Lockhart Manor

"As my servant, you will obey my commands, and, above all else, maintain discretion. Should you fail to meet these expectations, the consequences will be severe. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my lord." Agatha didn't know what else to say, and she doubted she had any choice in the matter. The revelation was too sudden for her to comprehend; she would have to ponder it later, when she was alone.

"Good," Lockhart said, rising from his chair. His tall frame cast a shadow across the room as he moved to stand by the fire. The light danced across the sharp angles of his face. "Then you will begin tomorrow. Malcolm will assist you in organizing the materials you'll need, as well as... more suitable attire."

Agatha remained seated, her eyes on the floor.

"There is one more thing," he added, his voice edged with finality. "You will not return to the west wing. From now on, you will remain here, in the quarters I have provided for you. When you address me, you will call me Master. Do you understand?"

Agatha was silent as a sinking feeling settled in her stomach.

Lockhart turned, his gaze hardening as it fixed on her. "Do you understand, servant?" he repeated, enunciating each word.

"Yes... Master," Agatha murmured.

"Good," he said, turning back to the fire. "You may go."

Agatha rose and left the room swiftly, retreating to the solitude of her chamber.