Excellent!

I now know, without any doubt, through lived experience, that not reacting to someone making a fool of themselves is worse than laughing at them.

It's an experience I'm still living through; as try as I might, none of the pens I pick up and place on the desk's surface wants to remain there. They are rolling off as fast as I put them up there, slamming into my head and bouncing around me while I crouch on the floor, trying to gather them.

What on Earth was this stupid desk polished with?! Is the room slanted?

I stop my feeble attempts with a strangled gasp when cool fingers wrap around my wrist the next time I reach up to place yet another fallen pen on the desk, and I'm pulled to my feet calmly but with enough strength to make resisting impossible.

Alaric guides me to a lovely over-stuffed Edwardian chair, dating from the late 1800s, upholstered in beautiful muted turquoise Damask embossed velvet. I gingerly sit down on it, as that is the request implied by his gesture. I don't blame him; after my wonderful show-and-tell session, I would not have wanted me moving around in the study anymore, either. There are quite a few valuable, breakable items in this room.

"I'm sorry, I'm not usually this clumsy," I lie, but there's no point in explaining the whole superhuman ability not to be a klutz when handling delicate valuables. Who's going to believe that after my vivid demonstration of the clumsiness I'm capable of?

Alaric, of course, doesn't acknowledge my testimony to my usual lack of clumsiness. Leaving me seated, he gathers the pens with one deft motion and pops them back in their places before he walks around the desk and sits down on the chair behind it.

Show-off!

I'm glad to be seated, or I would've felt like a child in the headmaster's office, about to be scolded for... well... being a woman, I suppose. Taking soothing breaths to calm my nerves, I try to gather the best words to convince Alaric that despite all indications to the contrary, I am indeed the man for the job.

It is hard to gather thoughts and words when the recipient of those thoughts and words is clad all in black, his hair immaculately combed and his eyes radiant like those of a cat shining in the dark, where he sits straight and stiff, his hands resting motionless on the surface of the huge desk. He is silently watching me, and I can almost hear the electrical hum of his brain working. Thinking. Deciding.

"You will keep your own hours," he says after the longest pause in the history of pregnant pauses. For a moment, I have no idea what the words spilling from his lips are telling me. "I am more interested in having the job done accurately and thoroughly than speedily and haphazardly or during set hours. I do expect a progress report each Monday to help me keep track of your findings and make decisions based on them."

"Sir?"

"I'll need your advice on which pieces to sell, which to keep and which to donate to museums," he clarifies. "This mansion is bursting at its seams with articles gathered over the last 400 years and more. The entire east wing is currently used only for storage. There is no point in having so many... things. They lose their value when stored piled on top of each other or crammed into rooms."

That is indeed a pity.

"I would suggest that you start in the foyer and parlour and systematically work your way through all the rooms in that area before moving on to the next floor and the four wings, but I leave that up to you to decide."

I am still just looking at him, blinking slowly, trying to let his words settle in my mind and my heart. He is allowing me to stay?! The job is mine?!

"Please keep in mind, Miss Dankworth, that though this might seem like a museum that should be open to the public, Slaughtaverty Manor is our home, and we value our privacy. There are areas of the mansion that will be made accessible to you as required but should not be intruded into on a whim. 

"Likewise, the wing holding your bedroom will belong to you for as long as you are staying here, and we'll respect your privacy. I believe that all the rooms on the first floor of the west wing will be sufficient to take care of any needs you might have. If something is lacking, please speak to Leopold; he will make arrangements for you."

I'm getting the entire first floor in the west wing! That is unbelievably generous!

"I do insist that you do not leave the mansion between sunset and sunrise or when there's a storm or mist. Not under any circumstances."

Well, now that is not foreboding at all!

"As you might have seen on your arrival, the property is bordered by sheer drops into the ocean; many of these drops are hidden. I would not want anything to happen to you."

