Chapter Five

Sarah

Sarah wondered why Francis struggled to take a step through the threshold.

Was he waiting to be invited in?

“Francis, come in,” she chuckled, shaking her head at his odd behaviour. "You don't need an invitation."

The look of relief washed over him, and for the life of her, Sarah couldn’t think why.

He stepped through the door, rubbing his wet shoes on the mat. “Apologies, my dear. I haven’t been inside the manor for quite some time.”

Sarah placed the keys back in her pocket. Her eyes marvelling at the spiral staircase in the centre of the vast entrance hall, her feet disturbing the dust upon the dark wooden floor. The bottom half of the walls were paneled and the top half had been painted blood red. Dust particles clung to the air, gathering in masses where light pooled in from the windows. Cobwebs draped from portrait to portrait like an eerie garland. The creepy paintings seemed to follow her wherever she went, their expressions stoic, unsmiling and full of judgement. More cobwebs decorated the grand chandelier, adding to the ambience of a haunted house. It wouldn't surprise her if she did see a ghostly apparition disappearing into the walls. The house definitely held a presence.

As Francis closed the door behind him, the air in the hall stilled.

“If you’d like to follow me, I’ll show you around,” he offered, snapping her out of her thoughts.

They strolled along the dusty corridor, passing rooms that had been frozen in time. The doors had been left ajar to allow for air circulation, but it allowed her a tiny glimpse into Draven's wealthy lifestyle. White dust sheets covered the furniture like ghostly figures, playing tricks on her mind.

“This is going to cost a fortune to redecorate,” Sarah mumbled, eyeing the peeling paintwork and threadbare carpets. “It’s practically a great big antique. Even the drapes need replacing. The cost of fabric is likely to run into thousands of pounds,” she panicked.

“Don’t concern yourself with the budget,” Francis spoke in response. “You’ll submit all invoices to me, and Lord Tenebris will settle the expenses. None needs to come out of your living allowance.”

Sarah was frustrated. She was going to find out more about this mystery aristocrat if it was the last thing she did.

“Well, that’s a relief,” she exhaled a weary breath. "I hope he's got deep pockets."

Francis ushered her from room to room, explaining the history behind the paintings and antiquities. She learned that the Tenebris family originated in Romania. Lord Tenebris's ancestor travelled to England, where he met and fell in love with the daughter of a Duke. They married and set up home in the Cheshire countryside—but all was not quite as it seemed. A family quarrel resulted in the lady of the manor's untimely death. Her lifeless body had been discovered at the foot of the stairs, suggesting that she had been pushed. Their tragic love story had Sarah enthralled.

“So you see, Sarah. This manor holds sentimental value to Lord Tenebris,” Francis concluded.

“His ancestor was an incredibly handsome chap.” Sarah found herself unable to peel her eyes away from the portrait. “Each painting displays inhumanly beautiful people. Are all the Tenebris graced with Good looks, or did the artists seek to flatter them?” Her eyes raked over the strong masculine features of the man in the painting. His dark hair hung in tousled curls all the way down to his jawline, his deep brown eyes smouldered unintentionally, like they could compel people to do whatever he wanted. He had an aura of confidence surrounding him, dark and commanding, befitting of a man of his stature. Sarah wished that she could meet a man like that. Someone with a propensity for romance and who could sweep her off her feet. She was a submissive by nature and had always craved to take a dominant lover. A man who knew exactly what he wanted and was not afraid to take it.

Francis smirked as if he knew something she didn't. “The Tenebris were all gifted with looks and charm. Make no mistake about that.” His tone seemed almost envious.

“What about his wife? The Duke's daughter . . . is there a portrait of her too?” Sarah inquired, curious to see what she looked like.

“There certainly is.” Francis darted out through the door, stopping to wait as she followed. “At the top of the stairs, along the upper corridor, you'll find a portrait of The Lady In White,” he stated, jovially. “She really was a sight to behold. Why don’t you go take a look around while I make a quick phone call?” He suggested.

Sarah felt braver than she did earlier, hurrying back towards the entrance hall, then ascending the stairs. Her hand grasped the wooden handrail, using it to pull herself up faster. Her pulse soared. All the excitement of a child surged through her, knowing there was nothing to fear from an empty house. She was desperate to satisfy her need to solve this mystery. The keys jingled in her pocket as she took two steps at a time, searching ahead at the gallery walls.

Sarah’s gasp was one of genuine shock as her eyes locked onto a painting of a dark-haired female, dressed in what looked to be a wedding dress. Her pale hands were clasped around a bouquet of deep red roses. The white silk gown clung to the shape of her breasts and billowed out into a fairytale style dress that trailed the floor behind her. Silk and lace ruffled at the shoulders, but the plunging neckline left little to the imagination. A silver locket nestled snugly between her breasts. Her dark hair hung in an elegant style across her left shoulder with a headdress of pearlescent stones.

