Chapter Two

Sarah

Francis Heartly swivelled the contract around and pushed it towards Sarah.

A silver fox with a physique a twenty-something male would be envious of, Francis held a certain power and authority whilst present in the room. He must've been at least fifty for sure, but he was definitely gifted with smouldering good looks as well as unlimited access to a gym.

"As I said, it's as simple as that. Read through it and let me know if you have any further questions?" Mr Heartly's cool glacial-blue gaze had her pinned to her seat.

Sarah had never seen eyes so pale in her entire life. She felt almost compelled to do as he said. She was well aware of his assertive body language; how he controlled the deep masculine rumble of his voice as he spoke with certainty. He was cool, calm, and collected as if winning over a jury in a courtroom.

Sarah frowned in concentration, scanning her eyes across the legal document. She felt slightly intimidated at being watched while she was reading and her cheeks heated with embarrassment. She didn't understand some of the words, so she skipped a few paragraphs. She could feel his fixed gaze burning into her skin, eagerly waiting for her to sign her life away.

Sarah held the pen between her finger and thumb, chewing her bottom lip as she contemplated her limited options. She really didn't want to make any rash decisions that she couldn't back out of and would tie her down for the rest of her life. The nib of the pen hovered over the part where she was supposed to sign, barely making contact with the paper. Mr Heartly leaned forward in his seat, watching the pen with eagle eyes.

Everything seemed straightforward enough. She would own the bricks and mortar. The properties would belong to her, as such. But as she had just found out, some wealthy, foreign aristocrat still owned the land. All she had to do was sign on the dotted line and she could move in straight away. She would then have a rent-free roof over her head for the rest of her life.

The tip of the pen grazed the paper, then she glanced up to raise her concerns, much to Mr Heartly's annoyance.

"Mr Heartly, just one more thing. I'm weighing up my job prospects at the moment. My grandmother's house is in the middle of nowhere. Say I got a job, how would I commute back and forth? It's in a rather inconvenient location, wouldn't you say? You can surely see where I'm coming from?"

His brows drew together in an agitated frown. He pointed using his forefinger, tapping the paperwork over the paragraph second from the bottom. His cool façade began to slip through lack of patience and his tone turned blunt as if having to explain things to an impetuous child.

"As I said, everything you wish to know is stipulated in this document. And that your job will be to maintain the properties, Miss Brixton, and to oversee the restoration of the manor. Then, once it has been restored, your job will be to maintain it. You'll receive a monthly salary. If you take the time to read the content thoroughly, like I asked, it explains everything." He gave a tired sigh and relaxed back in his chair, bunching up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Sarah felt condescended and spoken down to as if she was a näive little girl. It wasn't the first time she had been told to go away and come back when she's gathered all the facts. It was a journalist's worst trait to jump ahead of themselves and Sarah was no stranger to it.

"Oh, right." Sarah's eyes narrowed as she squinted to re-read all that she'd skimmed over. Then she felt a flush of embarrassment when she read the part of the contract that clearly mentioned her employment in plain and simple English.

She had a bad habit of skipping over the small print. That was how her landlord had caught her out with her tenancy agreement. Sarah was always jumping in with both feet first, lazily cutting corners. She should've learned her lesson from the last time.

"Ah, yes I see it now. And the fourteen hundred pounds monthly salary, will that be guaranteed indefinitely?" Sarah tore her eyes from the contract and flicked back up to meet with his.

The corners of his mouth twitched as he gave a nod in agreement. "It is a guaranteed income, but the amount will increase accordingly, to meet with the cost of living."

Sarah was satisfied with his answer, but did this mean that she was self-employed, or not? These were vital things she needed to know. She didn't want to get into trouble from the Inland Revenue for not paying the correct amount of tax, or not paying towards her stamp.

"What about tax and national insurance? I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. Would I be self-employed? Or would I have an employer?"

She saw something like fear flash across Mr Heartly's eyes as they flared wide. He paled and his adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She wasn't sure why her question sparked this kind of reaction. It was a reasonable question, after all. And he did say she could ask him anything. His hand reached for the glass of water on his desk; he then took a mouthful before continuing.

"Technically, you do have an employer, the landowner, but as I said before, he wishes to remain anonymous. I've been acting on his behalf as his representative for many years now. I will handle the transfer of your wages. Your tax deductions and your national insurance contributions will be accounted for. Your arrangement shall be the same as your grandmothers was. You will never have to meet the landowner. He has no interest in returning to England, anytime soon."

