Percival felt his breath hitch as a wave of recollection washed over him. That sun-dappled tableau had been committed to oil during one of their infrequent family outings to the Shaw estate on the Isle of Dogs. Encompassing over twelve acres of prime riverfront property, the expansive manor house and surrounding farmlands had been their ancestral home before Alistair's ascent to prominence necessitated relocation to more cosmopolitan environs.
On that halcyon summer day so many years ago, Percival could vividly recall romping through the fields and gardens flanking the stately manor house. He and James had chased one another through the high grasses, taking turns initiating games of make-believe - one moment slaying mythical beasts, the next careering about on phantasmic chargers.
Their playful revels eventually drew them towards the river's muddy shoals, where several workhorses grazed placidly nearby. Percival's eyes had gone wide with wonderment at the sight of the massive, placid beasts. Despite the stablehand's warnings, he had slipped past the fencing and ambled toward the closest steed, entranced.
What happened next remained seared into Percival's memory with horrific clarity. One moment he was extending a quivering hand towards the horse's velveted muzzle...the next, a terrified whinny shattered the tranquillity as the startled beast reared back on its haunches. In his shock, Percival had stumbled backwards, pitching over the riverbank and into the swift-flowing current with a cry of surprise and terror.
The muddy waters had closed over his head, the churning flow spinning him about in dizzying eddies as his small body was swept downriver. Panic had taken over as his flailing grew more desperate, the lack of purchase allowing the powerful undertow to drag him inexorably deeper.
Then, as his consciousness began ebbing, a blur of movement erupted from the riverbank. Moments later, a pair of strong arms encircled his thrashing form, arresting his descent into oblivion. With a mighty heave, James had hauled him bodily from the depths, muscles straining against the water's relentless pull.
Percival could still recall the look of primal terror etched across his brother's face as they tumbled onto the muddy bank in a tangle of limbs. James's fine linen shirt was in shreds, deep gouges scoring his back and shoulders from unseen snags along their path. Yet his eyes only reflected concern for the younger sibling lying insensate before him.
"Percy?" James sobbed out, panic edging his voice as his hands pawed over Percival's sodden form in search of any injuries. "Percy, answer me! Are you hurt?"
Percival had stared back mutely, unable to process anything beyond the fact that he was no longer submerged, that the nightmare of drowning had lifted. Then, with realization and profound gratitude flooding his expression, he threw his small arms around his brother and held on for dear life as heaving sobs of relief wracked him.
At that moment, he knew with every fibre of his being that no matter what storms loomed ahead, no matter what cruelties fate unleashed...James would always be there to watch over him, to sacrifice everything to ensure his well-being.
The sound of his brother's scolding voice had finally jarred Percival back to the present, but the torrent of recriminations he expected never materialized. James merely squeezed him tighter, murmuring hoarse vows of reassurance that he was safe now, that the crisis had passed. Peering up through the curtain of his dripping fringe, Percival was transfixed by the war etched across James's boyish countenance - equal measures of terror, relief, and a fierce protectiveness forging pathways of maturity through the child's face.
All these years later, the memory's clarity remained undiminished by time's erosion. Looking upon James's childhood likeness in the portrait seemed to stoke the recollection's embers into brilliant new life.
James, who had always seemed larger than life...now dwindled to a broken husk, the oaths and allegiances that had once fueled his arrogant fire extinguished. The devoted protector had himself become imperilled, the one in need of deliverance from whatever depravities had dragged him into this shadowed existence.
Percival allowed his gaze to track across the rest of the figures immortalized within that gilded frame. Their parents radiated the timeless hauteur that had come to define the Shaw legacy, even in those more bucolic surroundings. Yet there remained a warmth, a tangible aura of closeness and affection that belied the harsh edicts that now seemed to hold the family in thrall.
Tracing a reverent fingertip across the painted oils, Percival felt an ember of determination rekindle within his breast. This portrait was a talisman, an ethereal window into a simpler era when fraternal bonds and familial devotion had not yet been polluted by the poisons of privilege and self-indulgence.
As his gaze lingered upon their captured likenesses, more memories surfaced, unspooling like a tattered tapestry across the loom of years. He recalled the closeness he and James had shared in those sun-dappled boyhood days after the near-drowning - how Percival had clung to his brother like a second shadow, trailing him everywhere out of a primal need for the security and reassurance James's presence provided.
In those tender years, Percival worshipped James with the adulation only a younger sibling could muster for their protector and confidante. He sought to emulate his every mannerism, to absorb the older boy's rough-and-tumble bravado in hopes that it might one day manifest within his own being.
James, for his part, had seemed to bask in the hero worship, regaling Percival with his latest exploits or demonstrating the boyish talents and skills he had mastered. Whenever they were apart, Percival felt a nagging void, as if some vital core of his existence had been carved out until they were reunited once more.
