Chapter 5 - Elowyn
ELOWYN
Tension tightens my stomach as the car slows, following the curve of the long, paved road that leads to The Estate.
When the driver announced where we were going, the name hadn’t meant anything to me.
But now—
The gates.
The ironwork.
The silhouette on the hill.
“Oh.” The sound tumbles from my lips.
So that’s what he meant when he said The Estate.
This place, not its name, is infamous in town and the surrounding counties.
My mother would always murmur, “that poor house” on the rare occasions we passed it. She was right. You really do ache for this place.
The sprawling mansion is perched on a lonely rise, half hidden by elms and beeches that bow together. Tall enough to be visible behind the black steel gates and the high wall surrounding the place, their gold and red leaves burn through the darkness of the night.
But other than them and the mansion itself, there’s never been much else. With no cars in the driveway, no lights in the windows, and no hint of life in there, it’s been abandoned.
Until now.
Ember light shines through a few windows. Three cars sit at the far end of the drive, two of them SUVs, angled toward the entrance.
Someone finally lives here. The Restorer.
A quiet, needling warning pricks at my nerves, insisting this isn’t right.
The ominous feeling intensifies the farther up the hill we climb. I hug my coat tighter, teeth catching on my bottom lip.
Whoever texted me never mentioned this being the place where I’d be staying. Why?
Would you have said no if you knew?
The answer lands instantly. No, I wouldn’t have.
Barclay and I have run out of options. We’re about to be kicked out of our home with nowhere to go. Of course I would’ve said yes.
I shouldn’t second-guess my decision. If anything, I should be proud of myself for coming here. I can handle The Restorer, this house, anything that waits behind these gates.
Straightening my spine, I puff out my chest and lift my chin. I’m the head of our family now, not a liability.
The Mercedes creeps past the groaning gates and rolls even higher up the long driveway toward The Restorer’s home.
On either side of us, the grounds stretch out in flawless, empty expanses. The grass is trimmed so short it looks freshly cut, perfect all the way through.
Then we’re there, at the end of the drive, where the mansion rises into view in all its Gothic glory.
Fog drifting off the Hudson pools around the base of the house, swirling like a white veil against the black stone. Dark ivy climbs the facade in neat, disciplined lines.
A shiver runs through me, my bravery leaving me as dread trickles in.
How am I going to survive this place?
Everything will be okay, little moon.
My heart slams to a stop at the familiar voice echoing in my head.
It’s Duncan’s. Bass, gruff, and unforgettable.
The nickname he used when no one else was around made my stomach flutter and my knees weak.
The way his mouth would shape around these two words was to blame for so many ruined panties.
Tonight, my eyes water at the memory.
Briefly.
This isn’t the time for nostalgia. I’m about to move into a stranger’s home. About to start working for a masked man I’ve never met.
I can’t afford to lose focus. Have to be brave, to do what I think is right. Or at least fake it till I make it.
Keeping that in mind, I roll my shoulders back and wait as the car idles.
Something tugs at my attention, and my gaze darts up to the second floor.
My throat goes dry at the dark silhouette standing at the window.
The tall figure has broad shoulders. Its head is angled down.
The Restorer, it has to be. Except…he doesn’t make a move to come downstairs to greet me.
People don’t invite a woman into their home and then loom at her from a window like a warning.
He does.
Whether he means it or not, he’s unsettling me down to my core.
“We’re here, Miss Montgomery,” the driver, who never introduced himself, jolts me out of my musings.
I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror, steeling my voice before saying, “Okay.”
Without another word, he slips out of the car. He rounds it to open the door for me and gestures toward the front door before driving out of The Estate.
My coat doesn’t warm me as it usually does. Goose bumps rise along my arms, no matter how hard I rub them.
I look up, fully expecting to see the silhouette still looming in the window, but it’s gone.
He’s gone.
I’m nowhere near calm, though, freaking out over the fact that I have to meet him now.
“You’ve got this, Elowyn,” I whisper to myself.
On unsteady feet, I step forward. Like everything around here, the arched door of blackened oak towers above me. Its surface is covered in ornate woodwork that catches the faint porch light.
I lift a trembling hand to knock when the door yanks open, forcing a gasp out of me.
“Miss Montgomery.” A brittle man in a black suit stands in the doorway, his voice as bland as the driver’s. He has thinning silver hair, pale hazel eyes, and he’s no more than an inch taller than me. “We’ve been expecting you.”
We? Does he mean the figure I caught in the window, the one who’s not here?
