What are you talking about, brat? Arthur began stepping forward and came to stand beside his wife. Julian didn't move as he watched the rising tension with fascination. And satisfaction.
Why would you say something like that to your mom? Arthur shouted as he glared at his son and pointed a finger towards him. Elias smiled. He knowingly shook his head as he looked at the two.
What caring parents! Now you know that she is my mom? He asked sarcastically.
What is that supposed to mean? Arthur erupted.
"Oh, you know very well what that means, my dear father," Elias iterated.
You, brat! Get over here! Elias swiveled his head and glanced towards Julian, who was trying to slip away. Julian stopped in his tracks as he turned around, and his eyes locked with Elias's.
"Yes, brother?" Julian said, forcing politeness into his voice despite the tension coiling in his chest.
"I asked you to come here." The words dripped from Elias's lips, saturated with malice and simmering anger that seemed to radiate from every syllable.
Julian swallowed hard. "Okay," he conceded, his feet carrying him forward with reluctant, anxious steps.
Meanwhile, a maid rushed through the mansion's corridors, her skirts swishing with urgency. Minutes earlier, Catherine had beckoned her from among the gathered servants, whispered hurried instructions into her ear, and dispatched her on a critical errand.
The maid glided through the labyrinthine halls, her heart pounding as she navigated the familiar passages. She finally reached the living room and seized the landline with trembling fingers.
After dialing a specific number, she pressed the receiver to her ear and listened anxiously as it rang once, twice, three times.
Then it connected.
A female voice, sweet and melodic, flowed through the line like honey.
"Hello, mother."
"Miss Eleanor, I apologize for calling so suddenly, but the lady of the house insisted I contact you immediately," the maid began, her words tumbling out in a nervous rush.
"Why? What's happening?" Eleanor's tone shifted, concern creeping in.
"Miss Eleanor, it's about your brother," the maid said carefully.
"Julian? Did something happen to him?" Panic sharpened Eleanor's voice to a knife's edge.
"No, no, not him," the maid reassured her quickly.
"Then are you talking about that worthless waste of space?" Eleanor snapped, her contempt palpable even through the phone line.
"Yes, miss. It's Elias. He..." The maid's voice faltered, the words catching in her throat.
"What did he do? Spell it out for me," Eleanor demanded, her patience evaporating.
"Elias came home during Julian's celebration, covered in dirt and bruises. Then..." She paused, the trauma of what she'd witnessed still raw and bleeding in her mind. Her hands shook as she gripped the phone tighter. "Miss Eleanor, things aren't good at the mansion. Mrs. Catherine wanted you to come quickly and perhaps bring help."
Before Eleanor could respond, the maid placed the phone back on its cradle.
"Wait, what are you talking about? I don't understand!" Eleanor's cry was cut short as the line went dead.
The maid released a deep, shuddering sigh. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her racing heart, then opened them and turned to leave, only to find herself face-to-face with the silhouette of an older woman staring directly at her.
She jumped, nearly staggering backward before catching herself against the wall. Recognition brought annoyance rather than relief.
"Martha! You scared me half to death. Don't sneak up on me like that," she gasped, pressing a hand to her chest where her heart hammered wildly.
"I apologize for frightening you, but if I heard correctly, you mentioned young master Elias?" Martha's eyes were sharp, focused.
"Yes, it's about Elias," the younger maid confirmed, still catching her breath.
"What about him?" Martha's voice erupted with unexpected intensity.
Startled by the older woman's vehemence, the maid scrambled to answer. "He came back covered in dirt and blood. He-"
"He's alive!" Martha's exclamation rang through the hallway like a bell.
"Yes, he is. He's at the party right now, in the backyard."
Before the words fully left her mouth, Martha spun and bolted toward the back of the mansion, her years falling away as urgency propelled her forward.
The younger maid watched her disappear around the corner. After a moment, she shook her head in bewilderment and headed back toward the other servants.
