Firethorne

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Maya

“ I trust you had a pleasant journey.”

The man standing at the foot of the dark, sweeping staircase in the foyer didn’t make any effort to come to us, or give us any kind of warm or heartfelt greeting. All he offered were blandly spoken words as he watched us with an unapproving eye. He stood tall. Eerily menacing, some might say. Quietly studying us like we were curiosities. He was keeping his distance, observing everything as we walked into the centre of the foyer.

He was an older man, probably in his late forties, or early fifties. His blond hair was thinning in places, but you could tell from his chiselled, strong jawline and pronounced cheekbones that he’d been attractive once upon a time. He wore a black suit, his face stony and expressionless as the driver placed our cases on the floor beside us and took a step back.

“Thank you, Beresford,” the man said, and I turned to see the driver, who’d regarded us with such disdain, bow in acknowledgment.

I could feel the nervous energy radiating from my father beside me, and he stepped forward, offering his hand to this stranger in a jovial manner that was in stark contrast to the chilly reception and dark, gothic surroundings where we stood.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Sir,” my father gushed. But the ‘Sir’ in question, Mr Firethorne, I presumed, just stared at my father’s hand, like taking it was the last thing he intended to do, and he couldn’t quite believe the audacity of my father in offering it to him in the first place.

“Yes, quite,” he replied abruptly, and left my father to drop his hand when he realised a handshake wasn’t going to materialise.

I wasn’t all that thrilled to be here, a fact I was struggling to keep from the world around me as my brow furrowed and my jaw ticked despite myself. I wanted to be supportive, but I couldn’t deny that my father had made a rash decision in coming here, taking up this position in an effort to claw his way back to the polite society he loved so much. A society I wasn’t all that keen to rejoin, if I was being completely honest. But right then, I was beyond furious at the audacity of this stuck-up asshole for being so bloody rude to him. Mansion or not, who the fuck did he think he was?

I was about to make a cutting, snide remark about his lack of manners when my father, no doubt guessing what’d happen next, blurted out, “I can’t thank you enough, Sir, for giving me... I mean us... this opportunity.” My father turned to look at me, a pleading promise whispering in his eyes as he added, “Isn’t that right, Maya?”

My mouth opened and closed as I tried to conjure up the words to express what I felt in that moment, without upsetting my father or getting us kicked out of the house before we’d even started.

But I didn’t have to worry.

Mr Firethorne beat me to it.

“Ah, yes. The daughter ,” he replied, his voice dripping with condescension.

His dark, piercing eyes fell on me, and I began to retreat into myself, feeling a little smaller. So, I straightened my back in an effort to counteract the effect. I wasn’t going to be belittled. Not by anyone.

“She’s exactly as you said she would be,” he added, and an icy chill sliced through me as he looked me up and down.

A prickle of irritation soon followed, and I glared back at him.

What the hell did that mean?

What had they discussed about me?

And why was he looking at me like I was here for reasons that made my insides crawl?

At that moment, I heard footsteps echoing down the hallway, high heels clicking, and other muted steps from the highly polished wooden floors. I watched as three figures emerged from the dark corridor to the left of the staircase, and Mr Firethorne turned his head to acknowledge their presence, but his demeanour remained as cold as ever.

“And here they are,” he announced apathetically. “My beloved family.” Then, addressing them, he remarked, “I’m so glad you could tear yourselves away from whatever mindless pursuits you young people do these days to come and greet our new employees.”

The three of them stepped into the light—two men dressed in dark suits, and a girl around my age in a smart cream pantsuit that fitted her like a second skin.

“This”—Mr Firethorne gestured to the man standing directly beside him—“is my eldest son, Lysander.” His face softened a little as he said his name, but not much. It clearly took a lot to impress the elder Firethorne. “He’s very knowledgeable about the estate, and very sociable. So, if you need any help settling in, I’m sure he’ll happily oblige.” He patted his son’s back as he said the last part, and I noticed a proud grin creep across Lysander’s face as he discreetly peered at the man who stood on the opposite side of Mr Firethorne.

As he revelled in the brief attention his father was giving him, I studied Lysander Firethorne.

He was beautiful.

I couldn’t deny that.

Like a Greek God.

He had thick, golden hair that fell in waves to his shoulders. His skin was tanned, and his face was warm and friendly. He had the kind of ethereal perfection you rarely saw in real life. Even standing here in front of him made me feel a certain way, and when he turned and bowed his head to my father, then let his eyes land on me, a wave of something hit me.

Was it nerves?

I wasn’t sure, but I felt a little exposed and out of sorts. It was a feeling I hadn’t felt before, and I could sense the heat in my cheeks as I tried not to blush.

Lysander began to speak, “It’s nice to?—”

But Mr Firethorne cut him off, dismissing him completely as he turned his back on him. And it made me feel sorry for Lysander, that his father would embarrass him in front of other people like that.

“And this is my youngest son, Damien.” He gestured to the man standing at his other side. I saw Lysander’s jaw tick as he tried to remain unaffected, but even I, a stranger, could tell he was hurt.

The other son, Damien, had his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets and a bored, vacant expression on his face. He clearly didn’t want to be here and didn’t care who knew it. His whole aura screamed rich, privileged, spoilt asshole.

“Damien has... many qualities,” Mr Firethorne went on. “How useful they are to this family is yet to be determined.”

