The abrupt arrival of Agnes, her severe presence a stark counterpoint to the fragile intimacy that had just unfolded, sent a fresh wave of heat to Julia's cheeks. Alistair, however, seemed unperturbed. He straightened, his gaze still holding a lingering warmth as he looked at Julia.
"Very well, Agnes," Alistair said, his voice smooth and composed, as if their tender moment had been merely a trick of the morning light. "Thank you. Julia, my dear, please get ready for breakfast. I insist you join me before I leave."
He turned to Agnes, his tone now one of a commanding master. "And Agnes, please send Elsie to assist Miss Harrow. She requires some looking after this morning."
Agnes's lips, thin and pale, pressed into a tighter line, but she dipped her head in a stiff, reluctant nod. "As you wish, My Lord."
Alistair then inclined his head towards Julia, a soft, reassuring smile gracing his lips before he turned and strode from the room, his bare back a brief, powerful silhouette against the light from the hallway.
Julia watched him go, a strange mix of relief and lingering tension swirling within her. He was truly leaving. Her plan had worked.
Agnes, however, did not immediately follow. She waited, her rigid posture unmoving, until the sound of Alistair's footsteps faded into the distant depths of the house. Only then did she turn fully to Julia, her eyes, dark and cold, burning with a silent accusation.
"So," Agnes began, her voice a low, venomous hiss, devoid of its usual polite chill. "It begins, does it? You waste no time, Miss Harrow. Trying to ensnare him, just as you have always done. Just like your mother before you, no doubt."
Julia's jaw tightened. The words, delivered with such unwarranted cruelty, stung. "Agnes, how dare you?" she retorted, her voice trembling slightly with suppressed fury. "I was not trying to 'ensnare' anyone. Lord Blackwood merely offered comfort after a terrible nightmare. And what my mother did or did not do is none of your concern."
Agnes let out a short, dismissive laugh, a brittle, unpleasant sound. "A nightmare? Or a convenient excuse to cling to him? Do not insult my intelligence, Miss Harrow. I saw the way you looked at him. The way he looked at you. You are trying to steal your cousin's widower, aren't you? Just as you always tried to steal everything from Marian." Her eyes narrowed to cold slits. "I never wanted you to step foot in this house. Lord Alistair's kindness, his misplaced pity, allowed you entrance. But mark my words, Miss Harrow, if you so much as think of trying to come between Lord Blackwood and Marian's memory, I will personally see to it that you are thrown out onto the street. You will not desecrate this house, or Marian's name, with your sordid intentions."
Just then, the door creaked open, and Elsie timidly entered, a fresh stack of linens draped over her arm. Her eyes, wide and startled, darted between Agnes's furious face and Julia's rigid posture. She froze, stunned by the palpable tension in the room.
Agnes, her tirade momentarily interrupted, turned to Elsie. Her voice dropped, though it lost none of its icy menace. "Keep trying to cover up Miss Harrow's sins, Elsie," she sneered, her gaze fixed on the young maid. "But they will catch up to her, eventually. They always do." With a final, withering glare at Julia, Agnes swept from the room, leaving behind a lingering scent of vinegar and a chilling silence.
Julia stood rooted to the spot, her hands clenched into tight fists. Her chest heaved, a storm of anger and indignation churning within her. Even Elsie, usually so timid, seemed to shrink back, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and awe. Julia had not been this enraged, this utterly consumed by fury, in a very long time.
"How dare she?" Julia seethed, her voice low and dangerous. "How dare she speak to me like that? After all I am trying to do for Marian? For justice? She obstructs my every turn, and now she accuses me of… of seducing her widower?" The sheer injustice of it burned hotter than any fever. "She acts as if I am some conniving serpent, when all I want is to uncover the truth of what happened in this cursed place!"
Elsie, still trembling slightly, stepped closer. "Miss Harrow, please. You must calm yourself. Her ladyship… she has always been very protective of Lady Marian. And Lord Blackwood."
"Protective?" Julia scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Or simply a blind fool? Or worse, complicit in the darkness that permeates this house!" She paced the small space by the bed, her mind racing. "I will not let this go, Elsie. I will not. She will regret those words."
She stopped, her gaze falling on Elsie, a flicker of something new softening her anger. "Silas," she said, her voice dropping. "Is he… is he alright?"
Elsie wrung her hands, her expression worried. "He is, Miss Harrow. He is quite well. But he cut himself, quite badly, on a piece of broken mirror." She glanced around, as if fearing unseen ears. "And he hasn't eaten this morning. Miss Agnes was… monitoring me very closely, so I could not sneak him any food."
Julia's heart twisted. The mirror shard. The same one, she was sure, that had sliced her hand when she had first ventured into the East Wing. The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine. The house itself seemed to resist any intrusion into its secrets, striking out with splintered glass and dark illusions.
"A mirror shard," Julia murmured, more to herself than Elsie. "It's always the mirrors here. First me, now him." Her mind raced, making unsettling connections.