"Oh, yes, of course, that makes sense," I mutter in a breathy voice, finally able to speak again. "Thank you, Sir," I say, getting to my feet and crossing to the desk. Now I'm standing here, holding my right hand out to him, but the desk is so wide, there is no way I could shake his hand unless we both lie over the surface... which would just be too weird. I drop my hand and move away, backing up until I feel a bookcase touch my skirt. 

"Am I allowed to go into town sometimes?" I really would like to see more of the island and hopefully find the place my ancestors are from.

"You are free to come and go as you please, Miss Dankworth," he says, rising from his desk and moving around it again to stand with his hip braced against the front edge and his arms folded over his chest, his biceps pulling the silky sleeves of his black shirt taught... and there I was, thinking he was the scholarly type, but he has some rather impressive muscles hidden in there.

I force myself not to look at him too much, also avoiding those eyes that seem to suck the air from my lungs each time I accidentally look into them. 

"As long as you keep the conditions I mentioned in mind."

Never be outside during storms, mist or dark. Got it.

"I would also suggest that you live up to your claims of not being here for romantic dalliances," he adds, causing my cheeks to flare up with embarrassment and anger. This is a first! I've been called a prude, an old maid, stuffy and many other things along those flattering lines in the past; I've never been instructed not to dally in romance before.

"That I am not, I assure you," I say in my best school headmistress voice.

"Good, I hope I can take your word for it," he says. "Women often say that, and then..."

"Honestly, Mr. Slatherty!" I snap, irritated by his condescending tone. "Do you think that all women are unable to resist men's somewhat dubious charms? I can assure you that I am not prone to falling for seduction, and neither do I plan to launch any of my own. The antique and art collection in this mansion is the only thing I am interested in. I am immune to and able to withstand the allure of anything else."

I am rather shocked at my outburst; I generally keep my thoughts to myself unless I'm talking to myself or my thoughts are required to be meticulously documented as part of an appraisal.

Alaric narrows his pewter eyes, closing the gap between us, and suddenly, he is standing too close to me. He lifts a hand and brushes it past my cheek to rest it on the bookshelf behind me, and I involuntarily tilt my head back to look up at him, shocked to find his face mere inches from mine. 

His eyes are burning into mine in a way that is turning my blood into liquid silver, searing through my veins. I can feel my lips parting to allow my breath to escape in startled huffs as I breathe in the subtle scents of Sage, Musk, Lemon, Cedar, and so many other intoxicating notes I cannot place.

The fragrance is making me lightheaded, and when he lowers his face to mine, I stare up into his eyes, unable to blink or breathe. Unwilling and unable to move out of his reach.

"I am truly relieved that you are so skilled at resisting seduction, Miss Dankworth," he whispers, his breath tickling my skin, causing goosebumps to sprout on every surface of my body. "It certainly sets my mind at ease."

Just like that, he moves away, leaving me flustered and gasping in the wake of the onslaught on all my senses. What on Earth was that?! I thought he feared sexual harassment claims.

I feel harassed... I feel very harassed! N-no, I don't wish to be harassed some more! Pft!

"Were... were you just trying to seduce me, Sir?" I ask, appalled to see amusement pulling his perfect lips into a smirk.

"No," he says, waving a book in the air. "I assure you that I was merely getting this book, and you were in the way."

Fine, he has proven his point!

I, who have kept men at bay all my life, become a gasping bundle of desire when my new boss comes within reach. Lovely! I am not used to being a simpering female, falling over her feet when a startlingly handsome man is in her vicinity. Usually, I fall over my feet completely unprovoked.

I honestly don't know what he was trying to prove. Perhaps he needs to lecture himself about romantic dalliances instead!

I am not here to fall into love... or desire... or whatever that was. I am here to appraise and catalogue all the treasures inside these walls. To discover more about the history of my ancestors and to set my eyes on the priceless marble statue depicting Clarice Dankworth. I am not here to take part in his games.

My heart is beating so fast right now; it's like the air is vibrating with it!!

"I've had that desk cleared for you, Miss Dankworth," Alaric says, returning to his seat behind his desk and gesturing to the other desk in the room, set at a right angle to his. "Leopold already left your laptop bag there. If you do not find the prospect of sharing this office... comfortable or have other needs, please speak to him, and he'll make more suitable arrangements for you."

