The Blackthorn Syndicate

Chapter 7 - Esmeralda

Forty minutes away from my own home and cut off from the city of London lies the grand estate owned by Mr.Richardson. A large iron gate was opened for their vehicle by men who had rifles strapped to them.

The car moved forward a long winding driveway. There were no flowers or beautiful plants like the ones back home, instead, well manicured grass greeted me as far as I could see. Upfront stood a manor fit for a king.

The manor house rose like a titan from the earth, constructed of weathered stone, its walls adorned with ivy that climbs towards the heavens, lended the mansion an air of faded grandeur.

It was too dark to make out much, the moonlight was the only thing lighting my view but even from afar I could see how well maintained and clean the exterior of the house was kept.

In my admiration, I hadn't noticed the car had stopped moving until a gust of wind kissed my face when the door to my side was opened.

I quickly got out and followed Mr.Richardson. For a moment I stared at him. Even in the darkness he didn't seem sure of himself. He walked with an air of confidence. If the manor in front of me said something about him, it was most definitely his place in this world. He was important.

In what capacity, I was still to find out.

If the outside of the manor seemed grand, the inside was extravagant. Upon entrance a large chandelier loomed above me. I hadn't seen anything like it. Each crystal sparkled as if the house help had tended to each and everyone with utmost care.

The foyer was vast, with marble floors gleaming under the soft glow of the chandelier. A staircase, adorned with a richly woven carpet, spiralled upward, disappearing into the shadows of the upper floors. Paintings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of opulence and power from centuries past.

I stared at Mr.Richardson who was taking off his overcoat.

"A room has been arranged for you on the first floor. I believe it's too late for a formal tour right now however, I will make sure it is arranged in the morning. If you need anything, you may always ask."

He finished as a woman came from the corner. Based on the grey dress and the apron to match, she was probably the maid.

"Rose, please show Esmeralda to her rooms."

He doesn't wait for a response as he disappears to the hallway on the left.

Rose had been kind enough to offer me dinner which I had declined and told me she would come fetch me in the morning for breakfast at 7:30.

The room was grand despite having only the bare necessities. There was a king size canopy bed of rich carved wood with white covers and plush pillows, there were side tables to match along with a vanity and an armoire.

One of the servants had deposited my meagre belongings in the room. Once I was sure to be alone, the polite facade had crumbled and the hyperventilation had begun. I felt faint as I closed my eyes and slid down the door, my head in my hands.

How long was I expected to stay here?

What would I even do?

Was I allowed to go out?

Would I be allowed to leave if I asked Mr.Richardson?

What would my father say if he found me on the front door so soon when he had been very clear of what he had wanted?

I could feel what little food I had in my belly churning, threatening to come out.

My eyes went to the small bag of clothes I had brought with me. Would this be enough? Surely I could be back home in a week or so, right?

Something told me that was not going to be the case.

What was I going to do here?

How would I spend my time?

I shook my head. It was already so late. I got up from the floor and opened my suitcase, grabbing a camisole and shorts, my choice of sleepwear, before making my way to the attached bathroom.

In the next few minutes I found myself in bed staring at the ceiling. I closed my eyes for a moment and pretended the day had been different.

I pretend my father just came home as he did and greeted me with a smile. I greet him back and wait for him in the dining room. He remarks how the pie on the table looks beautiful, like the cook had complimented her and she tells him how she made it for him. She tells him how she picked up this hobby from Mrs. Johansson in Switzerland. He would tell her about her day and perhaps give her that brochure for Oxford University. They would talk about how things would move on. She would ask him questions, he would give her answers and the day of loneliness would end with wholesomeness.

The six years I had spent away would be forgotten. I would feel missed and cherished.

I wouldn't be a burden to be passed on.

I wouldn't be a thorn in the face of my fathers ambition.

I wouldn't be in a strange place once more, forced to leave the only home I had ever known.

I didn't realize I had been crying until I felt the drops sliding down my temple.

I closed my eyes.

I was eleven once more, leaving home.