Firethorne

Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

Maya

I ’d been cleaning the second floor all afternoon. Thoughts of the creepy noose in the woods plaguing me.

It’d been a few days since I’d seen it, but I couldn’t get the images out of my mind.

This place grew more sinister by the day.

Apart from Cora, I hadn’t seen a soul today, and in a way, I was grateful. I could do my job and be with my thoughts. I also found it gave me the opportunity to really explore the house and take it all in.

I wandered down the wood-panelled corridor, heading towards the next room on my schedule. I’d been told to clean and dust every room up here, and I could see the door for the next room was open. Light streamed out from the open doorway, casting a welcome ray of light across the dark wood floor. Like a sign that I was welcome there. And when I reached the doorway and saw what room it was, I knew that I was.

The library.

I didn’t even bother to push my cart into the room. I was too taken aback by the floor-to-ceiling shelves that held a mountain of books that I could see clearly as I stood on the threshold. This house held some secrets that appealed to me, after all. Lysander’s studio, and now this place. I took a step into the hidden oasis, noticing a rolling ladder in the corner, and I had the overwhelming urge to climb it and study all the titles on the shelves. I felt drawn to this room, like the promise of escaping to another world was beckoning me on. There was nothing I loved more than reading.

I breathed deep, the smell of wisdom and adventure that came from the pages around me made a calmness settle in my body and mind. A calm I hadn’t felt in a long time. And then I walked further into the library, heading to the far side so I could take a look at some of the titles, touch them, and imagine this was all mine. That this was a place I belonged.

Once I reached the furthest shelf, I scanned the spines, lifting my hand to gently stroke the leather-bound books like they were priceless jewels. To me, they were. When I saw a copy of one of my favourites, Sons and Lovers by D. H. Lawrence , I pulled the edition off the shelf and opened it, reading the first lines with the kind of excitement I always felt when I was starting a new book.

And then...

A cough from behind startled me, and I jumped, almost dropping the book as I spun around to face where that cough had come from.

Right behind me, sitting in a leather armchair in the corner, with a book open on his lap was Damien.

“Do you make a habit of sneaking into rooms and touching other people’s belongings?” Damien asked, wearing an expression that showed he loved torturing me. His grin was wicked, his one eyebrow raised, and his eyes glowed like a deadly furnace ready to burn me alive.

“No,” I spat back. “Do you?”

I waited for something, anything in his expression that might give him away as my mystery note writer, but he just widened his demonic smile and huffed a laugh. Then he closed his book and placed it on the table beside his chair, and the image of his hand on Edward’s as he stopped him touching me in his father’s office appeared in my mind, a reminder that maybe he wasn’t the devil I imagined.

Or was he?

I stayed rooted to the spot as he stood up, and with slow, measured steps, he sauntered over to me.

“What caught your eye?” he asked, then he snatched the book out of my hand so fast I didn’t even see it coming, and he snapped it shut to look at the title. “Sons and Lovers. Interesting choice. Very... telling.” He nodded to himself as he stared at the book.

It was my turn to cock my head and frown as I asked, “Why?”

He tilted his head and studied me as he replied, “I think it’s funny that of all the books in here, you chose the one that tells the story of a man with an Oedipus complex that struggles to form long lasting relationships with women following the death of his mother. Change the character’s name to Lysander and you’ve got a Firethorne history right there.”

If I needed another reason to hate Damien Firethorne, he had just given me one, gift wrapped and branded with the acid from his tongue.

The urge to defend Lysander burned within me, and I couldn’t stop myself from snatching the book back off him, a move which seemed to amuse him even more.

“You might interpret it like that,” I snapped. “But I don’t. Everyone has a different experience when they read a book. Everyone has their own opinion.”

“Oh, this’ll be interesting,” he mocked. “And your opinion is?”

“Not like yours, thank God .” I muttered the last part, but he still laughed. I ignored him as best I could and carried on, the English Literature student part of my brain taking over. “There are theories that it’s an oedipal novel, that the story was influenced by Sigmund Freud, but for me it’s the themes of suffocation and the duty to a parent that strike harder. It’s something I can relate to.”

“Oh yes,” he announced, superiority bristling as he stared me down. “Because you have to suffer in silence and work here to please your own parent that suffocates your every waking moment?”

