Silas moved, a silent shadow crossing the floor. He glanced at Julia, a question in his eyes, but she could only stare, her heart hammering against her ribs. He reached the door, his hand hovering over the latch. He paused, then slowly, deliberately, pulled it open.
Miss Agnes Thorne stood framed in the doorway. Her severe, bony face was impassive, her pale lips pressed into a thin line. She wore her usual black dress, buttoned to the throat, smelling faintly of vinegar and old books. Her gaze swept over Silas, then to Julia, sitting pale and disheveled on the bed, and finally to Elsie, frozen by the fireplace.
"Mr. Corwin," Agnes said, her voice dry, brittle as dead leaves. "Lord Blackwood sent me. He requires your presence in a more suitable guest chamber." Her eyes flickered to Julia's unmade bed, a silent, disapproving judgment.
Silas's jaw tightened, but he kept his voice even. "I appreciate the thought, Miss Thorne. But Miss Harrow is unwell. I wouldn't dream of leaving her in this state." He stepped slightly back into the room, a subtle defiance in his posture.
Agnes's lips thinned further. "Miss Harrow has her maid. A young woman of her station does not require a gentleman to minister to her. Not in her bedchamber. Especially not at this hour." Her gaze was cold, sharp as winter ice. "Unless, of course, there is a reason for such... unconventional arrangements?"
Julia felt a fresh wave of heat flood her face, not from her fever, but from pure indignation. Her eyes narrowed. "Miss Thorne!" she snapped, her voice raspy but firm. "That is quite enough!"
Agnes merely raised a pale eyebrow, a silent challenge. "Propriety, Miss Harrow, is something we value dearly at Blackwood Hall. Especially after… previous incidents." Her gaze, chillingly, flickered to Silas, and Julia felt a fresh wave of sick understanding. Marian. Agnes was insinuating Silas had behaved inappropriately with Marian too.
A fierce, protective anger surged through Julia, eclipsing her fatigue. "Are you implying what I think you are?" she demanded, pushing herself up slightly, though her head swam.
Silas stepped forward, his voice a low growl, dangerously calm. "Miss Thorne, I believe you are overstepping. My presence here is by Miss Harrow's will, for her well-being. Nothing more."
Agnes's gaze was unwavering, fixed on Silas. "A gentleman, Mr. Corwin, would not insist on lingering where his presence compromises a lady's reputation. Especially not after Lord Blackwood has made his displeasure so clear." Her words were delivered with a quiet, cutting precision. "Unless you have a particular fondness for causing scandal? For drawing attention to yourself and the… company you keep?"
The implicit accusation, the vile suggestion of scandal and impropriety, hit Julia with the force of a physical blow. She was tired. So deeply tired of these veiled slurs, these constant judgments. First Alistair, now Agnes. It was always about what was proper, what was respectable, never about truth or kindness.
Julia straightened, summoning a strength she didn't know she possessed. Her gaze, though weary, met Agnes's with defiant clarity. "Miss Thorne is quite right, Silas," Julia said, her voice deliberate, each word a slow, painful effort. She ignored Silas's sharp intake of breath. "It is late. And I am tired of this… discussion." She turned her gaze to Silas, softening it only slightly. "You should go. I will be quite alright. Elsie is here."
Silas stared at her, his amber eyes wide with surprise, then a flicker of hurt. "Julia, no," he protested, his voice low, urgent. He took a step towards her. "You're clearly unwell. I won't leave you. Not now. Not after what Alistair said—"
"Mr. Corwin, Miss Harrow has made her wishes clear," Agnes interrupted, her voice sharper now, a note of triumph barely concealed. "Her health, as you so aptly observed, is paramount. And a good night's rest, free from… disturbances… is precisely what she needs." Agnes inclined her head, a cold, formal gesture. "Your room is prepared, Mr. Corwin. The Blue Room, on the second floor. A fire has been lit. Your belongings have been moved."
Silas's jaw clenched, his gaze flicking between Julia and Agnes. He knew what Agnes was doing, the subtle power play. He saw the fatigue etched on Julia's face, the desperate plea for an end to the conflict. He wanted to argue, to fight for her, but another battle now would only cause her more distress.