"I assure you, Mr. Slatherty," I huff, still feeling dizzy and weak-kneed, "that I find this arrangement very comfortable indeed." I don't, of course; it is horrible! The man has already driven me half insane, and I've been here with him for less than ten minutes.

"Very well," Alaric says, pulling the briefcase perched on a corner of his desk to rest in front of him, his eyes still trying to freeze my blood and burn my lungs or whatever goal he's trying to achieve by looking at me like that. "If you have any further questions, please..."

"Speak to Leopold, yes," I finish his sentence for him rather testily, and now he is openly grinning at me. Honestly, the man should never grin! It is absolutely frightening.

"I was going to say, feel free to ask them, but yes, Leopold is generally a good source, and he has a lot more patience than I do." He studies my face in silence for a while, probably trying to decide where to insert his scalpel when he dissects me. "I'll call him to show you around."

"Thank you, Sir," I say, almost slapping myself when I curtsey, but Alaric is probably used to people bowing and curtseying to him because he doesn't react at all; he merely keeps on looking at me in that disconcerting way as is his habit. "Thank you for changing your mind and letting me stay."

"You can thank modern technology and the world for that, Miss Dankworth," he shrugs. "These days, with the help of the internet, everybody and their brother jumps aboard any bandwagon that seems righteous and just without bothering to do their own research to find out if that bandwagon should be boarded.

"I would not want a twisted version of my reasons for not letting you stay, go out into the world where I have to deal with governments and businesses and have such a bandwagon cause severe trauma and devastation to Peace Haven and everybody living on this island when it hits it. We do have a contract to honour, and I plan to honour it for as long as you do so."

The stipulations of that contract were very clear. I am not allowed to publish, post, or broadcast any images or information on Slaughtaverty Mansion and its occupants in any way, shape or form under any circumstances. The family wishes to retain their mysterious status and their privacy. I can respect that. It is true; these days, it is hard to differentiate between truth and lies and social media and the internet often do more harm than good.

"I can respect your views on the matter, Sir, and regardless of what changed your mind, I'm grateful for the opportunity. You will not regret it."

"I hope you won't regret it either, Miss Dankworth," he says in that same loaded way he told me never to be outside at night. Rising from his seat, he rounds the desk to hand me a document consisting of a few pages. 

"These are maps of the areas of the manor and grounds you might need to visit. I'll provide you with more maps when you require access to other areas. For now, this should be enough to keep you busy."

"This way, please, Miss," Leopold says behind me, almost startling me into having some more fun with pens and, this time, possibly with more interesting things like the papers neatly stacked all over Alaric's desk.

Seriously! Did he use a dog whistle to call the man? I certainly did not hear him call him, ring a bell, press a button, snap his fingers or send a message or a carrier pigeon and yet, here he is, as starched and ready as ever. Perhaps he'd been standing outside the door all this time, waiting to hear the words requesting his tour guide services.

"Yes, thank you," I say, preceding him from the office, and come to a gasping stop, when I've barely taken a step and suddenly find myself nose to nose with a girl with waxy skin like delicate white icing and whispy ash-blond hair trailing over her shoulders and down to her waist. She is wearing a long, lacy nightgown, and her grey eyes remind me of Ransford's, but they are all wrong and unfocussed under her gentle brows and long lashes.

"Do you hear them?" she asks in a voice trembling on the air like cobwebs, there and yet somehow also not there. "Are they crying?"

"Wh-who?" I breathe, my mind flooding with visions of a white-haired girl with black eyes and wet lips sniffing my neck while purring. I don't think this is her, but I cannot be sure. I wasn't wearing my glasses last night. That girl's eyes were definitely not a luminous grey; they were black pools of nothingness, and her hair was lighter... I think... It was so dark, and I was terrified at the time... and obviously dreaming.

