Firethorne

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

Maya

I t’d been a while since I’d seen anyone other than my father and Cora. For days now, Cora had me working in the extensive cellars and storerooms below the estate, taking inventory of stock, rearranging shelves and tidying. At times, I thought she was making extra work for me, telling me to rearrange things a certain way one day, then revert to the old way the next. But I did it, and I did it like Damien had said I would, with a smile on my face.

I hadn’t worn the necklace Miriam had given me. I hadn’t even taken it out of the drawer in my room. I’d read the books Damien left for me, though. The fact that it was him who’d lent them was something I tried to ignore. They were classics, after all. It would be a crime not to enjoy them. I had no intention of returning to the library any time soon, though.

I was moving boxes of spare cutlery and kitchenware, ready to wipe the surfaces down for the third time this week, when I heard the faint hum of voices coming from a vent. There was a gap in the shelving, so I shimmied through it to get closer to the wall and stood on my tiptoes, pressing my ear as close to the vent as I could to hear what was being said.

“But if I’m not there, if I don’t learn these things, how am I supposed to take over when you’re gone?”

Lysander’s voice was firm and insistent, but there was a vulnerability to it that I wasn’t used to hearing. Like he was pleading but didn’t want to upset the person he was talking to.

“I’ve already told you; this doesn’t concern you. I won’t discuss this any further.”

Firethorne’s stern tone always made me recoil, even when I wasn’t in the room when I heard it.

“But you trust Damien ,” Lysander shot back, and the sound of glass smashing made me flinch. When I heard the next words, I knew exactly who had caused that smash.

“Speak to me like that again and my aim will be better.”

Firethorne.

It was silent for a moment, and I thought maybe Lysander had left and the conversation was over. Then, a murmur echoed through the vent.

“All I want to do is please you. All I’ve ever wanted to do was make you proud.”

Lysander’s vulnerability was palpable now, and I held my breath, closing my eyes as I listened intently.

“If you want to please me, then shut the hell up and stay out of my way,” Firethorne hissed. “And as for proud, I think that ship sailed a long time ago.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you do. You’re nothing. And you’ll never be anything. You’re a nobody. Stick to your fucking paintings of trees and let the real men do the important jobs.”

My heart ached for Lysander. When God was appointing fathers, he really was at the end of the queue. Firethorne didn’t even deserve the title. He spoke to his son like shit and kept a sick reminder of how fucked up their family was with that vile rope he kept in his woods. I had no words to describe how much I hated Mr Firethorne.

“I’m not a nobody,” Lysander fought back, and I could clearly see him in my mind’s eye, lifting his chin defiantly, standing taller to counteract his father’s disdain. “I am somebody. I have talent. Other people can see it.”

“Who?” His father laughed, a laugh that made my skin crawl.

“People,” Lysander responded weakly.

“What, Beresford? Or Mrs Richardson? Miriam, maybe? Or that new little slut that creeps around the corridors pretending to clean? I know for damn sure it’s not Damien.”

“Don’t call her that,” Lysander growled, and Firethorne laughed again.

“What, the slut?”

“She’s not a slut. And she works damn hard for you. Her name. Is. Maya,” he barked.

I could barely breathe as I waited for Firethorne’s response. My heart was pounding, my body shaking, but I didn’t dare move in case I missed anything.

“Her name is whatever the fuck I want it to be,” Firethorne snapped back. “And she’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

I heard movement, maybe a door slamming, chairs scraping on the hardwood floor from the room they were in, then Damien’s voice as he said, “Did I hear my name mentioned? You know it’s rude to talk about people behind their back.”

“We didn’t talk about you,” Lysander replied haughtily. “You barely register on our radar.”

But Firethorne’s response was more telling. “I have some contracts I want to go over with you, Damien. I would appreciate your advice.” And I could tell those words would be like a knife through Lysander’s heart. That his father could be so dismissive of his importance and his self-worth. Making Lysander feel like he was second best to his half-brother, Damien. Pitting Damien against Lysander as the superior son. It made me sick.

“I’m free now, shall we go to your office?” Damien replied, and I heard Firethorne agree and the sound of a door opening and closing.

In that moment, I wanted to go and find Lysander, tell him he was somebody, that he was talented. But in doing that, I’d have to admit that I’d been eavesdropping and heard his private conversation.

And then it hit me.

There was something I could do.

I squeezed myself out of the space against the shelving and brushed the dust off my hands onto my apron, then untied it and left it on the shelf.

I took the stairs back up to the kitchen, and when I entered, I told Cora, “I just need to pop out for a second. I won’t be long.”

Cheerfully, she answered, “Okay, love.” But, when she realised I was heading for the door to the main house, and not the one that’d lead me outside, she tried to call out to me to wait, but I didn’t listen. I carried on walking, heading out into the hallway towards the room that I guessed they’d been in when I’d overheard them talking.

As I came to the doorway, I lifted my hand to knock, but the door swung open, and I was left holding my clenched fist in the air like an idiot. My mouth hung open as I stood staring at Lysander, beautiful, wholesome Lysander with sunshine in his eyes and warmth in his heart.

“Maya?” He frowned, no doubt questioning what I was doing standing in front of the door to the room he was in, looking like a creeper. “Are you okay?” He cocked his head, empathy and concern swimming in his eyes.

“I’m fine. I’m okay. It’s just...” I was nervous and rambling.

“Do you need help with something?” he asked and stepped aside to let me in, but I didn’t move. I just stood there, wringing my hands.

“I wanted to say... I mean... I wanted to tell you... Yes.”

“Yes?” His brow remained furrowed as he stared, waiting.