"Very well, Miss Thorne," Silas said, his voice clipped, laced with barely concealed fury. He gave Agnes a look that promised retribution, then turned back to Julia, his eyes softening once more, a profound concern in their depths. "Julia, are you certain? I truly don't like to leave you—"
"I will be fine, Silas," Julia insisted, cutting him off, forcing a calm she didn't feel. She gave him a small, reassuring nod, though her heart ached with the lie. She hated herself for dismissing him, but she couldn't bear another argument, another veiled accusation. Not tonight.
Silas hesitated, then sighed, a sound of resignation. He gave her one last, lingering look, a silent promise in his eyes. Then, with a curt nod to Agnes, he turned and stepped out of the room, disappearing into the shadowy hallway. The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Julia with Agnes and Elsie.
Silence descended, thick and suffocating. Agnes stood by the door, her presence like a sentinel.
"There," Agnes said, her voice devoid of warmth, "that is settled. Now, Elsie. Lord Blackwood wishes to see you. In his study. Immediately."
Elsie gasped, her eyes wide with terror, her small hands flying to her mouth. She looked like a cornered mouse. "L-Lord Blackwood? Now? But… but Miss Harrow…" Her gaze pleaded with Julia.
Julia's stomach dropped. Alistair wanted to see Elsie? A cold dread seeped into her bones. He was going to interrogate her. To intimidate her. She couldn't let Elsie go. Not alone. Not to him.
"Agnes, no," Julia said, her voice rising, a fresh wave of defiance blooming. "Elsie has been tending to me. She is tired. She needs rest. Whatever Lord Blackwood wants, it can wait until morning."
Agnes's lips thinned, her expression unyielding. "Miss Harrow, Lord Blackwood's instructions are not to be questioned. And they are certainly not to be delayed. Elsie is a maid in this house. She follows orders. From me. From Lord Blackwood." Her voice dropped, a chilling whisper. "He is not in a good mood, Elsie. It would be… unwise… to displease him further."
Elsie whimpered, her gaze darting between Julia and Agnes, a silent plea for help. She was trembling visibly now.
Julia pushed herself to her feet, swaying slightly, ignoring the throbbing in her head. She took a step towards Elsie. "Elsie, don't go. You don't have to."
Agnes stepped forward, interposing her rigid form between Julia and Elsie. "That is enough, Miss Harrow. Elsie knows her duty. Do you not, Elsie?" Her voice was a low, insistent demand, a soft threat.
Elsie's eyes, filled with tears, met Julia's. Her lips trembled. She glanced at the door, then back at Julia, a heartbreaking struggle playing out on her face. Loyalty to Julia warred with a lifetime of ingrained fear and obedience.
Finally, with a silent, agonizing sigh, Elsie gave Julia a quick, almost imperceptible nod. A silent promise that she would be careful. "I… I will be back directly, Miss Harrow," she whispered, her voice barely audible. Then, she curtsied quickly to Agnes, avoiding Julia's gaze, and scurried past the housekeeper, her small figure swallowed by the oppressive shadows of the hallway. The door closed with a soft, final click.
Julia stood alone in the silence, the sudden emptiness of the room vast and unsettling. Agnes, her duty seemingly fulfilled, turned to her.
"Now, Miss Harrow," Agnes said, her voice still devoid of warmth, "I suggest you take Mr. Corwin's advice. Rest. There will be no more… disturbances… tonight." She gave Julia one last, piercing look, then turned and left the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
Julia sank back onto the bed, the chamomile tea now cold beside her. Her head throbbed, a relentless echo of the chaos. Why had Alistair called Elsie? What did he want with her? A knot of dread tightened in her stomach. Elsie, so timid, so easily frightened. Alistair, so calculating, so cruel when crossed.
A shiver, deeper than the cold of the room, traced its way down her spine. The house felt vast, alive with unseen dangers. She was truly alone now, with only the echoes of secrets and the crushing weight of her own uncertainty. She closed her eyes, trying to conjure Marian's face, to find a spark of truth in the deepening gloom.
–––
The study door clicked shut, the soft sound a stark contrast to the hurricane still raging within him. Alistair stalked to his liquor cabinet, the brandy bottle clinking against the crystal. He poured a generous measure, watching the amber liquid swirl, then lifted it to his lips. He swallowed, the burn a familiar comfort, a dulling agent against the sharp edges of his fury. He wasn't drunk. He was never truly drunk. He maintained control. Always.
