♜ Lockhart Manor ♜

"You have been chosen to serve me directly." Lockhart's voice, deep and deliberate, tore Agatha from her thoughts.

Me?... my lord? Agatha 's lips parted, but the words never escaped her. Her mind raced in confusion and a slow dread began to creep over her, settling in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to quit the room and return to her chamber. She closed her mouth and swallowed, dropping her gaze.

"From now on, you will remain in the quarters I have provided for you. You will not return to the west wing, but will report to Malcolm tomorrow for your duties." He paused, allowing his words to sink in.

"What of my duties in the west wing... my lord?" Her voice trailed off as Lockhart's writing stilled, the pen motionless on the page. She immediately regretted the question.

"As my servant, your duty is to me and no other. Any disobedience on your part will be met with severe consequences. Is that understood?"

Agatha didn't know what to say, and she doubted she had any choice in the matter. Did Betsy know of this? Did Jasper? Perhaps this was why he was so upset earlier. She tried to collect her thoughts, but the revelations were too sudden for her mind to comprehend. There was a suffocating air about this man and she knew she must not ask any more questions. She resolved to ask Betsy later when they were alone. "Yes, my lord," she muttered.

"When you address me, you will call me master." His voice was stern, and Agatha could hear an edge of agitation beneath his words.

She remained silent, the sinking feeling in her stomach growing heavier with each passing moment.

Lockhart's head turned slightly, and the side of his profile set in a grimace. "Do you understand, servant?" he growled, enunciating each word.

"Yes... master," Agatha murmured.

"Good," he said, turning back to his papers. His pen began to write. "You may go."