Chapter 4 - The Trembling Glass
The man who held him back was Lord Alistair Ashford—the master of the estate.
Alistair was a distinguished man in his late forties, clad in a immaculate dark tuxedo, his brown hair dusted with silver at the temples. But his usual regal composure was completely shattered. His face had drained of all color, turning as white as the plaster moldings above. In his right hand, a crystal glass of bourbon trembled violently, the ice cubes clinking loudly against the glass.
He stared at the barefoot child with an expression that bordered on horror.
"Who taught you that melody?" Alistair demanded, his voice dropping into a raspy, desperate whisper that cut through the sweeping piano notes.
The little girl didn't stop playing. Her hands continued their effortless, hypnotic dance across the keys as she looked up, her clear brown eyes locking onto Alistair's panicked gaze.
"Nobody," the girl answered plainly, her tone devoid of fear or deception.
May you like
Alistair took a sharp, agonizing breath, his chest heaving. "That's impossible," he breathed, taking a slow step toward the bench.
The young noblewoman beside him let out a soft, dismissive chuckle, trying to regain her composure. "Alistair, darling, don't be ridiculous. The child obviously heard it piped through some street gramophone or overheard a musician rehearsing in the town square."