I wasn’t in the mood for my relationship with my father to be psycho-analysed by the likes of Damien Firethorne. He was in no position to judge my family. His own was more fucked up than any I’d known. So, I shoved the book back onto the shelf and gestured to where he was sitting.

“What are you reading?” I lifted my chin, trying to exert my confidence.

“Orwell. Animal Farm,” he announced proudly, rocking back on his heels.

I quirked a brow. “Trying to decide which animal you represent?” I was mocking him, but it didn’t work.

“I already know which animal I am, and it’s not the one you think.” He took a step closer, leaning forward to whisper in my ear. “The mask we wear for the world, and the reality we keep hidden inside can be two very different things.” Then moving back and spreading his arms out, he said, “But I guess you already know that. As they say, don’t judge a book by its cover. I’d hate for you to do that, Maya. Because if you did, that’d make you just like every other lame asshole I’ve ever met, and I’d hate for you to be so... disappointing.” I swallowed, and he went on. “Disappointing is the last thing I’d expect... from you .”

I didn’t like the way he glared at me after saying that last part, and I took a step back.

“You don’t know me.” I gritted my teeth as his intense glare unnerved me. Like he was stripping me bare with the condescension of his gaze.

“I think I know you well enough,” he replied flippantly, walking back to his chair and then sitting down, resting his legs out in front of him, one ankle crossed over the other, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “You’re the dutiful daughter, throwing her life into the trash so she can make daddy dearest happy. A promising honours student who now cleans the shit off our toilets for a living. But one who does it like it’s the most important job she’ll ever do. One that comes to this house every day, even though the warnings blare in her head telling her that she shouldn’t be here, but she comes here anyway, and she does it with conviction. Eager to please Mrs Richardson, my father, Lysander, anyone who she thinks she needs to. But not me. Or Edward, for that matter. No. She’d probably cut his hand off with a blunt, rusty knife for touching her if she had the chance.” He tilted his head in thought. “Or would that be too much? Too showy?”

“I’ll leave the torture and maiming to you,” I shot back. “Something tells me you’d enjoy it more than I would.”

“I do love the debased honesty of the human spirit when it comes out to play,” he replied, his words crafted in hell by the devil himself. “But we have to make it worthwhile, don’t you agree?”

“I’m not sure I’d agree with anything that passes through your mind.”

“That’s a bold statement, Miss Cole, seeing as you’ll never truly know what I’m thinking.”

“But I can guess.”

He smiled to himself and waited a moment before he asked, “And what is your guess right now?”

I glared back at him, our eyes locked in some kind of silent battle, and then I replied, “You don’t want the hired help in your precious space, touching your things, tainting it.”

“On the contrary,” he retorted. “I have no problem with you being here. In fact, I’m happy for you to come in here whenever you want.” And in a quieter voice, he said, “No one else comes in here. It’s the perfect place to be if you need to... hide .” He narrowed his eyes at me, unspoken accusations lying within.

I wasn’t sure what he was implying, but I didn’t like it, and I didn’t want to stay here for a moment longer, so I told him, “Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you again. In future, I’ll make sure the room is empty before I come in to clean.” And I stalked out before he could give me a snarky, venomous response.

My breaths were ragged, my heart beating out of my chest as I stalked down the corridor, pushing my cart. My mind willing me to put distance between myself and Damien Firethorne, my body shaking with anger and the spike of adrenaline I always seemed to experience when I was around him.

I was hoping luck would be on my side as I escaped down the corridor, but as I turned a corner, I realised that was wishful thinking. At the end of the hallway stood Mr Firethorne, with his head bowed, in deep conversation with Miriam.

When he saw me, his head snapped up, and he took what appeared to be a guilty step backwards, before whispering something to Miriam. Then he moved to open a door close to where they stood, stepped through it and shut the door, leaving Miriam to turn and face me. Her cheeks were pink, like she had something to hide, but as a feline smirk spread across her face, I knew that wasn’t the case. Miriam didn’t hide anything. She didn’t care enough to go to all that trouble.

“Maya!” she said in that over-excited tone of hers. “I was just looking for you. Uncle said you were cleaning up here.” As she moved closer, she put her arms out, ready to envelope me in one of her heavily perfumed hugs.

I let her, my arms staying limp by my sides as she wrapped hers around me. Then, I froze and recoiled as I heard her breathe deeply, like she was breathing me in.