Lysander stifled a snort, but Damien didn’t react. He just stared straight ahead, not really focusing on any of us.

He wasn’t golden like Lysander.

No.

Damien had a darkness about him.

Dark hair, shorter than Lysander’s, that fell over his forehead, almost touching the lashes of his eyes.

Dark eyes that seemed hollow and emotionless.

And a dark mood that seemed to hang over him like a storm cloud.

If Lysander was a God, then Damien was the devil. Or that’s how it appeared at first glance.

The girl standing beside Lysander cleared her throat to get our attention. A sunny, pleasant, and altogether fake smile was painted on her pretty face. Then she flicked her beautiful, long, blonde hair over her shoulder and stepped forward. Mr Firethorne’s gaze fell on her with a look of irritation that she’d interrupted his introductions, but it didn’t deter her. She didn’t seem to care, and her smile grew wider as she focused solely on me.

“And this,” Mr Firethorne stated plainly as he regarded us. “Is my niece, Miriam.” He turned his head slowly to glare at her. “Who should have something better to do with her time than be here wasting ours.”

Miriam giggled provocatively like it was an inside joke. “Oh, Uncle. I do love your dry sense of humour,” she remarked. But judging from the look on the rest of the Firethorne’s faces, it was no joke.

She moved forward, heading closer towards us, like she was floating across the floor. Her eyes were bright as they stayed focused on me, but my stomach recoiled as I glanced over her shoulder and saw the elder Firethorne watching her in a way that made me uncomfortable.

“It’s so lovely to meet you,” Miriam said, holding her hand out to take mine. I hesitated, then frowning, I took her hand and gave it a light shake. Her hands were warm and fragile, but I doubted very much that the girl standing in front of me was either of those things. “I think we’re about the same age,” she went on. “We should spend some time together, get to know each other.”

I heard someone scoff behind us and Miriam glanced over her shoulder, then focused back on me, smiling brightly.

“Us girls have to stick together. Especially in a house like this,” she stated, and then leaning close to my ear, she whispered, “You can’t trust anyone in this house. But you can trust me. Always.” As she leaned back, she winked at me. But all that flashed through my mind was images of snakes, the sound of hissing, and warnings of deadly poison. Much like the words I’m sure she’d like to pour into my ears, given half a chance.

I didn’t trust her.

I didn’t trust any of them.

The note from the train had only highlighted the importance of that.

But I nodded politely and gave her a smile to placate her.

I might be in a nest of vipers, with Miriam’s fake promises of friendships and Damien’s dark scowls, but I wasn’t about to become their prey.

Miriam returned my nod, then glanced over her shoulder and said, “I’ll see you boys tomorrow. Be good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And then she left, breezing past us and out of the front door, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume to linger in the air where she’d stood, like a heady memory that felt like it was trying to choke me.

My father leaned to the side and whispered, “See, you’re making friends already. I knew this was going to be the making of us.”

I guessed the old saying, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’, was going to be useful to me in this house, but I just smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.

“Come,” Mr Firethorne snapped sharply, pulling our attention back to him. “My son can show you to your lodgings, and then tomorrow, we can discuss”—he paused, his gaze solely on my father—“terms.”

Terms?

What terms?

We’d just travelled hours to get here, to take the jobs that he’d offered us. What possible terms could they have to discuss? Surely that’d all been finalised when the contracts had been signed.

In my gut, something felt off, but again, I stayed quiet, reminding myself to quiz my father about it later.

“Tomorrow,” my father repeated back to him, bowing his head as if Mr Firethorne were royalty.

I watched as Mr Firethorne glanced between his two sons. Sons that couldn’t look or act more different. If they hadn’t been introduced as siblings, I’d never have guessed that they were. Apart from them both being over six feet tall, they were nothing alike. From the moment he’d walked into the foyer, Lysander had been smiling, his eyes twinkling, mischievous but kind. A stark contrast to everything else that was going on around him.

The polar opposite to his brother, Damien.

Where Lysander stood confidently, open and friendly, Damien was closed off, disinterested, like he was bored with life, people... everything. I almost expected him to turn on his heel and storm off, unimpressed with what he saw here. Unable to spend another precious second of his time on something that was clearly unworthy of him.

I could see myself warming to Lysander.

I did not like Damien.

“Lysander.” Their father spoke with authority. “Show them to the cabin. Mrs Richardson has sent some supper down. Then I need you to report to me in my office.”

“Yes, Father,” Lysander answered subserviently, bowing his head.

The tightness in my stomach eased up a little, knowing Lysander would be taking us to wherever we were going. I don’t think I’d have been able to hold my tongue if the other one had been chosen, and he’d used it as an excuse to look down his nose at us like his father.

“Can I just say, once again, how grateful we are for this opportunity,” my father said, but he needn’t have bothered. Mr Firethorne was already striding out of the foyer without giving us a second glance. Leaving my father’s words to hang in the air like a bad smell.

“Save your breath,” Damien sneered at us, condescension dripping from each word that spilled from his tongue. Then, as he too turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “You were lucky to get that much out of him.”

And I couldn’t stop myself from scowling at him as he sauntered out of the foyer like we were nothing, not even shit on his shoe, because even that would have made him stop to look. We weren’t worth a glance. Not even worth a proper introduction. Because for all the time we’d stood here, Mr Firethorne hadn’t used our names once to introduce us. And they hadn’t bothered to ask.