Fear is restricting my airflow now too, and I'm not entirely sure why. Perhaps it is because there is something feral about the way the girl is looking into a present I cannot see. Seeing things there, invisible to my eyes.

"Seer-sha," Alaric says, and the girl tilts her head in a disjointed, sleepy way to look past me. "Come to me."

She obeys, brushing past me, the scent of Jasmine following in her wake. Seer-sha? I know that name. I've seen it written somewhere, but I cannot remember where. Saoirse Slatherty. I do remember thinking it was pretty. The name's owner is pretty too, but in a rather unsettling way. She seems sickly, and I wonder what is wrong with her.

Saoirse Slatherty

"Do you hear them?" she asks Alaric, and to my surprise, he runs a gentle hand over the girl's head, his face wearing a tender expression I would never have been able to picture on his cold features.

"Yes, I hear them," he assures her.

"Are they crying?" she asks, not resisting when he scoops her up.

"No, they are quite content," he whispers and smiling, she nestles into his shoulder and closes her eyes.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, I have no idea..." Leopold begins, for once not looking as composed as usual, but Alaric silences him with a cold look.

"I'll take my sister to her room. Please show Miss Dankworth around and help her find her way back to her rooms."

Still feeling stunned, I step out of the office, giving him room to pass with his load.

"If you will be so kind as to open the document to the map of the ground floor, Miss, I'll help you orientate yourself," Leopold instructs when Alaric and his sister have disappeared down the stairs. I obey, disheartened when I see the pages flutter in my trembling fingers.

Alaric is right; Leopold is rather patient. He guides me from the office down the stairs to the first-floor landing and from there to the foyer, where he helps me find the parlour, the billiard room, the dining room and a library as well as a guest bathroom and then leads me to the back of the staircase where he shows me the huge kitchen and the pantry.

"Feel free to help yourself if you need something to eat or drink between meals, but I'll be happy to bring it to you if you request it from me instead," he tells me, and I quirk my eyebrow in a less impressive version of the look he is often giving me. I can not imagine myself treating this austere man like a waiter, ordering a grilled cheese sandwich and milkshake from him.

The kitchen is empty, but I can smell something simmering in a mouth-watering fragrance. That reminds me!

"Leopold, did you make my bed, collect my dishes, bring me food and unpack my boxes and suitcases?"

"Is something not to your liking, Miss?"

"No, no! I was merely looking for the person to thank for everything."

"That would be the servants, Miss."

"There are servants here?" The word servants suggests activity and people scurrying about, and the only scurrying I've seen today was me scurrying to pick up fallen pens.

"Yes, Miss, this is quite a large household; servants are required to keep the mansion immaculate and in good repair and to tend to everybody's needs."

"Of course, I'm just surprised because I haven't seen any servants around."

"They are paid well to be discreet, Miss."

"Ah... I see." No, I don't see. I am also being paid to be discreet but not to be invisible... at least that didn't sound like one of the many rules. Was it implied?

When I assure him that I would be able to find my way around in the areas of the ground floor marked vividly on the first map, he guides me up the stairs, turning left on the landing, and following a zig-zag route through dark corridors, also clearly marked on the second map, we quickly find our way to the hallway containing my bedroom. I even recognize it by a couple of the paintings on the wall and two granite horses at the entrance.

"Would you like me to show you around your rooms, or would you prefer to explore them by yourself, Miss?" he asks with an air that tells me he is equally open to either possibility.

"Thank you, Leopold; I shall not keep you from your duties any longer. It was kind of you to spend so much time showing me around. I should be fine from here."

"Not at all, Miss. Please call me if you need me again," he turns to go, and then he stops and tilts his head, giving me an almost worried look. "Miss, the other hallways and wings on this floor contain the private rooms of the masters of this Manor and their sister, and-."

"I understand, Leopold; now that I know my way, I shan't disturb them again. I promise."

He nods, almost smiling and gives me a polite bow before he leaves me alone. For a moment, I am tempted to explore the other rooms in my hallway, but I am dying for a cup of coffee, and using my map, I find my way back to the kitchen.