“I love that scent in your hair.” She grinned as she pulled away from me. “What products do you use?”

I’d been cleaning all day. I knew I didn’t smell my best. I didn’t smell bad, but she was making out I was some scented princess floating down the hall. It was just plain weird.

“Cheap shampoo,” I replied, my voice flat, and I’m sure my puzzlement was playing out on my face too, but she didn’t react.

“We need to have a girls’ night,” she stated, and by the way her eyes darted about, I could tell she was already mentally planning it, whether I agreed to it or not. “I could come over, we could do face masks, share make-up tips, do all the stuff sisters do. I never had a sister. I always wanted one, though. I’ve had to settle for two morose male cousins, but Lysander is pretty. Maybe we should rope him in, too? Get him to be our model. With his cheekbones...” She was laughing as she spoke, and I had to stop her. I didn’t have time for this.

“Why were you looking for me?” I didn’t want to be rude, but the sooner I cleaned this level, the sooner I could get away from this place and go back home.

“Oh that, yes.” She peered over her shoulder then moved a step closer to me and said, “We’re having a party next week, and you have to come.”

“Lysander already invited me,” I replied, and instantly, her face dropped. A look of utter defeat and disappointment shone back at me, and in that moment, I felt a little guilty for bursting her bubble of excitement. “I’m not gonna be able to make it, though,” I added. “I don’t think it’s right for me to attend a party thrown by my employers.”

“Oh, Maya, will you stop! That’s nonsense,” she said, determination burning in her eyes now. “You’re my friend. And if you don’t come, then... then... I’ll call the whole thing off.”

“That’s what Lysander said,” I couldn’t help blurting out, and she narrowed her eyes at me.

“And Damien?” she asked.

“Hasn’t said a thing,” I replied honestly.

But from the way she maintained her glare, I don’t think she believed me.

“Well... anyway...” she went on. “I want you there as my plus one. I need you there. It’s hard being the only girl in this house.”

“I don’t have anything to wear, and I can’t afford to buy anything new, so?—”

“I’ll lend you something,” she announced. “I have too many clothes. Honestly, Maya, you’re not getting out of this that easily.”

That was becoming painfully clear.

“I’ll think about it,” I told her, and she folded her arms, popped her hip and gave a little huff like a spoilt child.

“Is that the best you can do? Think about it?”

I nodded and she gave another huff.

“Fine. But I will get you there.” Then a little brighter, she added, “Maybe we could get ready for the party together? I could do your make-up for you.”

“Maybe.” I kept my smile in place and stepped towards my cart to push it down the hallway. But as I went to walk past, Miriam put her arm out to stop me.

I gasped, standing still, and she reached up and stroked her finger down a stray whisp of hair that’d fallen from my messy bun, and then, gently, she tucked it behind my ear, a move that felt way too intimate.

“I have the perfect white dress for you,” she said on a whisper, as if she was imagining me in it. “You’ll be the prettiest angel.”

I wanted to tell her that Lysander had said that, too, but I didn’t. I swallowed, nodded politely, and walked away, trying to ignore the boulder of dread that hit my stomach in reaction to how she was acting. I had no intention of going to their party, or being the angel they thought I was, of being anything for them.

The sooner I got out of here, the better.

After a long day, I trudged back through the grounds on weary legs, heading towards our cabin. When I got to the clearing and saw something sitting on the door mat, I stopped dead. I peered around me, listening for any noises, but all I heard were the tweets of the birds overhead and the rustling of the leaves in the trees blowing in the breeze. I couldn’t sense anyone watching, but I still took slow, careful steps as I made my way to the porch.

Once closer, I saw the brown cardboard box that was sitting on the mat had no name or address on it, and a cautionary shiver ran down my spine. I took the last few steps up to the porch, stood over the package and then crouched down.

Cautiously, I pulled the parcel tape off the top, and with bated breath and my heart pounding in my ears, I slowly opened the box. What lay inside was the last thing I’d expected to find.

Books.

Leather bound books that made me quietly gasp as I reached in to pick the first one out.

I opened the cover to see it was a first edition of The Mayor of Casterbridge by Thomas Hardy. Underneath that, was a copy of Wuthering Heights, and then, at the very bottom, sat the edition of Sons and Lovers that I’d picked out in the library earlier today. No note. No message, but it wasn’t necessary. I knew who’d sent this.

But the question I had to ask myself was, why?