The Man They Buried Was Still Alive
Chapter 2 - The Dead Master’s Maid
Emily pulled Arthur inside before the footsteps came closer.
She shut the kitchen door quietly and guided him behind the pantry wall. Her heart beat so loudly she was sure everyone upstairs could hear it.
“Stay here,” she whispered.
Arthur looked at her.
“You should run.”
“I work here. Running is not easy.”
A sad flicker crossed his face.
“What is your name?”
“Emily Carter.”
His expression shifted.
“Carter?”
“Yes.”
“Was your mother Grace Carter?”
Emily froze.
“How do you know my mother?”
Arthur closed his eyes briefly.
“Because she tried to save me.”
Before Emily could speak, a voice cut through the hallway.
“Emily?”
She stiffened.
It was Mrs. Helena Ashford, Arthur’s sister-in-law and the current mistress of the mansion. Her voice was elegant, controlled, and always sharp enough to draw blood without leaving marks.
Emily grabbed a towel and covered Arthur’s muddy footprints.
Helena entered the kitchen in a silk robe, her silver hair pinned perfectly despite the late hour.
“What was that noise?”
Emily bowed her head.
“The storm blew the back door open, madam. I slipped.”
Helena’s eyes moved to the wet floor.
Then to Emily’s trembling hands.
“You are bleeding.”
Emily looked down.
A thin cut crossed her palm from the edge of the watch chain.
“It’s nothing.”
Helena stepped closer.
Behind the pantry wall, Arthur did not move.
Emily forced herself to breathe.
Helena smiled.
“Nothing in this house is nothing.”
From upstairs, a male voice called, “Helena, is someone there?”
Emily recognized it too.
Edmund Ashford.
Arthur’s younger brother.
The man who inherited everything.
Helena did not turn.
“No one important,” she replied.
The words hit Emily harder than they should have.
No one important.
That was how everyone in the mansion treated her. A maid with a rented room, an unpaid hospital bill from her mother’s final illness, and no family powerful enough to protect her.
Helena glanced one last time around the kitchen.
“Clean this up. And lock the door properly.”
“Yes, madam.”
When Helena left, Emily waited until the hallway went silent.
Then she opened the pantry door.
Arthur leaned against the shelves, pale but conscious.
“You know my mother,” Emily said. “Tell me how.”
Arthur looked at the pocket watch in his hand.
“Ten years ago, your mother was the head housekeeper here. The night I supposedly died, she found me in the east wing study after Edmund struck me with a fireplace poker.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“No.”
“She tried to call an ambulance. Helena stopped her. They took my watch, my ring, my papers. Then they carried out another body after the fire started.”
Emily shook her head, unable to understand.
“Another body?”
“A groundskeeper. A man with no family. They dressed him in my coat and put my ring on his hand.”
Emily felt sick.
“And you?”
Arthur’s voice went quiet.
“They sent me to a private institution under another name. I had a head injury. For years, I could barely remember who I was.”
Emily looked toward the ceiling.
“My mother always said this house killed honest people.”
Arthur’s eyes darkened.
“She knew the truth?”
“She never told me. But before she died, she said if I ever found the Ashford watch, I should take it to the police.”
Arthur stared at her.
“Your mother hid evidence.”
Emily’s throat tightened.
“She died poor. Alone. They said she stole from the family and dismissed her without references.”
Arthur’s hand closed around the watch.
“Grace Carter did not steal from me.”
Upstairs, another floorboard creaked.
Arthur lifted his head.
“They know someone came in.”
Emily looked at the kitchen door.
Then at the wounded man.
For the first time in her life, she understood why her mother had never been able to leave this mansion behind.
The dead were not resting here.
They were waiting to be named.
