Page 11 of Firethorne
Miriam giggled provocatively like it was an inside joke. “Oh, Uncle. I do love your dry sense of humour,” she remarked. But judging from the look on the rest of the Firethorne’s faces, it was no joke.
She moved forward, heading closer towards us, like she was floating across the floor. Her eyes were bright as they stayed focused on me, but my stomach recoiled as I glanced over hershoulder and saw the elder Firethorne watching her in a way that made me uncomfortable.
“It’s so lovely to meet you,” Miriam said, holding her hand out to take mine. I hesitated, then frowning, I took her hand and gave it a light shake. Her hands were warm and fragile, but I doubted very much that the girl standing in front of me was either of those things. “I think we’re about the same age,” she went on. “We should spend some time together, get to know each other.”
I heard someone scoff behind us and Miriam glanced over her shoulder, then focused back on me, smiling brightly.
“Us girls have to stick together. Especially in a house like this,” she stated, and then leaning close to my ear, she whispered, “You can’t trust anyone in this house. But you can trust me. Always.” As she leaned back, she winked at me. But all that flashed through my mind was images of snakes, the sound of hissing, and warnings of deadly poison. Much like the words I’m sure she’d like to pour into my ears, given half a chance.
I didn’t trust her.
I didn’t trust any of them.
The note from the train had only highlighted the importance of that.
But I nodded politely and gave her a smile to placate her.
I might be in a nest of vipers, with Miriam’s fake promises of friendships and Damien’s dark scowls, but I wasn’t about to become their prey.
Miriam returned my nod, then glanced over her shoulder and said, “I’ll see you boys tomorrow. Be good. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” And then she left, breezing past us and out of the front door, leaving behind a cloud of expensive perfume to linger in the air where she’d stood, like a heady memory that felt like it was trying to choke me.
My father leaned to the side and whispered, “See, you’re making friends already. I knew this was going to be the making of us.”
I guessed the old saying, ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’, was going to be useful to me in this house, but I just smiled and nodded in acknowledgment.
“Come,” Mr Firethorne snapped sharply, pulling our attention back to him. “My son can show you to your lodgings, and then tomorrow, we can discuss”—he paused, his gaze solely on my father—“terms.”
Terms?
What terms?
We’d just travelled hours to get here, to take the jobs that he’d offered us. What possible terms could they have to discuss? Surely that’d all been finalised when the contracts had been signed.
In my gut, something felt off, but again, I stayed quiet, reminding myself to quiz my father about it later.
“Tomorrow,” my father repeated back to him, bowing his head as if Mr Firethorne were royalty.
I watched as Mr Firethorne glanced between his two sons. Sons that couldn’t look or act more different. If they hadn’t been introduced as siblings, I’d never have guessed that they were. Apart from them both being over six feet tall, they were nothing alike. From the moment he’d walked into the foyer, Lysander had been smiling, his eyes twinkling, mischievous but kind. A stark contrast to everything else that was going on around him.
The polar opposite to his brother, Damien.
Where Lysander stood confidently, open and friendly, Damien was closed off, disinterested, like he was bored with life, people... everything. I almost expected him to turn on his heel and storm off, unimpressed with what he saw here. Unable tospend another precious second of his time on something that was clearly unworthy of him.
I could see myself warming to Lysander.
I didnotlike Damien.
“Lysander.” Their father spoke with authority. “Show them to the cabin. Mrs Richardson has sent some supper down. Then I need you to report to me in my office.”
“Yes, Father,” Lysander answered subserviently, bowing his head.
The tightness in my stomach eased up a little, knowing Lysander would be taking us to wherever we were going. I don’t think I’d have been able to hold my tongue if the other one had been chosen, and he’d used it as an excuse to look down his nose at us like his father.
“Can I just say, once again, how grateful we are for this opportunity,” my father said, but he needn’t have bothered. Mr Firethorne was already striding out of the foyer without giving us a second glance. Leaving my father’s words to hang in the air like a bad smell.
“Save your breath,” Damien sneered at us, condescension dripping from each word that spilled from his tongue. Then, as he too turned to leave, he called over his shoulder, “You were lucky to get that much out of him.”
And I couldn’t stop myself from scowling at him as he sauntered out of the foyer like we were nothing, not even shit on his shoe, because even that would have made him stop to look. We weren’t worth a glance. Not even worth a proper introduction. Because for all the time we’d stood here, Mr Firethorne hadn’t used our names once to introduce us. And they hadn’t bothered to ask.
