Firethorne

Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Maya

I ran back to the cabin, quickly changed and put on my boots, ready to face my first day. And what a first day it was shaping up to be.

As I sprinted on the gravel path that ran around the perimeter of the manor house, heading towards the front doors, I saw Beresford, the driver from the night before, standing in front of me. His face was screwed up, and his sneer grew deeper and more pronounced the faster I approached.

“And where are you going?” he snapped, holding up his hand to stop me in my tracks.

I halted, the gravel sliding under my boots as I did, and my face flushed as I replied, “It’s my first day. I’m here to work.” I gestured to the house, but he just tutted in response.

“Not through the front door you’re not. The service entrance is around the back. That’s where staff like you are permitted to enter.” And he circled his finger in a patronising way in front of me, to tell me to turn around and go.

I spun around, stomping away from him as I muttered under my breath, “You’re staff too, mate. No need to act like your shit don’t stink.”

I was sure I’d been quiet enough, but when he shouted, “And you’ll find language like that is best used in the privacy of your lodgings. We have standards to uphold at Firethorne,” I couldn’t help it; my middle finger shot up of its own accord, standing proud in the air as I faced forward and strode off. I’d probably get into trouble for it later, but in the heat of the moment, I didn’t care. I’d had more than enough encounters with rats this morning. I didn’t need another one.

I walked to the other side of the manor house, stopping when I came to a small wooden door. It was open, and I could hear the sound of pots and pans clanking around inside. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, and I knew this was the service entrance he wanted me to use. I took a deep breath, nerves kicking in a little as my stomach rolled. But I straightened my shoulders, standing taller as I stepped over the threshold and took the small staircase to where all the noise was coming from.

At the top of the staircase was another open door, and I crept through it, into a large kitchen where a woman with her back to me was bending over, rifling through a cupboard and humming to herself.

“Hello,” I said quietly, not wanting to startle her. “I’m Maya. I’m here to start work today.”

Hearing my voice made her shoot upright and then spin around to face me. She smiled so wide that I couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“Maya!” she exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I’m so glad you’ll be working down here with me.”

Her eyes sparkled as she spoke, and the nerves that’d swarmed and stung my belly eased a little at how warm she was. She put the saucepan she was holding down onto the counter and walked over to me, her arm outstretched to shake my hand; then she thought better of it and grabbed me into a hug I wasn’t expecting. When she pulled away from me, she kept a hold of the tops of my arms and said, “I’m Mrs Richardson, but you can call me Cora.” She rubbed my arms, then let hers drop to her sides as she stood still, smiling and watching me.

“Thank you. I’m Maya,” I repeated, my nerves making me a little tongue-tied.

“You’ll be fine here. Please don’t be nervous,” she said, reading me like a book.

Cora Richardson came across as a homely woman. Late forties, maybe early fifties, with short dark hair, a round, ruddy, but utterly charming and friendly face, and her aura felt good, positive. Like no one I’d met here at Firethorne since I’d arrived, apart from Lysander, perhaps. He always had the same sunshine following him around. But with Cora, there was an honesty and truth about her. She was the kind of woman you warmed to instantly, and that’s what she was doing right now, making me feel warm and welcome.

“Take a seat.” She gestured to a stool near the island in the middle of the kitchen. “Can I get you a coffee? It’s always a good idea to start your working day with a decent cup of coffee.” She began arranging cups with milk and sugar onto a silver tray, but I shook my head.

“That’s really kind of you, but no. Honestly, I’m fine. But thank you.” I glanced around the kitchen, then hopped off my stool and headed over to the hob, where a frying pan of bacon was sizzling. I picked up a spatula nearby and went to turn them over so they wouldn’t burn, but Cora stalked over to me and took the spatula out of my hand.

“I’ll sort that. Lysander is very particular about his bacon.”

“Lysander is particular about everything,” a deep voice drawled from behind me, and I turned to see Damien strolling into the kitchen with that cocky swagger he always seemed to have. He grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, and then, as he stared at me, he took a huge bite.

