, his hazel eyes glinting with recognition.

Evelyn’s breath caught for a moment, but she managed a smile. “Seems I couldn’t stay away.”

He fell into step beside her, his presence as easy as before. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate for you to miss out on some of the estate’s more intriguing secrets.”

She raised an eyebrow, keeping her tone light. “I do have a soft spot for a good mystery.”

“Then you’ll want to pay close attention to the next exhibit.” His voice held just a hint of teasing, as though they were sharing a private joke. “It’s the locket we’ve never been able to open. Lost its key ages ago, and historians think it might hold something important.”

The mention of the locket sent a jolt of recognition through her. Evelyn’s fingers brushed against her bag, where the bottle and its note were safely tucked away. Could the note be the key?

Their group entered the library, the guide stepping ahead to take his place at the front. Evelyn’s breath caught as she spotted the locket in the glass case. Tarnished with age, it still held an undeniable beauty, its delicate chain coiled beside it.

“This locket belonged to Frank Rowley,” the guide began, his voice dropping slightly, as though the very air in the room demanded reverence. “It’s believed to hold a significant clue to the Rowley family’s legacy, but no one has ever been able to open it. The mechanism is… elusive, and we fear irreparably damaging it if it’s not done correctly. The Rowley family were famous for hiding away their finest pieces, and occasionally even booby-trapping pieces hidden in the nineteenth century.”

The tour moved on, but Evelyn lingered near the glass case. When she felt the group was far enough ahead, she turned and walked back to the guide, who was waiting just behind her, as if expecting her to stay.

“I think…” She hesitated, then drew a deep breath. “This is going to sound odd, but I think I may have something that could help with that locket.”

His eyebrows lifted, and his gaze sharpened. “Really?”

“Surely not. But…” She nodded, pulling the bottle out from her bag and carefully unwrapping it. “If I don't as, I’ll always wonder. I found this in an antique shop in town. Inside was a note that says, Turn the hinge twice, and you’ll find the way. And look.” She held the bottle up to the light, pointing to the name embossed on its surface. “Frank Rowley.”

The guide’s expression shifted from mild curiosity to something deeper—intense and intrigued. “That’s… remarkable.” He glanced from the bottle to the locket, then back at her. “If that note is what I think it is, this could be a major discovery.”

“Should we try it?” she asked, her pulse quickening, part of her afraid to get her hopes up too much. “That is, should you try it?”

He paused for a moment, as though weighing the significance, then nodded. “Come with me. Let’s find out.”

They moved quickly but quietly through the halls until they reached the curator’s office. As he explained the situation to the curator, Evelyn felt the weight of the moment settle over her. What if this was the key? What if the note she had found was about to unlock one of the estate’s greatest mysteries?

The curator brought the locket from its case and laid it gently on a velvet cloth. The guide stood beside Evelyn, close enough for her to feel his quiet intensity, his excitement mirroring her own.

“Turn the hinge twice,” the guide murmured softly.

With two precise twists, there was a faint click.

There was a collective gasp as the locket opened, revealing a tiny folded piece of paper inside. The curator’s hands trembled slightly as she unfolded it. Evelyn’s heart raced as she leaned closer, the guide’s arm brushing hers.

The note inside the locket was faded but legible. It was a hand-drawn sketch—showing a hidden compartment within a grand, ornately carved wardrobe. Beneath the sketch, a single line of delicate handwriting read “I saved these for you, my love. —Frederick.”

“This is incredible. Not only have we opened the locket, but…” The guide turned to Evelyn, his expression one of awe. “We’ve got the wardrobe at another museum!”

As the curator buzzed with excitement, thanking Evelyn profusely, she couldn’t help but notice the way the guide’s eyes lingered on hers, warm and filled with genuine admiration. When the moment calmed, he gave her a small, private smile, his voice low enough that only she could hear. “I don’t think we’re been properly introduced.”

“No.” Evelyn’s heart fluttered. “I’m Evelyn.”

“My name is Frank, coincidentally,” He grinned and they both giggled. “Frank Rousseau.” As they left the curator’s office, the guide turned to her, his smile growing wider. “I’m happy to give you a full behind-the-scenes tour sometime.”

“Is that your way of asking me out?” she teased, her pulse quickening with the thrill of it all.

“Of you’re saying yes.” He chuckled, his hazel eyes sparkling. “Perhaps we could mix a little history with something… more modern.”

Evelyn laughed, feeling lighter than she had in days. “I’ll take you up on that.”

As they walked down the quiet halls of Castle Rowley, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning—of not just the mystery, but something else entirely.