"Do not fret, Miss Harrow," Elsie quickly interjected, misinterpreting Julia's thoughtful silence for fresh worry. "I managed to sneak in some bandages and a small phial of soothing medication. He should be comfortable enough."
Julia turned, a fierce gratitude shining in her eyes. She took Elsie's hands, squeezing them gently. "Elsie, you are a true friend. You are risking so much for us. Your position, your very safety…"
Elsie's timid eyes softened. "It is nothing, Miss Harrow. Lady Marian… she was always kind to me."
"You are risking everything, Elsie," Julia insisted, her voice soft but firm. "And I thank you for it. Do not worry. Alistair will be leaving soon. I simply need to wait for him to depart. Then, I will go to the East Wing. I must see Silas for myself. And ensure he has a proper meal."
Elsie nodded, a flicker of relief in her eyes. "Very well, Miss Harrow. Let us get you ready for breakfast, then."
Elsie moved with quiet efficiency, selecting a simple but elegant gown of forest green that complemented Julia's dark hair and pale skin. Julia dressed quickly, her mind already plotting. She felt a strange sense of empowerment. Alistair's unexpected willingness to investigate, combined with Agnes's venomous accusations, had only strengthened her resolve. She would not be deterred. She would find the truth.
As they descended the grand staircase, Julia held her head high. The house, even in the late morning light, felt thick with unspoken secrets. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to whisper of hidden passages and locked rooms. The air, faintly scented with old wood and a distant, indefinable dampness, felt heavy, as if burdened by the weight of its own history.
Alistair was already seated at the massive dining table, a picture of refined elegance. Mr. Finch stood stiffly by his side, his face a mask of impenetrable reserve. On Alistair's other side sat Agnes, her lips still pressed into a thin, disapproving line as her gaze fell upon Julia. Other household staff, a scattering of maids and footmen, were present as well, their faces impassive, yet Julia felt their collective eyes upon her. Elsie, her steps light and swift, followed Julia into the room, taking her place quietly behind her.
Alistair's eyes, bright and attentive, immediately fixed on Julia. A warm smile touched his lips, and he rose, pulling out the chair beside him. "Julia, my dear. Just in time."
Julia walked towards the table, her gaze unwavering, meeting Agnes's cold stare with a silent, resolute challenge. She sat, feeling the weight of Agnes's disapproval, the subtle hum of the other servants' curiosity. The table, laden with an array of breakfast dishes—scrambled eggs, smoked ham, fresh bread, and steaming tea—seemed to stretch endlessly, a silent, imposing expanse.
The maids began to serve, their movements hushed, almost reverent. Julia helped herself to a small portion, her appetite somewhat diminished by the morning's revelations. Alistair, however, ate with a healthy, unhurried ease, occasionally offering a comment about the weather or the day's planned affairs.
"I will be leaving shortly after this," Alistair said, his voice calm, yet carrying an undeniable authority. He looked at Julia, his gaze soft. "You must take care of yourself, Julia. I have already spoken to Agnes regarding your meals and ensuring you have proper rest. Elsie will be here to attend to your needs." He reached across the table, his hand covering hers for a brief, warm moment. "I will not be long. As soon as I have acquired the tonic, I will return."
"Thank you, Alistair," Julia replied, her voice steady. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze in return. The simple gesture held a multitude of unspoken meanings. She needed him gone. She needed to act.
They finished their breakfast in a relatively quiet peace, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery and the hushed movements of the servants. Then, Alistair pushed back his chair, signaling the end of the meal. He stood, and all the household staff present seemed to stiffen, awaiting his address.
"While I am away," Alistair's voice resonated through the dining room, clear and commanding, "I expect the household to be maintained with the utmost precision. Mr. Finch, you have my full authority. And as for Miss Harrow," his gaze softened as he looked at her, "she is a valued guest. You are to treat her with the utmost respect. Any… discourtesy, will not be tolerated. Is that understood?"
A chorus of "Yes, My Lord" rippled through the staff. Finch, as always, remained silent, his expression unreadable.
Finch then stepped forward, holding Alistair's travel coat. Alistair slipped into it, his broad shoulders filling the dark fabric. Finch then presented him with a pair of finely stitched leather gloves. Alistair donned them, his movements precise and deliberate.
He turned to Julia, his eyes holding hers. "Take care, Julia. I shall return as swiftly as possible."
With a final, lingering look, Alistair turned and walked from the dining room, Finch following silently in his wake. The heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, the sound echoing through the sudden, cavernous silence of the hall.
Julia sat for a moment longer, listening to the fading sounds of horses and carriage wheels. He was truly gone. She pushed back her chair. As she rose, the maids, like a well-oiled machine, moved forward to clear the table, their movements swift and silent. They gathered the plates, the cups, the remains of the breakfast, and carried them towards the swinging door that led to the kitchen.
Julia met Elsie's gaze across the room, a silent understanding passing between them. Now. Now was their chance. She would need food. And she would need to get it to Silas. Without Agnes or Finch noticing. A dangerous game, but one she was now determined to play.