He paced, the rich Persian rug silent beneath his boots. Julia. Her defiance had been a slap, not to his face, but to his very soul. Standing there, shielding him. That damned poet. Corwin. He was a poison, seeping into the very foundations of his house, into the very heart of his Julia. Alistair's jaw clenched.
He paused by the roaring fire, staring into the hungry flames. He remembered Marian, how quickly Corwin's words had taken root in her fragile mind, twisting her perception, convincing her of imaginary cruelties. He wouldn't let that happen to Julia. He couldn't.
A soft knock at the study door. Precise. Timid.
"Enter," Alistair commanded, his voice clipped, devoid of its usual charm.
The door creaked open. Elsie. She stood just inside the threshold, her small frame trembling, her eyes wide and fearful, like a trapped bird. Her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She looked utterly terrified. Good. Fear was a useful tool.
"Close the door, Elsie," Alistair instructed, his voice low, deceptively calm. "And come in. We need to talk."
Elsie flinched, but obeyed, her movements stiff. She closed the heavy door, the sound echoing in the large room, then took a few hesitant steps towards his desk, her gaze fixed on the floor. She smelled faintly of lavender and fear.
Alistair watched her, assessing. Elsie was loyal to Julia, that was clear. She also possessed a deep-seated terror of him, of this house, of upsetting the delicate balance. A powerful combination.
He walked around his desk, leaning back against its polished surface, crossing his arms over his chest. He fixed her with his piercing blue gaze. "Now, Elsie," he began, his voice softening, a velvet glove over an iron fist. "Tell me. Everything."
Elsie whimpered, her hands twisting. "M-my Lord?"
"Don't play coy," Alistair said, a hint of steel entering his tone. "Miss Harrow was with that man. Mr. Corwin. In the East Wing. She found him. And you, Elsie, helped her. You brought him food. You facilitated his presence in this house. Did you not?"
Elsie's eyes darted up, then quickly down again. She swallowed hard. "I… I just… Miss Harrow, she asked me to, my Lord. She was worried about him. He looked so unwell."
"Unwell?" Alistair scoffed, a chilling smile touching his lips. "He looked like a rat who had burrowed into my walls. And now he has burrowed into Miss Harrow's thoughts." He paused, letting the words sink in. "Tell me, Elsie. What did he say to her? What lies did he fill her head with? About Marian? About me?"
Elsie trembled, her lower lip quivering. "He… he just said he cared for Lady Marian, my Lord. That he was worried. Miss Harrow, she… she wants to know what happened to Lady Marian."
Alistair pushed off the desk, taking a step towards her. Elsie visibly recoiled. "Marian was ill, Elsie. Deeply, tragically ill. Her mind wandered. She imagined things. Terrible things. And that man, Corwin, he fed her delusions. He poisoned her." His voice dropped, a chilling whisper. "Just as he is poisoning Miss Harrow now."
He reached out, his hand hovering near her chin, then dropping to grip her shoulder. Elsie gasped, her eyes wide with fear, staring at his hand. "You understand, Elsie, don't you?" His voice was a low, insistent murmur. "Miss Harrow is fragile. She has spells, visions. She is vulnerable. And Corwin… he is a danger to her."
He squeezed her shoulder, just enough to convey his strength, his absolute control. "I need to protect her, Elsie. From this house, from its insidious whispers, from those who would exploit her vulnerability. From Corwin." He leaned closer, his voice conspiratorial. "You are loyal to Miss Harrow, aren't you?"
Elsie nodded quickly, her voice a terrified squeak. "Y-yes, my Lord! Very loyal!"
"Good," Alistair said, his smile widening, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Then you will help me. You will watch them. Both of them. Watch Miss Harrow. Watch what Corwin tells her. Watch what she does. Every word. Every action." He squeezed her shoulder again, his gaze piercing. "And you will report everything to me. Only me. Do you understand? Not Mr. Finch. Only me."
Elsie's eyes, wide and terrified, flickered between his face and the closed door. Her throat bobbed. She was caught. Between her loyalty to Julia and her terror of Alistair.
Alistair watched her, his expression unreadable, waiting for her answer, waiting to see if she would break. The silence stretched, thick with unspoken threats, with the weight of her impossible choice.
Would Elsie betray Julia?