Yet as the years marched on and childhood segued into adolescence, something began to change in their once-unbreakable dynamic. Percival sensed James drifting further from him, the bond that had once been as natural as breathing grew increasingly rarefied with each passing year. Casual dismissals and disdainful scoffs gradually supplanted the easy camaraderie, leaving Percival to watch from the periphery as his idol descended into self-absorption and libertine indulgences.
Desperate to reclaim those halcyon days and the closeness they had once shared, Percival tried to insert himself into James's world through increasingly obtrusive ways. He would pester the elder boy with incessant queries, demand to accompany him during outings with his fast companions, and even resort to attempting to ape the same taste for excess and dissolution in hopes it would rekindle James's approval.
But the more he flailed to reinsert himself into his brother's orbit, the more disdainful became James's regard, until their every interaction devolved into bitter arguments and recriminations. The idol had become the adversary, the object of Percival's profoundest disappointment and sorrow. As James sank deeper into arrogance and privilege, Percival withdrew inward, seeking solace in academic pursuits while still clinging to shreds of futile longing for their fraternal bond to be restored.
When Percival's eyes at last lifted from the portrait, they burned with unshed tears at the realization of how far the two had diverged. Was there any path to salvaging the brothers they had once been? Or were those sunlit memories now nothing more than nostalgic artefacts, reminders of everything lost to the cruel ravages of time and corruption?
As a crisp rapping sounded from the outer corridor. He remained motionless, letting the beats of silence hang suspended as he marshalled his composure. Only once he felt the telltale prickling along his nape subside did he call out in measured tones, "Enter."
The door swung inward with a soft groan, admitting the lean, unruffled form of Woodridge into the chamber's dimness. The butler's keen eyes swept the room, cataloguing each detail before settling upon the young master with an arch of silent query.
"You'll forgive the intrusion, Master Percival," he began, hands steepled formally before him. "But several of the staff have reported...concerns over your recent conduct."
Percival felt his shoulders stiffen fractionally, though he kept his expression one of polite inquisition. "Concerns, Woodridge? I am uncertain as to what you prefer."
The butler's gaze remained level, though something flickered momentarily in its depths. "They profess to have witnessed you quite literally fleeing the premises where your brother has been sequestered these past nights. As if your very footsteps were hounded by some devilish presence."
A rueful quirk tugged at the corner of Percival's mouth as he recognized the delicate investigation being levelled. With a sigh, he indicated for Woodridge to approach, gesturing to the chairs arranged before the room's banked fireplace.
"Please, have a seat." As the butler complied, Percival mirrored his posture, forearms braced upon the chair's curved arms. "I shall be forthright - I did, in fact, depart the wing housing my dear brother's...confinement in rather unrestrained haste. Yet this was no act of cowardice or avoidance, but borne simply of shock."
Woodridge regarded him through hooded eyes, his customary impassive mask slipping ever so slightly to reveal a flicker of paternal concern. "Has the young master said or done anything untoward towards you then, sir? You know any such transgressions would be dealt with most severely..."
Percival raised a hand, stemming the protective undercurrent before it could gain further traction. "Peace, good man. James inflicted no harm upon me - at least, none beyond what could be inflicted through the mere fact of his current...ravaged existence."
His throat worked convulsively at the recollection of the derelict shadow wearing his brother's semblance. "I had not been appraised ahead of time as to the true extent of his condition. The sight of one who had cut such a proud, formidable figure reduced to that haunted wretch...it shook me to my core in ways I could not ignore or compartmentalize."
Woodridge considered this in silence for a span of heartbeats before giving a single dip of his chin in assent. "I can well imagine the anguish such a spectacle would cause, young sir. For I myself have difficulty reconciling the current iteration with the vibrant, albeit tempestuous young man who embodied the family's fiery spirit until so recently."
An undercurrent of sorrow seemed to creep into the butler's measured tones. "Yet as distressing as the young master's apotheosis has been, the true scope of the events precipitating this...metamorphosis have not been divulged beyond the inner family circles. Lord Alistair has expressly forbidden any discussion among the household staff as to its root causes."
Percival felt his jaw tighten fractionally as Woodridge echoed the same shroud of secrecy already oppressing the ancestral estate. Rising to his feet, he turned towards the Butler with an air of grim finality.
"Then it shall be incumbent upon me to press my father for the full truth, regardless of how ugly or unsavoury its roots may be." He stated each word chiselled from granite certainty. "This obfuscation and silence does nothing but breed festering speculation and leave us all adrift in a void of ignorance. I aim to shed light upon the shadows cloaking this entire fiasco so that appropriate reckonings might be made."
Before Woodridge could react, a discreet rap sounded from the outer hallway, announcing another arrival. The Butler cast a querying look towards Percival, who gave a curt nod of affirmation.
"Enter," the young master called out, bracing himself as the door swung wide once more.
A liveried footman stepped through the portal, his bearing notably less composed than was typical.
"Pardon the intrusion, Master Percival," he began in a slightly tremulous tone. "But the Financial Manager for Whitmore Enterprises has arrived with a solicitor and associates and sent word that he is here on urgent business regarding the most recent negotiations."