Julian
WE TRAIL AFTER OSCAR, finding him waiting outside the dining room entrance. Once we approach, he enters with us at his back.
“Master Abraham,” we hear him say, though I can’t see around him and my father to catch sight of the family eating their meal. “Lady Theodora.”
“Oscar! How are you? I feel as if I haven’t seen you all day.” The voice speaking is gruff and deep, yet is filled with a kind of affection and interest that I normally don’t expect from a boss.
The butler steps to the side, and my father steps forward. I move to stand next to him, finally able to take in the people before me.
At a large, dark oak table are five impeccably dressed individuals.
In the chair at the head of the table is an older man, perhaps around my father’s age, and he’s dressed in a white button-up with his brown hair combed over.
I can’t see the rest of his clothing, but I’m sure it's just as pristine.
To his left is a woman, very beautiful with her big blue eyes and incredibly long brown, curly hair.
She wears a maroon dress that falls from her shoulders, and her fingers are adorned with various gold rings.
At the right of the man, Abraham, I believe, is who I imagine is the eldest son, Atticus. He is very similar to his father in looks, with his short, combed-over, straight brown hair and hazel eyes. He’s dressed similarly in a white button-up, and his body is lean yet muscled beneath the fabric.
Next to him is the youngest Chastain sibling, Abigail, and she looks nothing like either of her parents. With long blonde hair and round green eyes, she can’t be any older than ten years of age in her little pink dress lined with white lace.
And lastly, next to Theodora is Atlas. He sits in his chair with a straight back, the yellow-tinted light that is coming from the large chandelier hanging over the table highlighting his button nose and his high cheekbones.
With his large, cool eyes and his brown curly hair, he is the spitting image of his mother.
Soft and sweet—a darling thing to look at.
He appears, to me, to resemble a beautiful little bunny from a storybook.
“Ah! We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Walsh. How was the drive here? Not too much trouble, I hope?” Master Abraham asks my father, who shakes his head vigorously.
“No, sir, not at all. We are very happy to be here.”
Abraham grins at that, and I nod my head dutifully, agreeing with my father’s words.
“Atticus, Abigail, Atlas,” Abraham starts. “Jeremy will be working mostly with me, but Julian here will attend to you, so be nice.” As his children make a series of affirmative sounds, the man’s eyes settle on me. “Julian, you are quite handsome.”
“Thank you, sir,” I reply, blushing profusely. I’ve never been complimented outright like this by a superior before.
“How old are you, hun?” Theodora asks me, and I turn my attention to her.
“I’m twenty-one, ma’am.”
The woman raises a brow, her eyes trailing me softly. Not in a way that makes my skin crawl, but in the way one would study a diagram of the human body in an anatomy lecture.
“Darling,” she says, and although her eyes are still trained on me, I know she’s no longer addressing me. “You’re so close in age.”
“Yes, Momma,” Atlas speaks. “Only a one-year difference.”
My eyes leave the woman and find Atlas staring at me, his glacier eyes still just as piercing and borderline violating as they were before.
For someone who looks and speaks so sweetly, so softly, his eyes appear to be those of a predator.
A moment of unease passes over the dinner table, but then a loud clap interrupts it.
“Well, that’s great!” Abraham suddenly shouts. “Having an attendant who is so close in age will be good, I think, for you kids.”
Atticus huffs in annoyance. “Father, I am twenty-four. I am not close in age to this Julian.”
The way he says my name implies that he believes I am worth much less than him, but I recognize his tone. I think he may have been the one to answer our call at the gate earlier in the day.
“Well, I think he’s pretty,” Abigail interjects in a small voice. “Do you know how to braid, sir?”
I can’t hide the amused smile that shapes my lips as I stare back at the round green eyes that peer up at me from where she sits.
“I do not. Would you be willing to teach me?”
Abigail grins. “Yes! Most definitely yes!”
Abraham’s laughter fills the dining room, dancing along the grand paintings that hang along the walls and sliding across the marble flooring.
“It’s settled then! I think you two gentlemen will have a grand time here at Chastain Castle.” In a flash, his grin falls away, and his tone becomes incredibly serious. “I can assume that Oscar gave you the rules of our home? Specifically, the rules surrounding the west tower?”
My eyes immediately shoot to Atlas, who is staring down at his half-finished plate with a blank expression, aside from the splash of red coating his cheeks. Theodora places a hand over his, where it rests next to his cutlery.