I’d ask, but I don’t want to offend him by implying he’s nowhere near as broad.
“Are you…?” Hating how timid I sound, I clear my throat. “The Restorer?”
“No. I’m Herbert Rowe. Miss Holt—Mary—and I make up The Restorer’s household staff, aside from the groundskeeper and his team. However, they don’t live on the premises. They’re not here to meet you, unfortunately.”
“It’s okay.”
“Forgive my manners.” In one smooth motion, he steps aside. “Please, come in.”
My lips purse as I size him up. As professional as he is, I decide I don’t trust him.
After the figure in the window shook me the way it did, and with no sign of my host, I don’t trust anyone. Not until I talk to The Restorer myself and understand exactly who he is and what he has planned for me.
“Thank you,” I murmur eventually, then walk past him.
As I move deeper inside, I split my attention between him and the house, taking it in as I go. The walls, ceilings, and floors are all the same slate-colored stone. Despite the scale of the place and its high ceilings, it’s warm in here.
To my right, there’s a long mahogany console table, antique and expensive-looking. Above it hangs a massive, empty, gilded frame.
As I venture deeper, I notice sconces lining almost every wall, even the ones far from where I stand. They cast a dim, warm amber light that feels…ominous.
“If you will.” Since I’ve been keeping an eye out, I’m not surprised when Herbert appears in front of me, gesturing for my coat. “I’ll hold on to this for you.”
Though the polite thing would be to accept his offer, I shake my head. This isn’t my home. I’m not a guest either, at least not for now. I’m a visitor, one who might need to make a break for it if things get too weird.
“Is The Restorer here?” I ask, not making a move to shrug off my coat.
“He’s here, yes.” His expression is as stony as everything around this place. “He’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”
My heart gives a loud thump. The word he chose, tomorrow, is vague, adding to how creepy this whole situation is. Whenever my boss at the cleaning company wanted to see me, she’d set a time for us to meet. A date.
“Before you turn in, I’ll be guiding you to the sitting room,” Herbert’s continues. “I’m under orders to take you there so you won’t go to bed on an empty stomach. Thirty minutes, then I’ll show you to your room. Okay?”
It doesn’t feel like I have a choice. Then again, it can’t be that bad, can it? It’s just a short stop before I go to bed. There’s nothing sinister about a midnight snack.
“All right,” I mutter.
“Good.” He clasps his hands in front of him. “We should get going. It’s late. You must be tired.”
His words remind my body that I worked a twelve-hour shift today. That this has been my life every day for the past six months.
Before I can agree with him, though, Herbert starts walking at a hurried pace.
Shaking off my exhaustion, I rush after him up the stairs. We stride past tall windows on one side and paintings lining the walls of the other. Black, red, gray, and white are the dominant colors in each.
I look at them, admiring how beautiful yet disturbing they are, when I hear it.
Click. Click. Click.
Camera shutters.
My jaw goes slack. My steps falter until I stop where I am.
“Miss Montgomery.” Herbert doesn’t bother turning his attention to me. “No time to waste.”
“Am I being photographed?” My feet are planted in place, my head whipping left and right. Searching. “Is it part of the commission? What’s going on?”
“You’re not being photographed.” Turning to a smaller corridor, Herbert disappears from view.
“Those were camera shutters.” I rush to catch up with him. “I know what I heard.”
“The mansion is old.” We pass more paintings. More closed doors. “Old houses tend to…speak, no matter how well-kept they are.”
Click. Click. Click.
“Stop.” For crying out loud, I live in a crumbling house. I’m perfectly able to tell the difference between creaking walls and a camera going off. I’m not crazy. “I want to see The Restorer. Immediately.”
I’ve never been demanding or rude, but I’ve had enough.
“If you tell me no again,”—my voice rises when he doesn’t answer—“I’ll go find him myself.”
At that, Herbert spins on his heel so abruptly, I nearly collide with his chest.
“If you insist.” A tiny line forms between his eyebrows. A hint of compassion flashes in his hazel eyes, vanishing as soon as it came. “I’ll take you to the sitting room, then ask him to join you.”
“I—thank you.” Barclay would’ve laughed in my face for asking anything, but Herbert just said yes. That one act of kindness knocks the panic back a notch. “Okay. Where is it?”
“As I was saying, right this way.”
Eventually, we reach the end of the hallway. A black, ordinary door with a brass knob separates us from what Herbert called the sitting room.
Where I’ll meet The Restorer.