“Yes, I’ll go. To the party. With you.”

He closed his mouth, and I watched his neck constrict as he swallowed. And then a massive smile appeared, and I knew I’d done the right thing. I’d made him happy after all the shit his father had dumped on him. I was showing him he was somebody. He was worthy.

“Really?” he asked, his eyes wide like a child. “You’ll come?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s just... wow... that’s—” He was cut off when a curt voice behind jumped in.

“That’s so exciting!” Miriam squealed. She stalked over to stand beside me and threaded her arm through mine. “I won’t be able to do your make-up because I’ll be running a little late that day, but I can totally lend you a dress. You’re going to look amazing.” She squeezed my arm. “It’s going to be so much fun!” She waggled her eyebrows at us both, then dropped my arm and sauntered off, leaving us both staring at her as she floated down the hallway and out of sight.

“You do know she thinks you’re her plus one,” Lysander remarked quietly.

“She can think what she likes,” I replied before engaging my brain, and then I backtracked, saying, “I didn’t mean that to sound rude. I just meant...”

“You don’t have to explain.” Lysander smiled kindly. “You never have to explain anything to me.”

Later that afternoon, as I was setting up the dining room ready for their evening meal, I opened the cupboard where the plates and bowls were kept. And there, placed on top of the plates was another drawing. A sketch.

I picked it up and took it out of the cupboard, holding it like it was something precious, as delicate as snowflakes that might disappear at any moment.

It was another portrait of me, only the lines were cleaner, the likeness near perfect, and he’d used colour this time, capturing the blue of my eyes perfectly. But that wasn’t what stole my breath away. It was the words written at the bottom.

Not all of us are lying to you.

I read the words over and over, the reality of what they meant sinking in as clarity hit me.

It was him.

Lysander.

He was the one warning me.

Why hadn’t I realised it before?

I couldn’t work out how he was linked to the man on the train, but he’d been there, when I found the note under the rat trap and I’d run through the woods, chasing the sound of trodden leaves and the feel of prying eyes. He could’ve put those words on our mirror in the bathroom. He had the opportunity. It had to be him. He’d shown me the rope to warn me to be careful. He’d shown me kindness to protect me. To let me know I wasn’t alone. Lysander was sending me messages, and I had to let him know that I knew.

I placed the sketch in my apron pocket and made my way out of the dining room, taking the stairs to the second floor and heading towards Lysander’s studio. Once there, I knocked and waited. I could hear him behind the door, paintbrushes clinking against glass, the shuffle of paper, and then the sound of his footsteps as he came to open the door.

“Maya,” he exclaimed. “What a nice surprise.”

“I just wanted to say thank you,” I replied, nerves sparking as I stared at his beautiful face. Butterflies invaded my stomach as I tried not to become tongue-tied.

“Thank you for what?” he asked.

“For...” I swallowed. “For being there. For letting me know I’m not alone. It’s been tough, coming here, but knowing I have you, it helps... so... thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he replied. “I’ll always be here.”

“I know.” I smiled, feeling a strange sort of relief wash over me. Then I took a deep breath and added, “I know everything, and I’m grateful. But you don’t need to worry about me. The messages were a little... unique, but I know you were just looking out for me.”

He frowned and opened his mouth like he was going to say something, then he closed it and took a moment, tilting his head as if he was deep in thought before he replied, “I’m happy to be of service.”

We stood staring at each other, getting lost in a world that was slowly erecting around us, a world we were creating, one delicate moment, one stolen glance, one kindness at a time. Then Lysander cleared his throat, and I remembered myself and where I was.

“I have to go and finish setting up for dinner,” I told him, but I reached forward and took his hand in mine, the warmth of his palm sending a spark of electricity right through me. “I’m glad I met you, Lysander Firethorne,” I said as I tried to hide the emotions that threatened to break free as my voice began to crack.

“I’m honoured to have met you, too, Maya Cole,” he replied, and reluctantly, I dropped his hand. But his warmth stayed with me, like it was branded on my palm as a reminder that he was here. That I’d found him. That something special was blossoming.

As I walked away from his studio, heading back to the dining room, the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention, my heart fluttering as I felt his gaze searing into my soul.

Not all of us are lying to you.

No, he wasn’t.

He was telling me his family couldn’t be trusted. Warning me to be on my guard. But with him, I could feel myself soften in a way I never had before. A way I’d always been afraid to, but maybe I needed to be more daring. Let my guard down with the right person.

Once my shift had finished, I made my way back to our cabin and went straight to my room, taking the sketch out and pinning it on my wall, right next to the other one he’d given me when he’d first shown me his studio. Then I sat back, comparing the two sketches, marvelling at how improved this latest sketch was compared to the one he’d given me days ago. The colours and shading were stunning, making my eyes sparkle and my hair shine. He’d captured features of my face perfectly, the fullness of my lips, the blush of my cheeks, the lines of my nose, my face, all of me. This sketch was a million times better than his first draft. It proved to me that he really saw me, the real me. Proud, curious, fragile, vulnerable at times, but ultimately, strong. He knew me, and he was showing me through his art.

Maybe I should’ve been pissed off that he’d messed with my head by sending the messages, leaving writing on my mirror, toying with my emotions and my sanity, but I wasn’t. Like Cora said, they didn’t function like we did.

The Firethornes were different.

Lysander was different.

And he was doing his best, considering his father and the upbringing he’d endured, the daily venom Damien spat at him, and the battering to his self-esteem. He was trying his best to make sense of it all.

And so was I.

Maybe it’d be better if we tried to make sense of it together.

Maybe this party would be the answer to everything.

Maybe.

Just maybe.