Happiness sparkled through her electric blue eyes, although her expression remained composed, her lips giving away nothing through her Mona Lisa smile. Sarah struggled to swallow at first, comparing similarities to her own features. This woman was beautiful beyond comparison, whereas Sarah thought herself as plain and ordinary.

The faintest sound of Francis’s voice travelled through the corridor, and Sarah found herself straining to listen. His footsteps could be heard approaching from the entrance hall. Sarah hurried up the remaining few stairs, then peered around the corner of the wall, looking down onto the hall below.

“I’m almost certain he was here, M’Lord. I wouldn’t trouble you without good reason,” Francis spoke, pressing his mobile phone against his ear. “Who else could it be? No one else would be foolish enough to pay a visit to the gatehouse, through fear of facing repercussions from yourself. Especially after what happened recently.” He paused, his expression tense and serious. “You and I both, M’Lord. You don’t have to tell me about suffering. You know who she was to me. First my son, then her.” Sarah held her breath, covering her mouth with her hand.

Who were they speaking about? What did Francis mean? Did he mean his wife and son were dead?

Sarah’s eyes rounded with shock and her heart thumped as fast as a galloping horse. Francis glanced up to where she was hiding and Sarah darted back, pressing herself against the wall and placed a hand over her chest.

Shit!

She hoped he hadn’t seen her. It was rude to eavesdrop on a conversation. Especially one as private as this. After a long pause, Francis continued. “I see no harm in mentioning it to her, but I doubt she will take up the offer.”

Sarah listened, not daring to sneak a look through fear of being discovered.

Are they talking about me?

“As you wish, M’Lord, will there be anything else? Then I’ll make the necessary arrangements and have the details emailed over by this evening. Yes, M’Lord, of course.” Francis cleared his throat. “Sarah?” He called up the stairs, making her cringe where she stood. “Could I have a word?”

Sarah tiptoed silently towards the closest room, not wanting to be rumbled. She found herself in a room filled with bookshelves from ceiling to floor. Books had been pulled out, tossed onto the floor where the pages lay open, but some lay scattered on the floor in piles. It was as if someone had been in here searching for something. Maybe it was the unwelcome relative. The disturbed dust upon the shelves validated her theory. She ran her gloved finger along the wood, accidentally knocking over a book that caused the back of the shelf to wobble.

Her eyes narrowed as she reached out, touching the loosened panel. She pulled it away, causing the remaining few books to tumble to the floor.

“Shit, I’ve broken it,” she hissed, under her breath.

As she attempted to fix it back into place, she noticed something that had been hidden behind it. It was an old book with an embossed leather covering and the parchment had browned and curled over time. She could make out dates at the top of each page, but the paragraphs were certainly not English. The first entry was dated back to 1709. Her breath skipped in her throat as she stuffed what she assumed was a diary inside her jacket pocket.

She stomped noisily back down the hall and peered over the bannister rail. “Did you call me, Francis?” she asked, maintaining a casual tone.

Francis beckoned her down. “I’m afraid this can’t wait.” His eyes creased with a sincere apology.

Sarah trundled down the stairs. “Is there something wrong?” she questioned.

His sympathetic grimace told her there was. “I’m afraid so. Unfortunately, I’m going to have to head back to the office. A client needs me to organise a few things as a matter of urgency.”

A certain someone named Draven Tenebris, by any chance?

She nodded. “Of course. I understand.”

Francis glanced around, taking one last appreciative look of their surroundings. “Could you ever see yourself wanting to live in a place like this? You know, once it’s been restored of course,” he asked, studying her reaction.

So, they were talking about me.

“I don’t know.” She gave an indifferent shrug. “Maybe . . . I suppose. It doesn’t seem so scary anymore.” She watched as his eyes twitched in a silent analysis.

She remained poker-faced, not giving anything away. “Why do you ask?” she pressed further.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot as he deliberated his answer. “The reason I asked you that was because Lord Tenebris would like that very much. He hopes you will breathe life into these old walls.”

He wants me to live here in the manor?

“Does he now?” Sarah kept her voice composed, despite the unsettling paranoia that manifested in her gut. “Well then, in that case, I ought to start making arrangements to have it restored, right away.” She gave a masked smile to hide her curiosity.

Sarah was more determined than ever to seek out the truth. To unravel the secrets within these walls and unveil the mystery shrouding Lord Tenebris. There were many questions that warranted an answer. Why was he so invested in her family? Why had he ostracized certain members of his own family? What secrets did the diary contain, and was that what their mystery guest had been searching for? And now, most importantly of all, she wanted to know how Francis Heartly had lost his own family through all of this.

Her suspicion deepened, as did her thirst for answers. She couldn’t wait to get back to the gatehouse, set up her laptop, and begin translating the contents of that diary.