It is still completely void of servants, and yet I have the skin-crawling feeling of being watched from half-open cupboards and broom closets and shadows crowding in every corner. No light on Earth seems to be bright enough to chase the shadows out of this mansion completely.

The kettle, of course, takes a century and a half to boil, but I find the mugs, coffee, sugar and milk without too much effort. There is a coffee machine on one of the counters, and I'm sure the mug of sinful pleasure I drank this morning was made using that machine. I do not wish to call Leopold to show me how to work it, so instant coffee will have to do now. I have no problem with instant coffee. I love almost all coffees equally.

When the coffee is ready, I decide to leave the sinister kitchen with its invisible staff waiting with held breaths for me to leave, hoping I would do so before whatever is cooking on the stove is burned. Maybe...

"Thank you," I say out loud, feeling like an idiot. "For everything."

Normally, I talk to myself all the time, but then I'm sure it's me I'm talking to. Right now, I'm really not entirely sure whom I'm speaking to. The atmosphere in this house is stifling and constantly plucking at my nerves; it feels alive with unseen entities.

I make up my mind to take my coffee in the library, as I saw a cosy fire burning in the fireplace there when Leopold took me on tour, and I don't trust myself to carry this mug to my room without spilling most of it. My fingers are already wet and burning from a couple of escaped drops. The library is also the closest room at the moment, and perhaps it has some books with fun content, even if they might not be as pretty on the outside as the ones in Alaric's office.

"Well, this is more like it," I say when I enter the library and cross the floor to one of the comfortable-looking armchairs set near the fireplace. I take a sip of my coffee to drop the level a little bit and grimace at the un-inspiring taste. "Ugh, this morning's coffee has spoiled me. This is just dregs now."

"I could teach you to use the machine."

At the sound of the melodious voice, I twirl around, and anybody who knows me would be flabbergasted with awe to see me not splashing coffee around, washing everything within reach with it. Only a little bit escapes from the cup, leaving drops on my chest.

Ransford! Of course!

"Could you please stop doing that, Sir?" I huff, breathless. This has been my fifth scare for the day, and I only left my bed a short while ago.

"What?" he chuckles, rising from his seat, pulling a couple of tissues from the box on the coffee table and joining me at the fireplace to dab at the droplets on my chest, his eyes gazing into mine in a rather disturbing way. "Be present in the room you wander into, talking to yourself?"

"Yes, that," I sigh, holding my breath, overly aware of his fingers whispering over the bare skin in the V of my blouse.

"Perhaps it would be easier if you just didn't talk to yourself while entering a room since I am not clairvoyant and cannot know which room you'll be walking into next."

"You make a good point, Sir. Instead, perhaps you could call out a greeting the minute you see me. There is, unfortunately, no way I could ever stop talking to myself."

"Will that really stop you from being startled?" he chuckles, looking sceptical.

"Probably not." I am quite sure that there are no more drops to be removed from my chest, and yet his hand remains, his fingers finding their way to the skin of my neck, where they linger, cool and as soft as a breath.

He suddenly takes his hand from my throat and tucks a stray ringlet behind my ear, his fingers trailing lazily along my cheek. Giggling, I almost add more coffee to my chest.

It wouldn't matter; I'm sure he would happily dry it for me.

I think I'm breaking one of Alaric's many rules, but I cannot remember which one.

"Thank you," I mutter, stepping away from Ransford and sitting down on the chair I was aiming for earlier. I nearly disappear into the soft cushions and pour all the coffee on me, but I manage not to and hurry to sip some of the unappetizing liquid to lessen the risk.

Yesterday, I loved instant coffee... Now...

"I would be very grateful if you would, Sir," I tell Ransford, and he gives me a puzzled look.

"Would what?"

"Show me how to work the coffee machine... if you have the time, Sir..."

"Time is one thing I have too much of, Aubrey," he says in a voice suddenly devoid of the light-hearted teasing that's been there before. 

