Dark Intent

Chapter 2

Time had passed so quickly, three hours disappearing in what seemed like moments, as she stared now at the gates, she had taken a taxi to the Mansion, now standing outside as she stared up the gates. They were solid heavy iron; she wasn’t even sure a heavy military vehicle could force them open. The wall itself was solid concrete, built to withstand the weather and anything else you could imagine throwing at it.

The question she found herself now asking was, were these defences designed to keep unwelcome guests out, or to confine what was within?

"Sara's attention was drawn to an intercom panel, complete with a buzzer. After a brief pause, she pushed the buzzer, bracing herself as she anxiously awaited a response. The moments dragged on as if stretched into minutes, yet, in reality, the wait was far shorter. Finally, the warm, inviting tone of Mr. Ravenhurst resonated from the panel.

"Yes?"

Taken aback momentarily by his response, Sara stumbled over her words.

"Oh… um… It’s Miss Reynolds. We spoke on the phone." She chastised herself internally as his voice disoriented her. She had spoken to multitudes of men in her lifetime. Why was this interaction different? Why did he affect her deeply?

"Of course, please do come in. Make your way to the front door, and I shall meet you there," Mr. Ravenhurst invited smoothly. With a soft buzz, his voice cut off, soon replaced by the harsh grating of the substantial gates as they began their slow journey open. The noise echoed ominously in the quiet street, underscoring their weight and the strength of the mechanized system handling them.

Deciding not to wait for the complete opening, Sara slipped through at the first opportunity. Almost instantly, the motion of the gates reversed, creaking in protest as they abruptly began to close behind her."

Sara continued her journey down the lane, her eyes taking in the meticulously maintained garden. She was taken by surprise at the sight of a row of Cherry Blossom trees lining the path that led towards the Mansion. Their delicate blooms lent a soft allure to the otherwise grand surroundings. True to its Georgian heritage, the Mansion exhibited keen precision in construction. A seamless blend of brick and sandstone endowed the structure with an air of understated elegance.

The towering windows, she acknowledged, would allow an abundance of natural light to infuse the interiors, creating a luminous spectacle that was hailed by many. The intricacies of this mansion were as captivating to behold as she had envisioned.

"Sara approached the grand entrance and rang the doorbell with a steady hand. Inside, a low chime reverberated and was swiftly followed by the opening of the heavy wooden door. The true surprise, however, presented itself in the form of the man standing before her.

An imposing figure, he stretched to a stature of approximately six foot six, his long dark hair elegantly pulled back into a tight ponytail. His athletic build was faintly discernible beneath casual jeans and a shirt - enough to send her mind wandering before she snapped back to the present. Sara's own green eyes locked with his cool blue gaze, her heartbeat quickening at the silent exchange.

"He... hello, I’m…" she began, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Miss Reynolds, of course," he interjected, extending a hand in her direction. Sara responded somewhat awkwardly, shaking his offered hand.

As she collected herself and straightened herself, she was shorter than him, at only five foot five and a half, her red hair was curled and yet left loose to frame her pale face, which with its speckling of freckles added a youthful quality to her, it would be easy to mistake her for younger than twenty-two.

"Please, do come in," His voice resonated with an unexpected warmth that caught her slightly off guard. There was an undeniable authority in his demeanor that seemed to subtly command her motions without overt effort. Surrendering to this inexplicable control, Sara crossed the threshold and entered the grand hallway.

What greeted her was a magnificent staircase that majestically uncoiled towards the upper level. With a cursory glance, she noticed several doors branching off the hallway, each likely leading into various rooms within the Mansion that had been such a mystery to the townsfolk.

He assisted her in shedding her jacket, proceeding to hang it neatly on a coat rack tucked behind the entrance. Gesturing for her to accompany him, they embarked to the left of the regal staircase, and through a door that unveiled a grand library.

The library spanned both floors with an effortless grace, its vast collection of books a remarkable sight. Sara was enchanted by the sheer expanse of literature housed within this singular room.

"Wow...that's quite a collection," she voiced her admiration, a smidge louder than she had intended.

"Yes, some of these volumes date back to the original owner. I believe that was around the 1720s," he informed her casually. Steering her through yet another door, they entered the dining room, where a meal had already been thoughtfully arranged. "I must apologize for not inquiring about your dining preferences earlier. As a consequence, I've prepared chicken and pasta in alfredo sauce."

"Oh, that sounds amazing. It has been quite a while since I last indulged in such a delicious meal. My culinary efforts usually limit me to microwave dinners," she confessed, her cheeks catching an embarrassed flush.