“That’s the Firethorne men for you,” Cora replied, as if Damien wasn’t one of them. “Impossible to satisfy.” And I found myself cringing inwardly, waiting for him to bite back.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he sauntered over to where she stood, leant down, and placed a kiss on her cheek that made her blush as he said, “But you manage to do it every day. And you do it so well. Where would we be without you?”

Cora scoffed, batting Damien away as she grinned to herself and replied, “Always the charmer. Just like your father.”

And I had to stop myself from blurting out, “Really? Him?” Because the last word I’d use to describe Damien or Mr Firethorne was ‘charmer’.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” I asked Cora, trying to ignore the Damien-shaped elephant in the room that seemed more than happy to linger in here and make me feel uncomfortable, glaring at me as he ate his apple. His countenance towards me was in stark contrast to the one he presented to Cora. She got the charmer; I got the snake.

Why was he in here?

Was it to find me and taunt me some more after what’d happened first thing this morning?

The darkness of his presence made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. But I knew he didn’t care. He revelled in it.

He stared at me with his piercing eyes, like he had the ability to make me burst into flames with one glance. The muscles of his neck flexed as he swallowed. And then he stopped. And I realised I was staring a little too intently, so I looked away.

So much for ignoring him.

Now I looked like the stalker.

I focused all my energy on Cora, or tried to, and watched as she turned the heat on the hob down then wandered over to the tray of hot drinks she’d just laid out.

“Maya, for your first job this morning, you can take this tray to Mr Firethorne’s office for me,” she said. “He’s in a meeting at the moment, but he requested that coffee be brought up to him and his client.”

“Out of the question,” Damien snapped, butting in, and we both whipped our heads around to glare at him.

“Why do you say that?” Cora questioned as I furrowed my brow and stepped a little closer to her, ready to take the tray. I was here to do a job, after all.

“It’s her first day.” Damien strutted slowly to stand on the opposite side of the island, and he threw his apple into a bin to the side, before bracing his arms on the countertop and leaning forward, glaring across the kitchen at me. “And you’re going to send her into my father’s study to serve drinks at an important meeting, when she clearly isn’t up for that kind of responsibility yet?”

He spoke with such disdain, so much condescension, that I didn’t care if he was the boss’s son. I didn’t hold back as I snapped, “If pouring a cup of coffee is your idea of responsibility, you really need to aim higher in your aspirations in life.”

“Says the girl employed to wipe my father’s ass if he asks her to,” he spat back, emphasising the word ‘girl’ to try and put me down. He wanted to get a rise out of me, and he was succeeding.

“Better his ass than yours,” I retorted, and he snorted, a half-smile curling his lip like a fucking devil. He was loving this.

“Now, now,” Cora interrupted. “There’s no need for any of this. I’m sure Maya is quite capable of serving a few drinks. And you, Damien”—she lowered her gaze at him, peering through her lashes as if she were scolding him—“you must have better things to do with your time than be in here, intimidating my staff. Leave us alone and get on with your own work.”

I held my breath, waiting for Damien’s response, but he just huffed and then gave a wry smile. Cora had obviously worked here for a long time to have the courage to speak to Damien the way she did. I’d seen how he interacted with his brother, with me, with everyone else here. But in this kitchen, he seemed different. He didn’t go on the defensive or try to attack Cora. Instead, he just turned around and stalked towards the door, calling over his shoulder, “I take my coffee black. Let’s see if she has the mental capacity to remember that.”

I wanted to flip him off. I wanted to react so badly, but I reached out to take the tray, to give my hands something to do. A distraction. Because if I had my way, I’d be showing Damien Firethorne exactly how far my mental capacity could provoke him.

Cora breathed deeply, then smiled at me.

“Take the stairs to the second floor. Turn right, and head to the end of the corridor. Mr Firethorne’s office is the last door on the right. Don’t forget to knock before you enter.”

I nodded, smiled back, and then, keeping hold of the tray, I headed towards the door with my head held high.

“Second floor, go right, and the last door on the right,” I called out to show I knew what I was doing.

“And don’t forget to knock first,” Cora replied in a sing-song tone, humour evident in her voice.

