Holly
“Today?” I asked, stunned at the bizarre stipulations. If I didn't abide by them, I would be evicted and shut off from the trust fund monies.
“Yes, today. It is all specified in the terms of the inheritance,” the solicitor said.
“I’m sorry, but when did Sir Dacre die?”
He glanced at his watch.
“Forty-five minutes ago.”
A chill skittered down my spine. Forty-five minutes. Barely enough time to call a lawyer, let alone rewrite a will.
“I don’t even know him,” I said.
“But you know Akhur.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “His…wolfdog.”
I didn't remember the owner, but I treated his beautiful Saarloos Wolfdog.
“The staff at Dacre Mansion are waiting for your arrival.”
“I’m at work. I have clients—”
“I would advise you to call in another staff member to help you. You've seen the property value and the sizable trust fund you could have access to.”
I sighed. There were so many zeros that my brain hurt. I could ask Jillian to cover for me. She was more of a freelance vet that I couldn't afford to put on the books permanently.
“It’s not as if you have any money problems now,” he said, standing up. “Thank you for taking the time to see me. You have a copy of the conditions. As soon as we deliver your items to the mansion and you spend the first night there, you will have full access to the trust fund.”
I nodded and watched him place his business card on the will.
“The accountant’s number is on the document. The firm can advise on the taxation side and has a representative for wealth management. Sir Dacre had a good working relationship with them.”
Wealth management? I was barely breaking even with the veterinary practice.
“Uh, okay. Thank you for coming.”
“Good luck,” he said, but his face said, “Don't fuck it up.”
“What in the ever-loving fuckery is this?” I muttered to myself as soon as the door closed.
I began to flick through the highlighted sections of the old man’s will.
I had to live in the mansion and sleep in the master bedroom.
I couldn't sell any portion of the estate.
It could only be inherited by my heir(s).
The property or surrounding land could not be altered.
If I did all this and kept the original staff, I would have access to millions of pounds.
If I hadn’t remembered the dog, I would have tossed the solicitor out on his ear, thinking it was a scam.
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I said in a daze.
Aliya popped her head in.
“There is a man here saying he is your driver,” she said with a grin. “Ooh, la lah.”
“Don’t,” I groaned. “Can you call Jenna to see if she can work for the next week?”
At least I could hire the young woman now. She was a great vet and hard-working to boot. I grabbed my handbag and carefully folded the will into it.
When I stepped outside, my jaw dropped upon seeing the excessively long car. Of course, it had to be a Rolls Royce. The door opened, and a handsome man stepped out. He was giving me Thor vibes but in a suit.
“Ms Kincaid,” he said, opening my car door.
I smiled at him before sitting in the car. When I glanced at the practice, Aliya and Carolyn had their noses pressed to the window. I shook my head and sat back, wondering what a lady of a manor did all day.
The Rolls-Royce glided up the winding drive, tyres crunching gravel that sparkled unnaturally in the afternoon light.
My breath fogged the window as Dacre Mansion loomed into view, its jagged Tudor silhouette cutting into the leaden sky.
The mullioned windows reminded me of my village church.
It seemed wrong to have them in a home—creepy.
“Ms. Kincaid?” Owen's voice startled me. He stood holding the car door, his perfect smile not quite masking how his pupils dilated black when the mansion's shadow fell across his face.
The oak doors groaned open before we reached them, revealing a skeletal woman backlit by flickering sconces. Her knuckles cracked audibly as she clasped them.
I'm Mrs. Denby, the housekeeper,” she said in a voice like dry parchment.
“Welcome home.” The words slithered between teeth too uniform for a woman her age.
A strange chemical sweetness clung to her woollen dress.
It was not the formaldehyde I knew from veterinary labs, but something older and earthier.
“Hello,” I said with a nervous smile.
As she turned, the hallway lights revealed odd discolourations at her wrists. They weren't age spots but patches of skin that looked polished—as if her very flesh had been preserved.
I was sure her face would splinter if she smiled.
“If you follow me, Ms Kincaid. I will introduce you to the staff once you have settled in.”
When I entered the house, the stonework, woodwork, golden tapestries, and paintings stole my breath. I was in awe and instantly understood why he didn't want such a beautiful property altered.
Why would he give everything to his vet?
I followed Mrs Denby up the grand staircase. The dark wooden bannister was exquisite. We reached a partial landing, and two tall windows arched at the top. The pretty turquoise patterns made me pause to admire the classwork.
The house had been built in the 1500s with a few extensions added on in later years, or so Google told me. Mrs Denby cleared her throat, and I reluctantly went up the stairs. There would be plenty of time to explore the mansion.
Red carpet, long halls, and a sharp right. She opened a large wooden door for me. I stepped inside and saw most of the wall had crafted wooded panels. I twirled around when the door closed. Mrs Denby had left.
The bed was a huge four-poster bed. It had a wooden canopy with a green and gold covering and drapes surrounding it. I was about to step forward to admire the posts when I noticed the lump on the mattress.
No, it couldn't be him.
Shouldn't he be in a morgue or something?
Morbid curiosity made me tiptoe toward the bed.
As soon as I saw his face, I remembered him.
The bright covers made his skin look whiter than white.
It glowed, pearlescent. Yes, that was the word because the shading reminded me of Mother of Pearl.
There was a glow around him with slight shades of purple and teal. I blinked, and the colours vanished.
I leaned down. There was no way he was 84 years old. He still had a head full of hair and a well-trimmed beard. When I met him, I understood the appeal of a silver fox. I reached out to touch his cheek and gasped.
The skin was warm.
His eye twitched, and I let out a scream, backing away. I stumbled on the rug.
I sat on the floor. There was no way I would be spending the night with a corpse in the room. Billions of pounds couldn't convince me.
◆◆◆
I watched them remove the body. All the staff had similar pale skin and little emotion on their faces. Owen was the only person who had a healthy glow to his skin. He smiled at me and winked before he closed the door behind him.
Mrs Denby would send a maid to change the bed sheets, but it wouldn't change the fact that I would be sleeping in the bed that someone had died in.
Wonderful.
I sighed before opening up the wardrobe. It was full of Sir Dacre’s suits. Everything was pristine and lined up perfectly. I knew very little about the man who left me his legacy. There was a wooden box at the bottom of the wardrobe. I crouched down and pulled it out, unhooking the brass latch.
There were no treasures inside it.
Only a shrivelled-up dead crow, ashes and a partially burned piece of paper. I pulled it out to see hieroglyphics on it. The scent of Jasmin and burnt ashes filled the wardrobe. I closed the box and pushed it back into the corner, clutching the paper tightly.
Whatever happened in this mansion was unnatural, just like Sir Conrad Dacre’s corpse.