As the door creaked open, the clatter of chains and bolts echoed ominously in the night. A shadowed figure emerged, ushering me inside before slamming the door shut behind me with haste.
"Head to the kitchen—and don't touch a thing," the man barked. His voice was rough, his tone distrustful. While he busied himself with bolting the door once more, I fumbled my way into the dimly lit kitchen.
The room was bare—starkly so. A meager supper sat waiting on the table: a bowl of porridge, a wooden spoon, and a cup of ale. The shelves were sparsely populated with dishes, and the only other items in the room were lock-secured chests lining the walls and a corner cupboard with a heavy padlock.
When the man finally joined me, I got my first proper look at him. Stooped and narrow-shouldered, he wore a flannel cap and a tattered nightgown that barely passed for clothing. His face was sallow, his eyes darting nervously, never meeting mine for more than a fleeting moment. He looked like a relic of another age—a forgotten caretaker in a crumbling manor.
"You hungry?" he asked, his gaze flicking somewhere near my knees. "The porridge's there for you if you'll take it."
"I wouldn't want to take your supper," I replied.
"Oh, I can go without," he muttered, reaching instead for the ale. He drank half in one swig, never taking his wary eyes off me, before abruptly thrusting out his hand. "The letter," he demanded.
I hesitated. "The letter's for Mr. Caleb Grant, not for you."
"And who do you think I am?" he shot back, an edge of mockery in his voice. "I'm Caleb Grant—your uncle. Now, hand over the letter."
The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. This man, with his shifty demeanor and crumbling home, was the family I'd hoped would welcome me with open arms? Reluctantly, I handed him the letter. My appetite vanished as I sat before the porridge, my stomach churning with disappointment.
As my uncle squinted at the letter by the flickering firelight, he asked suddenly, "Do you know what's in this?"
"The seal's unbroken," I replied.
"Aye," he muttered. "But why are you here?"
"To deliver the letter," I said simply.
"Nothing else? No hopes or expectations?"
I took a deep breath. "I'd be lying if I said I hadn't hoped my family might help me. But I'm no beggar, Uncle. I want no charity, only what's freely given. If you don't want me here, I can leave."
Uncle Caleb's face softened—just a fraction. "Don't be so hasty, boy. We'll get along fine, you and I. Now, if you're done with that porridge, I'll take it myself."
He slid into my seat and began eating with gusto, muttering between bites, "Porridge is fine food—fine, hearty food."
I stood stiffly, anger and dismay warring within me as his eyes flitted over my patched clothes and worn boots. At one point, our eyes met, and the man flinched like a thief caught red-handed. His behavior was baffling, but before I could dwell on it, he snapped another question at me.
"Your father's been dead long?"
"Three weeks," I said, my voice quiet.
"Hmm. A secretive man, your father," Caleb mused. "Never spoke much, did he?"
"I didn't even know he had a brother," I admitted.
"Aye, well," he said, a peculiar satisfaction creeping into his tone. "Families are strange things, boy."
Despite his earlier hostility, he clapped me on the shoulder as he stood. "You're tired. Come on—I'll show you to your room."
To my dismay, he led me upstairs in utter darkness, refusing to light a candle. "There's a fine moon," he claimed, though not a shred of light reached the hallway. When I asked for a lamp, he dismissed me with a gruff "Good night" and locked the door behind me.
The room was damp and frigid, the bed little more than a moldy relic. Wrapping myself in my travel cloak, I settled on the floor and tried to sleep, wondering if I had made a terrible mistake in coming here.
By morning, the room's decrepit state was even more apparent. Torn wallpaper, broken windowpanes, and years of neglect greeted me as sunlight spilled through the gaps. My uncle, as inhospitable as ever, directed me to a draw-well to wash and served another meager breakfast.
But as we ate, I resolved that I wouldn't be dismissed so easily. Whatever secrets this house—and this man—held, I was determined to uncover them.