“I think my mental capacity can cope with that,” I joked, and I heard her laugh quietly as I made my way out of the kitchen and down the hall.

Despite it being early in the morning, the house was dark and foreboding. The corridor I walked down was dimly lit with mahogany wood panels on the walls, and dark, ornate ceilings. Large windows let in light, but even they seemed to dim in the shadowed grandeur of this gothic mansion.

I reached the staircase, and with each step I took on my way to the second floor, I heard a sinister creak, as if it was groaning with age. I kept a tight grip on the tray as I made my ascent, navigating my way to the floor I needed.

Once there, I turned right, walking past the elegant sconces set in the walls either side of me, with dimly lit lamps. My heart was beating out of my chest, even though it was such a simple task. Take the tray in, ask Mr Firethorne if he wanted me to serve the drinks, then leave. It wasn’t rocket science. But still, I felt my nerves spike as I approached the end of the corridor.

Once I reached the door to his office, I stopped, balancing the tray on one hand as I knocked on the door. I could hear deep, muffled voices coming from inside, but upon hearing my knock, a loud voice called out for me to enter.

I turned the door handle, and let myself into the room, faltering a little when I saw who sat there.

Mr Firethorne was behind a large mahogany desk, smoking a cigar. His eyes fixed on the man sitting opposite him as they exchanged small talk. That man was middle-aged and balding. He was someone I’d never seen before. But to the left of them, sitting with his feet stretched out and looking as smug as anything, was Damien.

I took a breath, trying to keep my nerves in check.

I didn’t want him to know he was getting to me, so I ignored him, walking forward as the door closed behind me. I placed the tray on a side table against the wall and started to arrange the cups, ready to pour the coffee.

“Thank you, Maya,” Mr Firethorne announced.

I turned to face him, but he didn’t break eye contact with his guest to look at me.

“Would you like me to serve the coffee?” I asked, my voice steady and confident.

I felt the bald man shift in his seat to face me, and the heat of his stare made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“You can service me if you like,” he said, lounging in his seat with his legs spread wide in that way that some men do to make themselves feel important. And even though ripples of revulsion pulsed through me, I kept my cool and smiled sweetly.

“What would you like, Sir?”

He huffed, smirking at some inner joke he’d amused himself with, then tapped the desk in front of him and said, “Coffee. Cream, two sugars.”

I poured the coffee into a cup, added the cream and sugar and carried the cup and saucer over to the desk, placing it down gently in front of him. I was just about to ask Mr Firethorne what he’d like when I felt a rough, calloused hand touch my leg and run slowly up my thigh. A spike of dread, nausea and repulsion coursed through me, and I froze. Part of me wanted to vomit, and the other half wanted to smack him for touching me. I decided to opt for the latter and I spun around, ready to slap the man’s face.

But I was too late.

Another hand had beaten me to it.

I peered down in disbelief at where Damien’s fist was wrapped tightly around the man’s wrist, and I watched dumbfounded as he yanked his hand away from my leg with a viciousness that he then injected into his voice as he spoke.

“We don’t behave like that here,” Damien hissed through his teeth. “We’re not fucking animals. You need to learn some fucking manners.”

Damien was seething, his face growing red as he clenched his jaw angrily. But across the desk, the elder Mr Firethorne let out a long and weary sigh. And he tapped his fingers on the desk as if what he was witnessing was a tedious waste of time for him. Mr Firethorne obviously didn’t think his client was an animal, like Damien suggested.

I stood for a moment, unsure what to do or say. I didn’t know how to play this. I just wanted to leave.

I took a step back, and Mr Firethorne huffed again. Then, in a low, almost bored tone, he said, “You can let him go now, Damien. I’m sure Edward will behave himself. It was just a touch. A mistake. Isn’t that right, Edward?”

I watched as Damien glared at Edward, his nostrils flaring as he breathed deeply, and part of me thought he might ignore his father. But after a beat, he released his wrist, then sat back in his chair. But his eyes pierced through Edward like he wanted him to drop down dead.

