The quiet sobs of Elsie filled the room, a fragile sound in the heavy silence. Julia pushed herself from the door, her own hands trembling, her chest aching. She knelt before Elsie, her fingers gently brushing the crimson mark blooming on the maid's pale cheek. It looked so cruel, so stark.
"Elsie," Julia murmured, her voice soft, trying to be a calming presence in the storm. "Oh, you poor, dear girl." She touched the maid's face, her heart aching with a fierce tenderness. "Does it hurt very much?"
Elsie nodded, fresh tears streaming down her face, but she managed to whisper, "Are… are you alright, Miss Harrow?" Her eyes, wide and innocent, looked up at Julia, filled with a concern that touched Julia deeply.
A wave of love, pure and strong, surged through Julia. Elsie, so frail, so scared, yet she worried about her. "Yes, dear heart," Julia whispered, trying to keep her voice steady. "I am. Because of you. You were so brave." She gently stroked Elsie's hair. "We need to get this tended to."
She rose, moving to the small washstand, her movements stiff. She soaked a soft cloth in cool water, wringing it out, her mind racing. Elsie had been so loyal, so kind. She felt a connection to Elsie that was as strong as it was unexpected, a shared understanding in this desolate, chilling house. Elsie was the only one who seemed to understand the shadows.
"Here, darling," Julia said, returning to Elsie's side, pressing the cool cloth gently to her cheek. Elsie flinched, then leaned into the touch. "It's alright. Just a little cool water."
As she dabbed the cloth, Julia's mind circled back to Silas. He was still there, a trapped bird. Finch wouldn't just tell Alistair about the East Wing; he'd tell him about the man. Alistair's possessive glint, the sudden hardening of his handsome face… a shiver traced down Julia's spine.
"Silas," Elsie whispered, her voice barely audible, as if she could read Julia's thoughts. "Will… will he be alright?" Her eyes, still filled with tears, now held a new, deeper worry.
Julia's hand trembled slightly. "I don't know, Elsie," she admitted, her voice tight. "I… I hope so. We have to hope so." The thought of Alistair finding Silas, of Alistair's rage, sent a fresh wave of terror through her.
A sudden, sharp thud against the door made them both jump. It wasn't a knock. It was a heavy, deliberate impact. The wood shuddered.
"Julia!" Alistair's voice, muffled but unmistakable, boomed from the other side. It held a dangerous edge, a demand that brokered no argument. "Open this door. Now!"
Julia's breath hitched. She looked at Elsie, who was now trembling visibly. This was it. The confrontation she dreaded. The house seemed to hold its breath, waiting.
"Go away, Lord Blackwood!" Julia called out, her voice rising, shaking with a defiance she didn't know she possessed until now. "I don't want to talk to you! Not now! Not ever!"
Another thud, harder this time, vibrating through the heavy oak door. The sound echoed in the room, making the air feel thick with unspoken threats. "Julia, do not make me break it down," Alistair's voice warned, colder now, his anger a palpable thing, seeping through the wood. "Open this door, or I swear, I will shatter it into splinters."
Elsie gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Her small frame shook. "He… he'll do it, Miss Harrow," she whispered, her eyes wide with terror. "He will. He broke Cook's pantry door once, just because she locked it when he wanted a midnight snack."
Julia's gaze darted to Elsie, then to the door. Alistair's rage was a force, a storm trapped outside the room. She couldn't let Elsie be hurt, not again. The thought of Elsie cowering, of being caught in Alistair's fury, spurred her into action. But Elsie was faster.
Before Julia could move, Elsie scrambled off the chair, her small hand reaching for the latch. "No, Elsie!" Julia cried, lunging forward. But it was too late.
The latch clicked. Elsie pulled the door open, a sliver of darkness and Alistair's imposing silhouette appearing in the gap.
Alistair stood there, framed by the dim hallway light, his blue eyes blazing. His gaze swept over Elsie, then landed on Julia, the heat of it a physical touch. His lips, usually so charming, were pressed into a thin, hard line.
"Out," Alistair commanded, his voice a low, guttural snarl, directed at Elsie. "Go. Now." He didn't even look at the maid properly, as if she were nothing more than a dust motes in the air.
Julia's blood boiled. "No!" she cried, stepping in front of Elsie, shielding her. "Elsie stays! You will not speak to her like that! She is not some… some dog to be kicked out!" The words, raw and unthinking, spilled from her lips, fueled by a rage that matched his own.
Alistair's eyes snapped to Julia, a flicker of something dark and dangerous passing through them. Then, he fixed his gaze back on Elsie, his voice dropping to a chillingly soft, utterly dismissive tone. "Elsie, as your employer, I am instructing you to leave this room. Now. Unless you wish to join Mr. Finch in his… temporary indisposition." His meaning hung in the air, a thinly veiled threat.
Elsie whimpered, her eyes wide with terror, darting between Julia and Alistair. She loved Julia, but Alistair's power in this house was absolute. She hesitated, then, with a heartbreaking glance at Julia, she bowed her head and scurried past Alistair, disappearing into the oppressive shadows of the hallway. Julia reached for her, but Elsie was already gone, swallowed by the darkness.