“Yes, Master Abraham,” my father says. “We are well informed and completely understand.”
Abraham’s hazel eyes meet mine, and he waits.
“Yes, sir,” I confirm.
In a flash, his smile returns, and he claps again. “Great! Well, I’ll be seeing you soon, Jeremy. And Julian, please do let us know if you need anything.”
With that dismissal, Oscar turns on his heel and heads toward the exit: Hall E1. My father nods once and follows after him.
My eyes filter back to Atlas as I begin to turn toward the door as well, and I find him once again watching me with those curious, calculating eyes.
As our gazes collide, he smirks just slightly.
The next morning, I make my way to Abigail’s room. Oscar told me last night, as he sent my father and me off to our own quarters, that the first thing we are to do after readying for the day is to visit our respective family members and see if they need attending.
After I make sure the children of Chastain Castle need nothing from me, I am to begin cleaning the common areas on the second floor.
As I settled into bed after receiving my instructions and taking a much-needed shower, I noticed that along the wall next to my bedroom door were three bells.
They were all labelled W4, with the Chastain children’s names preceding it. When I asked Oscar this morning, just before beginning my trek to Abigail’s room, he told me that each Chastain has a cord in their respective bedroom, and if they pull it, it will notify me.
I am to assist them whenever the bell rings, no matter the time of day or night. They are emergency bells.
It struck me as odd, considering the police are a thing, and even as they live in a castle and speak impressively formally, it’s the twenty-first century. Surely the sheriff of Port Orford is better equipped to handle an emergency than I am.
But I’m not supposed to question my superiors, or Dad might have a heart attack.
As I approach Abigail’s door, I knock twice and wait for her answering shout.
“Come in!” she calls, and I crack the door open and slip inside.
“Good morning, Missus Abigail,” I greet. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”
The little girl is sitting in her bed, wearing a pale green nightgown with her blonde hair wild around her face. Next to her, sitting neatly on her rumpled comforter, is a stuffed bunny with brown fur and big blue eyes.
It reminds me of her brother, Atlas.
“Yes, Julian,” she says sweetly. “Would you please brush my hair and get my clothes for me?” She points to what I assume is her closet, and I make my way in that general direction.
The black slacks and black button-up we are to wear as our uniform are stuffy, straining over the muscles of my arms and chest, and making it difficult to maneuver freely. But I do look sharp; I’ll give my employer that.
“Do you want to wear something specific?” I ask the young missus as I enter her large closet.
Clothes are hung all around the walls, shoes lining the floor. In the center of the room is an island, one that holds various articles of jewelry and little hats with feathers or flowers on them. Everything is pastel and bright, all suited to the tastes of a ten-year-old girl.
“No, I’m fine with anything,” she responds, not moving from her place on the bed.
I grab a frilly purple dress and white, shiny, faux leather dress shoes that have a single gold strap over the front. Searching the bottom drawers of the island for a moment, I very awkwardly grab a pair of underwear and some white socks with lace lining the tops.
Never in a million years did I foresee myself picking out undergarments for a child that is not my own. But here we are.
I return to the main bedroom and present Abigail with her clothes. Her green eyes sparkle as she stares at the stack in my hands.
Then, she lifts her eyes to mine and says, “That’s my favorite dress. Did you know?”
“I didn’t,” I answer honestly. “But it is very pretty. That’s why I picked it.”
Abigail grins as she takes the stack from me. “Exactly! I like the little bow on the back. Let me get dressed, and I will call you back in.”
With a polite nod, I slip back out of the bedroom, standing guard at her door.
A moment later, the door to my left opens, and out steps Atticus.
“Young Master Atticus,” I greet him, remembering how offended Oscar was when I referred to Atlas by his first name only. “Is there anything I can do for you this morning?”
Atticus turns a scowl onto me, only bothering to reply after he’s turned away and begun the walk toward the landing.
“No, Mr. Walsh. I need nothing from you. Just keep attending to Abigail.” And then he’s gone, having turned the corner to his left, heading toward the staircase, I suppose.
“Julian?” Abigail calls.
I re-enter her room, catching sight of her standing in front of a full-body mirror that sits propped against the large window across the room from the door.
“Will you tie my bow?” she asks quietly.
“Of course.” I make my way across the room, taking the two purple pieces of fabric in hand as I begin to tie them at the small of her back.