Edward, on the other hand, sneered back at Damien. “I don’t make mistakes,” he hissed. Then he turned his attention to me, looking me up and down like he had every intention of touching me again, and no one was going to stop him. “But I’d make all the mistakes in the world if she was who I was making them with.”

He made me feel sick.

And I had no doubt he meant every word he said.

I wanted to get out of here.

I cleared my throat, standing taller, ready to ask Mr Firethorne if he wanted me to pour him a drink, even though I wanted to tip the contents of the coffee pot into Edward’s vile lap. But for some reason, I failed miserably at finding my voice.

Mr Firethorne waved his hand and announced, “That’ll be all, Maya. I’m sure we’ll manage to pour our own drinks. You can go back down to the kitchen now.”

I nodded, said a quiet, “Yes, Sir,” and turned to leave. But not before I heard, “I haven’t seen your kitchen, Nicholas. Maybe I need to make a detour before I leave today. After all, as we were just discussing, I may need to sample the merchandise myself before I sign on the dotted line.”

Edward’s voice made me shudder. Goosebumps prickled over my body. I think I’d reached a new low this morning. I’d found someone even worse than the Firethornes.

Leaving that office and closing the door behind me felt like I’d stepped out of the lion’s den into blissful refuge and safety. The invisible insects that’d been crawling over my body were slowly scuttling away. I stood for a moment, fisting my hands as I closed my eyes, threw my head back and took a few deep breaths to right myself.

“Maya, are you all right?” I heard a familiar voice ask from down the hallway.

I opened my eyes and saw Lysander stalking towards me, genuine concern etched onto his face. Then, at that moment, I felt the door behind me open and close, and a dark presence loomed over me.

“What the fuck have you done to her?” Lysander hissed as Damien came to stand beside me, his hands stuffed casually into his trouser pockets as he puffed his chest out and rocked back on his heels.

“Nothing that you can’t fix with your dazzling wit and knockout charm,” Damien replied, not even trying to defend himself.

“He didn’t do anything,” I added, glancing at Damien’s profile. His face was stoic, but I could see a faint tick of his jaw as he stared straight ahead.

“Well, something happened in there,” Lysander said, coming to a standstill in front of us. “Maya, you look upset. What happened?”

“I wasn’t upset,” I replied defensively.

“She was just pissed off,” Damien cut in, and I whipped my head around to stare up at him.

“I can speak for myself.”

“Clearly,” he replied, turning slowly to look down at me. “God forbid I should ever step in.”

I swallowed, trying to formulate a response to what he was implying, as he turned back to face Lysander. Then he stepped forward and took his hand out of his pocket and placed it on Lysander’s shoulder. “It’s all okay now, though, right? Her knight with shining hair products is here to save the day.” He patted his shoulder one more time, then strolled off down the corridor saying, “She’s all yours, brother.”

Lysander rolled his eyes then silently stared at me for a moment as Damien disappeared down the hallway, and then, with empathy in his voice, he asked, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. Honestly.”

He cocked his head, narrowed his eyes at me to show he didn’t quite believe me, and the boyish way he looked made me dip my head and give a quiet chuckle.

“I am. Really,” I reiterated, staring back up at him.

He sighed, evidence that he might push further flickered in his eyes, and then it disappeared, replaced with a softer, more mischievous glow. “Well, now you’re up here, would you like to see my studio?”

I faltered in my response. It was my first day here. I didn’t want to piss Cora off by shirking my duties.

“I should get back to work. Mrs Richardson will wonder where I am,” I told him, stepping past him to head down the hallway. But he grabbed my arm to stop me.

“She’ll be fine. If she asks, I’ll tell her you were doing a job for me.” His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, then he gave me a subtle little wink. A look I’m sure he’d used on Mrs Richardson more than once to get what he wanted. That he’d probably used on a lot of people. I was starting to learn that Lysander had a certain way about him. A way that made you want to soak in the sunshine of his smile.

And I was a girl who’d lived through too many rainy days.

“I have something to show you,” he went on, boyishly pleading with his puppy dog eyes. “Something special.”