The door clicked shut, leaving Julia alone with Alistair, the silence of the room suddenly heavier, more suffocating. The air itself seemed to crackle with tension.
Alistair turned to Julia, his gaze raking over her, a slow, deliberate assessment that made her skin crawl. The charm was gone, replaced by a cold, calculating intensity. "Now," he said, his voice low, deceptively calm, a viper ready to strike. "Tell me exactly what you were doing in the East Wing. And who was with you."
Julia's chin lifted, a prickle of defiance rising despite the fear that coiled in her stomach. He expected her to cower. He expected her to break. But she was a Harrow, and Aunt Evelyn had taught her that even in madness, truth could be found. "I was looking for answers, Lord Blackwood," she retorted, her voice trembling, but firm. "Answers you and your loyal servants seem so determined to keep hidden. Answers about Marian."
His eyes narrowed, a dark storm brewing in their depths. "Marian suffered an illness. There are no 'answers' to be found beyond the grief that plagues this house." His voice was tight, a barely controlled fury. "And you, Miss Harrow, are stirring up old wounds. You are a guest here. You have no right to pry."
"No right?" Julia scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "I am Marian's cousin! Her family! And what kind of family hides the truth of a loved one's death? What kind of family pretends all is well when the very air of this house screams of something… something else!" She gestured wildly around the room, her frustration boiling over. "The whispers, Alistair! The fear! Marian's letters, her journal, the things she said, the fear in her eyes before… before she died!"
Alistair took a step closer, his presence looming, filling the small room. His eyes were like chips of ice, sharp and cold. "You speak of whispers, Julia? Of fear? You speak of a journal?" His voice was a dangerous whisper, each word a distinct threat. "Are you truly so naive, Miss Harrow, to believe every panicked delusion? Marian was unwell. Her mind… it wandered. She imagined things." He paused, his gaze burning into hers. "Just as yours seems to be doing."
The insinuation, the chilling echo of Marian's words about him, struck Julia like a physical blow. He wants me to go mad. Her blood ran cold. "No!" she cried, shaking her head fiercely. "No, she didn't! She was lucid, she was terrified! She wrote of you, Alistair! She wrote that she believed you wanted her to go mad!" The words burst from her, raw and accusing, a desperate act of rebellion.
Alistair's face contorted, a mask of charming composure shattering to reveal a primal rage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "How dare you," he snarled, his voice a low, guttural rumble, vibrating with barely contained violence. "How dare you repeat such… such slander? Marian loved me!"
"She feared you!" Julia screamed, her voice hoarse, her own rage finally breaking free. "She was trapped! And you, Alistair, you continue to trap me, to dismiss my questions, to keep me locked in this gilded cage of a house!" She felt a fresh nosebleed start, a warm trickle against her upper lip, but she ignored it, the metallic taste fueling her defiance.
Alistair's gaze flickered to her nose, a momentary distraction, then his eyes blazed with renewed fury. He swept his hand across the small writing desk beside them, sending a porcelain inkwell crashing to the floor, shards scattering like dark petals. The sound was sharp, violent.
"This is not a cage, Julia!" he roared, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. "This is your protection! From the world! From yourself! You are unwell, Julia! These… these fainting spells, the nosebleeds, the visions—"
"They are caused by this house!" Julia interrupted, desperation welling up. "By its secrets! By you!" She felt faint, but she pushed against it, holding her ground. She thought of Silas, still out there, alone, waiting.
Alistair stopped, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his eyes blazing. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from him, smell the faint scent of his expensive cologne mixed with something darker, sharper, like a storm. He reached out, his hand hovering near her face, his gaze fixed on her mouth, then her eyes.
"You are mine, Julia," he whispered, his voice dangerously soft, laced with a chilling possessiveness that made her blood run cold. His eyes devoured her, a strange, hungry glint in their depths. "You are under my protection. My ward. And you will comply. You will not defy me. Not in this house. Not ever."
He was inches from her, his breath warm on her face. Julia could feel the terrifying truth of his words, the depth of his control. This wasn't love. It was ownership.
"Who was with you?" Alistair pressed, his voice now a low, dangerous growl, his gaze flicking to the door. "Was it Ormonde? Has that viper Evelyn sent him here to poison your mind further?"
Julia flinched at the name, a cold dread washing over her. She couldn't tell him about Silas. She wouldn't. She had to protect him.
Alistair's eyes narrowed further, seeing her hesitation, her fear. "No answer? Very well." He turned abruptly, sweeping his hand across the mantelpiece, sending a delicate porcelain figurine crashing to the hearth, shattering into a thousand pieces. The violence of the act made Julia jump. "If you will not tell me, I will find him myself. And when I do," he stalked towards the door, his voice echoing with a chilling promise, "I will smash his stupid face for daring to trespass in my house, for daring to touch what is mine."
He flung the door open, the sound slamming against the silence of the hall. He strode out, his form disappearing into the oppressive darkness, leaving Julia alone in the broken silence of the room, the scent of dust and malevolent anger hanging heavy in the air.