Mr Heartly's expression shut down and closed off. He hurried his words as if to close the subject. Like any keen journalist, it only piqued her curiosity. She wanted to know more about this mysterious person and why he expected Sarah, her grandmother's only living relative, to follow in her footsteps and live out the rest of her days maintaining a home that he had absolutely no interest in.

Out of pure habit, she fired an arsenal of questions in a reporter's ambush.

"Why has he passed ownership of the properties but not the land? Why keep it if he doesn't want it? And how come it has to be kept specifically within my family lineage?" Sarah delivered a bombardment of questions, one after another without stopping to wait for each answer.

Mr Heartly was quick to recover with a rehearsed speech. Her face fell as he dodged her questions as if reading from a script.

"That information is strictly confidential, but what I can tell you is: the manor holds a sentimental value to the landowner. It is of great importance that those properties are owned and maintained by someone living on the land. The gatekeeper's cottage has been passed along your family lineage as far back as the seventeenth century. Tenebris manor has been entrusted to you. So please, it's now up to you to take good care of it," he applied firm pressure to his last words as if they were a stern warning.

"So there is no way that I could just accept the property but give the job to someone else?" She questioned, noticing how he squirmed on his seat and pulled at the collar of his shirt.

"It has to be passed along your lineage. That is of great importance. It's completely out of the question to sell the properties or to pass ownership on to someone else. You must adhere to those rules, Miss Brixton. Under no circumstances would you be granted permission to relinquish your ownership once you've committed," his tone was grave and deadly serious.

Sarah could tell by the blaze in his eyes that she had just pissed him off. The giveaway was the crimson heat that crept up his neck, past his collar and tarnished his cheeks. It seemed that he was under the impression that she would be more compliant; that she would snatch the opportunity of free accommodation and a monthly salary. And to be fair, that did seem like an attractive offer. She wasn't ungrateful, she just didn't fancy spending the rest of her life in solitude, deep in the Cheshire countryside.

"And what if I refuse?" She shrugged, making her fair point known. "I'm under no obligation." And she wasn't.

Nobody had the right to tell her what to do. Just because her family had looked after that manor for generations, it didn't mean that she had to succumb to the same lonely fate.

It was the milkman who discovered her grandmother passed out cold on the hall floor. He had come to collect his payment and noticed that she hadn't brought her milk inside. Knowing that she lived alone and couldn't drive, he assumed she would answer the door when he knocked. After there was no answer, he peered through the letterbox and that's when he saw her laying on the floor. He managed to break the door open and call for an ambulance.

She had been lying there for three days and developed hypothermia. Sarah felt sick with guilt when she received the telephone call at work. After that happened, she cared for her grandmother until her last dying breath. There was no one else to care for her and there was no way that Sarah would put her into a nursing home. Not with the current state of the British care system being blasted all over the news. Her grandmother deserved only the best, not substandard care.

Mr Hartly inhaled deeply. His ice-blue eyes thawed into a look that could've passed for sympathy.

"You were given twenty-one days' notice to vacate your property, were you not?"

Her eyes filled with accusation as they snapped up to meet his. "How on earth could you possibly know about that?" She demanded an answer.

He sighed as if hating himself for delivering such a low blow, but he had obviously gathered every bit of information about her to use as leverage.

"From what I understand, you have a little less than a week left. You have no means of income to seek alternative living arrangements, nor are there any future job offers on the horizon. Tell me, Miss Brixton, what other choice do you have?"

She swallowed hard as his direct words slapped her hard in the face. It was the truth. He was right. What choice did she have? She had already searched for another house to rent, but there was nothing within her budget. Now that she had lost her job, she didn't even have a budget. She signed on at the jobcentre to seek work and filled out an application form to apply for local authority housing, but even then she was told there was at least a three-year waiting list. It was hopeless. She was well and truly fucked up shit creek without a paddle. He knew it and she knew it too.

She didn't take too well to being pitied. She had pride just like the next person. The pity she saw in those pale blue eyes felt just as painful as wasp stings. He dropped his gaze to the unsigned contract and then dragged his eyes back up to meet with hers.

"If that'll be all, just sign and I can hand over the keys immediately. Your duties will take place with immediate effect and I can honour you a month's wages upfront, transferable by the close of business today." His lips formed a practised smile, so typical of a solicitor to try and install a sense of reassurance at a time of catastrophe.

It was a cheap shot and Sarah could tell by the conflict that swirled in his eyes that he felt sorry for her. He looked as if he hated bullying her into a corner, but like Sarah, he didn't appear to have much of a choice either. Francis Heartly had her over a barrel and she knew it.