Martha burst through the back door, her chest heaving. Her weathered face strained as she scanned the gathered crowd, searching desperately for that familiar face she'd feared she'd never see again.
The commotion drew the attention of those remaining in the backyard, conversations dying mid-sentence.
Martha's gaze swept across the scene until her eyes locked with Elias's face, familiar yet somehow transformed, haunted by something she couldn't name. Something shifted deep inside her chest, a tightening that stole her breath.
She stared at him, eyes wide with awe and disbelief. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words emerged. Her throat had closed around them.
Elias's eyes found the older woman's face, and something began brewing from deep within him, recognition, yes, but also something warmer, something that had been buried beneath layers of pain and survival.
He took a tentative step forward. Martha mirrored the movement, then suddenly burst forward and embraced him in a fierce hug that spoke of all the fear and grief she'd carried.
Elias felt the warmth of her body pressed against his battered frame. Shock held him rigid for a heartbeat, but as he realized she meant no harm, that her touch carried only love, he relaxed. Slowly, carefully, he wrapped his arms around her as memories flooded back: bitter days and rare happy moments, all colored by her steady presence.
She had been like a mother to him. More than that, perhaps. She was the only person who had truly accepted him in this family, the only one who had cared for him sincerely despite the absence of any blood tie.
*So this is what human nature can be,* he thought, the realization settling over him like a revelation. *At least some souls are kind, treating others with genuine love.*
"Elias, you're safe. I thought I'd lost you forever," Martha whispered as she slowly pulled back, her hands still gripping his shoulders as though he might vanish if she let go.
"What happened to you? Why do you look so pale?" She lovingly cupped his face, which appeared drained of life, the skin almost translucent in the fading light. "You're hurt," she gasped, her fingers trembling as they traced the shadows beneath his eyes.
She reached out, patting the rest of his body with gentle, diagnostic touches. When her hands pressed against his torso, she nearly collapsed in horror.
"Your chest, your ribs. They're broken." The words emerged barely above a whisper, strangled by shock.
Catherine and Arthur exchanged a loaded glance, something imperceptible passing between them, calculation, perhaps, or concern for appearances.
"What are you talking about, Martha?" Catherine asked, her voice carefully modulated.
Martha didn't answer. Instead, she knelt and gently touched Elias's leg. When her fingers encountered the cold, sharp edge of bone protruding beneath the skin, she fell backward. Elias caught her before she hit the ground.
"Your leg, it's broken?" she mumbled, her face ashen.
"What?" Catherine and Arthur cried out in unison, though their shock seemed performative, hollow.
"What have they done to you, son? Oh, my dear child, didn't I beg you to run away? If you had, none of this would have happened. You were so young, how could they do something like this to you?" Martha's voice cracked, splintering under the weight of her anguish. "I wish you had never come to this wretched family, or you wouldn't have suffered so long. I was so foolish. I should have protected you better. I'm so sorry."
She began to break down completely, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Elias felt moisture on his own cheeks, tears that confused him utterly. He didn't fully understand this new emotion welling up inside him, this ache that felt both painful and strangely precious.
"It's not your fault, Martha. You did everything you could. I don't know how I'll ever repay you." He reached out with gentle fingers and wiped the tears from her weathered face, each line a testament to years of care and worry.
"Don't worry about me. I'll fight for myself now, and I'll make certain everyone who wronged me receives their comeuppance." She continued to sob, her grief inconsolable.
*She took such good care of the original host,* Elias thought as he watched the woman weep before him. *I must repay her kindness in the future, no matter what it costs.*
"Martha, what's going on? What are you talking about?" Catherine erupted, agitation seeping into her carefully maintained composure.
Martha turned slowly, her tear-stained face transforming as her gaze met Catherine's. Something hardened in her expression, a steel that years of servitude had never quite extinguished.
"You are a very stupid woman, Catherine Blackwood," she stated clearly, without an ounce of fear in her eyes.