I wonder what it is that he does for a living. It seems to be Alaric who runs the family business... whatever that might be... I'm about to ask him when he makes himself comfortable in the seat opposite mine and, biting on his lower lip, runs his eyes over my face in a way that causes me to forget what I wanted to ask.

"Please don't call me 'Sir'," he says grimly. "It makes me think of dried-up old farts and humourless bastards. It's like you're turning me into Alaric."

I nearly spit out the sip of coffee in my mouth and hurriedly swallow it, trying not to choke on it. "Oh, dear! I definitely don't want to turn you into one of those."

Ransford's cheerful laughter drives some of the ominous vibes from the atmosphere, and I sip my coffee, studying him for a change. I don't think I've met anybody quite like him before. He is the finest example of princely splendour and arrogance, and yet he is also the embodiment of the term down-to-earth. All at the same time, which doesn't seem to be natural or possible at all. 

I feel surprisingly comfortable around him, but when he looks into my eyes or touches me, that comfort evaporates, displaced by sensations of being acutely mesmerised.

I can sense that Ransford is like a leopard; beautiful to look at but deadly when allowed near you. I should keep my distance, but every fibre of my being is drawn to him.

"Did you send the email requesting the photographs of me?" I hear myself ask, startled by my bravery to just utter the words unrestrained like that. Ransford doesn't share my shock; he merely cocks an eyebrow, giving me a rather haughty look.

"Why would I do that?"

"I have no idea," I splutter, hastily setting my mug on a coaster on the nearest side table. It is almost empty and no longer too big a splash hazard, but I do not trust myself not to break it by accident. "I'm just certain that Alaric was not the one requesting them. Besides, thinking about it, the email was worded much less sternly than the other correspondence I had with him. I don't think it was from him."

"It doesn't matter, Aubrey. The photographs would not have been the only thing letting Alaric know that you're a woman and not a man," Ransford says, giving me a sober look. "Surely your other identification documents would've made it clear to him that you are one."

My mouth becomes slack at Ransford's words. He is right! All my official identification documents contain the word female or Miss, and some of them have an ID photo of me. I sent him copies of all those documents. Alaric did not need those photographs to tell him I was not a man.

"You are right... That makes no sense. Why would he pretend that he was expecting a man?"

"He wasn't pretending?" Ransford assures me, confusing me again. I frown, tilting my head and giving him a questioning look. "For some reason, Diarmuid never told him."

"Deer-mid?"

"Diarmuid O'Neill, his secretary, the one who corresponded with you on Alaric's behalf."

"I... oh..." I have no idea what to make of this news. I did not know that Alaric had an assistant and that I wasn't communicating with him directly. "Why would Diarmuid not tell him that I'm a woman? Surely, he must've known that Alaric wanted to employ a man!"

"I'm sure Alaric will ask him that on Monday when he returns to work."

"Oh, he's not working today?"

"No, he doesn't work on weekends. He also doesn't live here; he only spends the night if he cannot leave for some reason."

"Was he unable to return here today after that wild storm last night?" The rain doesn't seem so bad today, and the wind only sporadically picks up, screaming like a banshee around the mansion's corners. It is not half as bad as it was last night when Billy and I were driving up here.

"He didn't make it back here yesterday morning, but there wasn't much of a storm last night," Ransford shrugs. "As I said, he doesn't work on weekends. He'll only return on Monday."

"That was not much of a storm? Then I truly don't want to know what you see as a true storm."

"The one that started when you arrived on Thursday was a big one," Ransford says, and I'm gaping at him now, unsure why he is making this so confusing.

"Yes, that was last night."

"Aubrey," he says, leaning towards me, looking slightly worried now. "You arrived on Thursday evening. Today is Saturday."

I'm glad I'm no longer holding any beverages, and the cushions on this soft seat are sucking me in, or I would've been raining coffee and mayhem all around me now.

"I went to sleep on Thursday evening and awoke... today? Saturday?"

"Yes," Ransford shrugs, making himself comfortable again, watching my face with an expression that is half-amused and half-concerned. "I guess you were really tired."

~~~