Chapter 4 - Footsteps In The Hall
The rhythmic creak of the old oak floorboards outside the drawing room door drew closer, shattering the tense silence of the chamber. Julian’s head snapped toward the heavy mahogany entrance, his hand instinctively dropping from the hidden wall panel. The heavy ink along his forearm flexed as he balled his fist, his body shifting into a defensive posture that instinctively placed him between the fireplace and the hallway.
Evelyn’s face drained of what little color remained, her aged hands flying to her throat as she smoothed her short grey hair with frantic, trembling gestures.
“Keep your voice down,” Evelyn whispered fiercely, her eyes wide with panic. “If Arthur finds out the wall has been breached, he will lock the estate down permanently, and you know what he keeps in the safe.”
Julian didn’t answer. He took two long, silent strides across the Persian rug and planted his back firmly against the heavy wooden door just as the brass handle began to turn.
The door clicked open a fraction of an inch, revealing a sliver of the dimly lit corridor and the sharp, clinical gaze of Marcus, the estate’s veteran butler, whose graying hair and immaculate black uniform had served the Blackwood family for over thirty years. Marcus paused, his hand still resting on the polished brass knob, his eyes darting quickly from Julian’s tense, tattooed frame over to where Lily stood trembling near the marble mantelpiece.
“Is everything quite alright in here, Mr. Blackwood?” Marcus asked, his voice smooth, even, and entirely devoid of natural warmth. “We heard raised voices from the conservatory. The master is resting, and we wish to avoid any unnecessary disturbances.”
Julian narrowed his eyes, studying the butler’s posture. Marcus was standing too straight, his weight balanced evenly on both heels—the stance of a man prepared to block an exit or draw a weapon.
“Nothing that concerns you, Marcus,” Julian replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. “Just a family disagreement regarding the estate’s upkeep.”
Marcus’s gaze flicked past Julian’s shoulder, lingering for a fraction of a second too long on the large classical portrait that covered the hidden brick shaft. A microscopic twitch in the butler’s left eyebrow was the only sign that he noticed the painting was slightly misaligned from its usual resting place against the wall.
“Indeed,” Marcus murmured smoothly, his eyes returning to Julian’s face. “The old house has a habit of playing tricks on the ear during these winter storms. Wood contracts, pipes groan, and shadows stretch in ways that invite foolish suspicions.”
“Is that a warning, Marcus?” Julian asked, stepping an inch closer to the butler, towering over him by half a foot.
“It is merely an observation born of long service, sir,” Marcus replied without flinching. He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of hollow deference. “Mrs. Blackwood senior looks pale. Perhaps I should escort her back to her private quarters before the draft worsens her constitution.”
Evelyn swallowed hard, catching her breath and forcing an unnatural, rigid composure onto her features.
“That won’t be necessary, Marcus,” Evelyn stated sharply, stepping past Julian with her head held high. She cast one final, warning glance at her son before addressing the butler. “We are finishing our conversation here. Leave us.”
Marcus bowed again, but as he pulled the heavy door shut, his eyes locked onto Julian’s with a chilling promise of violence.
May you like
The latch clicked shut, and Julian immediately spun back toward the fireplace, only to find the marble mantelpiece completely bare of matches, and the hidden panel standing wide open.
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