Mr Ravenhurst gracefully pulled out a chair, patiently waiting for Sara to settle in before ensuring she was comfortably adjusted at the table. Only then did he proceed to claim his seat, occupying the position at the head of the table, adjacent to her.

Briefly pausing as he reached for a bottle of wine, he turned to Sara, "Would you care for a drink? Wine, perhaps, or I could offer something non-alcoholic. Tea or coffee are also available."

"No... wine would be perfect," Sara found herself responding, as he proceeded to pour a generous serving into her glass before filling his own. The tantalizing aroma of their impending meal wafted through the air, inciting an eager rumble from her stomach.

As they began to eat, Sara found her gaze involuntarily drifting towards him. While his countenance suggested a man in his mid-thirties, his eyes hinted at a depth of wisdom that seemed to only come with advanced age.

"I haven't noticed any other staff," she ventured, deciding it was time to broach the subject at hand, to begin carrying out her professional objective.

"Ah, yes, it's just me here, I'm afraid," he responded nonchalantly, as if single-handedly managing a vast mansion was an utterly ordinary affair. "I have never been fond of the notion of personal staff. Plenty of work occupies my time here, I assure you."

"You maintain this whole place by yourself?" Sara echoed; her voice filled with incredulity.

"Why, yes. Doesn't everyone look after their own homes?" His tone suggested it was the most natural thing in the world, leaving Sara boggled at the notion of his apparent endless capabilities without collapsing from sheer exhaustion.

“I do but… your home is about a hundred times the size of mine,” She replied, as she ate she scarcely believed he had the time to clean as well as prepare a meal, which she had to admit was the best thing she’d tasted since her college graduation dinner with her parents at the Japanese Restaurant in Lincoln, the closest big city to Wilton-on-Sea.

“Well, I only maintain what’s required, anything else would be foolish,” He replied with a soft smile.

She stopped mid-mouthful at his words, which made more sense than she'd initially given them credit for. As she resumed eating, a dozen questions whirled around in her mind; she yearned to voice them all but didn't consider any of them appropriate just yet.

"So, Miss Reynolds, what would you specifically like to know? I rarely entertain guests here, but when a young reporter shows interest in my contributions to the town, it naturally piques my curiosity," he stated. And there it was. She realized that he had seen right through her cover story. Her attempt at sticking to the truth as camouflage had utterly failed.

Immediately, warning bells started ringing in her head. Why had he invited her here, particularly without any company? Her heart began to pound against her chest as she started to craft various chilling scenarios in her mind. Was she about to become the naive reporter who fell victim to a demented psychopath living in an isolated mansion on the edge of town? She mentally berated herself for stepping into such a risky situation.

"I... uh...," She found herself grappling for words. "We don't know much about you, Sir. There's constant speculation... I just... I just want to share your story," she managed to utter.

"Please, Miss Reynolds, relax. I assure you, I have no intention of causing you any harm if that is what you are fearing. Even for me, that would prove rather complicated to cover up," he said, a hint of amusement colouring his words. Oddly enough, his straightforward assurance of not planning her murder was enough to help her regain her composure.

“Th... thank you, Sir,” She managed as she quickly took a drink from her wine glass hoping the alcohol would help ease the tension in her mind.

“We should finish up dinner, then we can go sit in the Drawing Room and I shall answer any question you may have,” As his words finished, he took a sip of wine and then continued to eat.

As their meal progressed, the conversation naturally veered towards the everyday life of a reporter. Mr. Ravenhurst skillfully steered the discourse, keeping the spotlight on Sara and her experiences. Talking about her daily routine served as a gentle reminder of the monotony that ensued once she clocked out from the office. Her post-work life was predictable, often consisting of unwinding at home while engrossed in repetitive reruns on various streaming platforms, putting the finishing touches on whatever story she was currently vested in, and ultimately surrendering to sleep each night.

Once they'd finished their meal, he rose gracefully, finishing the remnants of his wine before offering a hand to help her stand. Each of his gestures was indicative of a well-seasoned gentleman, almost out of place in the contemporary world. Flashing her a mild smile, he stacked their plates together, presumably to clear them away later.

"Shall we retire to the drawing room and continue our conversation there? I can then share more about myself," he proposed gently, almost tenderly. She found herself nodding in acquiescence; his words and soothing demeanor effortlessly influencing her actions. They made their way through the library once again, crossing the entrance and facing the opposing door which led to the drawing room.

The glow of the fire in the hearth was welcoming, spreading welcoming warmth and light throughout the room. The high-backed leather chairs were positioned perfectly to afford a view of the room while opposing each other, creating an ambience of a planned meeting. His clear anticipation for company intrigued her as she followed him into the room's inviting atmosphere.