With that being said, the mystery shrouding the manor had ignited her interest. It was enough for her to swallow what little dignity she had left and she signed the paperwork. Sarah allowed the nib of the pen to glide over the signature line, signing her life away. The ink was still glistening on the paper when Francis snatched it away, giving her the feeling that she'd just sold her soul to the devil himself.

He pushed back on his office chair, using the wheels to propel himself over to the filing cabinet behind him. He pulled open the drawer and removed one of the inner sleeves from the runners, tucking away the contract and replacing the sleeve in situ. As he pushed himself back toward the desk, the draw rolled shut with a slam.

Sarah flinched at the sound.

"May I at least know the name of the owner? All I know is that the property is called Tenebris Manor," Sarah asked.

A look of perplexed confusion swept across his face, causing his frown to deepen.

"Ah, well, I thought perhaps your grandmother would've been the one to have told you that. Tenebris is the family name. I cannot give you the details of the owner. I'm under strict obligation to maintain client confidentiality in respect of his wishes," Francis replied, giving her nothing to grasp.

Sarah nodded. "I understand. But if I wanted to research the history of the building, just the building, purely out of interest..." Her eyes widened with innocence.

Sarah was playing the naivety card to her advantage. She still looked young, sweet, and innocent despite her age and people would often fall for her act, hook, line, and sinker.

Mr Heartly gave an indifferent shrug. "Then that is entirely up to yourself."

Sarah had an idea. She still had access to the national archives. The password was still fresh in her brain. It was a journalist's bible. Not everything was made widely available to the general public. Most of it was censored. It was one advantage she still had and with Francis Heartly being so vague with information, it was her only chance to discover the big secret.

Who was this mysterious Mr Tenebris? Why couldn't he own the deeds to his own properties himself? Was he guilty of tax avoidance? Some financial scandal, perhaps?

She loved to solve mysteries because she hated secrets. Overseeing a restoration seemed as dull as dishwater. She needed something more challenging to sink her teeth into, something to make her heart race and to keep her mind active. And this was it! A journalist's dream project: to discover the truth about Tenebris Manor and the hidden secrets inside those walls. A report such as this could land her a chance with a front running newspaper, or earn her a column in the Cheshire Life magazine.

Mr Heartly cleared his throat to get her attention and Sarah tore her eyes from where she'd been staring at the penholder on his desk. Had he noticed her daydreaming, fantasising about what could be? She hoped not.

"There's just one thing, Miss Brixton, purely for your own benefit." His eyes twitched as if he was choosing his words carefully.

"Yes?" Sarah's eyes rounded. He looked as if he was going to tell her something important. She was barely breathing, waiting with anticipation for what he was likely to say.

His glacial blue gaze focused firmly on her as he delivered a stern warning, "As you're fully aware, the manor is very old. It's a grade two listed building. Just for safety measures, please avoid attending the property between dusk and sunrise while the house is undergoing repairs. There will likely be no electricity. It wouldn't be safe to wander the house alone in the dark for health and safety reasons. You're the owner but you're still an employee. Your own safety and well being is imperative. So, please treat it as you would a construction site, for now."

A shiver ran along her spine, causing her to shudder. Sarah pulled the sleeves of her black knitted cardigan over her hands and wrapped the chunky material around herself tighter.

"Of course, I fully understand. I wouldn't dream of entering that place in the dark. Nor do I fancy walking through the woods in the dark, either. Let alone, risk spending the night by myself in the manor. Mr Heartly, you don't have to concern yourself with that."

Sarah had no desire whatsoever to approach the house in the dark. She wasn't a brave person. She was melodramatic and believed in ghosts and was afraid of her own shadow.

"At least I know there's WIFI," Sarah mumbled. Her grandmother had Sky TV installed so that she could watch her soap operas.

"Well, if that's all, Miss Brixton," Mr Heartly opened the top drawer of his desk then pulled out an envelope and handed her the keys."

As she took hold of the envelope, a niggling doubt caused her to double check something.

"And there's no chance of the landowner coming back, you say?" She asked again, just to be certain.

"None, whatsoever. The Tenebris left your grandmother the estate and now its been left to you. Mr Tenebris spends most of his time in Romania these days," he replied casually, unaware of his mistake.

"Romania?" Sarah muttered, feeling her heart flutter with triumph.

He hadn't realized it, but he had just unwittingly handed her a vital piece of information. It was the starting point she needed for her to begin her research.