The dawn was peeping timidly through the heavy curtains of the sitting room adjoining the great dining room. Breakfast had not yet been served, and the whole mansion seemed to hang in a grey lethargy. It was not fog, not quite sleep, but a kind of spiritual mist that gathered in the silent corridors, as if the house itself were holding its breath after the events of the previous night.
The heavy oak doors of the room were ajar, allowing murmurs to drift out like warm steam on a cold morning. Inside, two middle-aged men stood facing each other, each with a cup in his hand even though it was not drinking time. One, his face hard and his hands folded tightly across his chest, kept his jaw tense and his back straight as if ready to defend himself against an unseen attack. The other, more restless, paced around a couch without ever quite sitting down, casting occasional glances towards the window, as if expecting to see someone arriving any moment from the main road.
-He didn't come. Not last night, not this morning," muttered the second with a mixture of anxiety and resentment. Not a letter, not a message. Nothing. And knowing him, that's not normal.
-Maybe it is," grunted the first without looking at him. Maybe he finally understood that he has no business being here.
-Because of that woman? Again? -The man who was walking stopped and pursed his lips in disgust. Don't you think it's strange? He was the one most interested in this! Always talking about what was "right" for us... how we should be "firm"... and now he just disappears just like that, without a word!
-Or precisely for that reason. Because he was the most interested," replied the other with a bitter half-smile. The most desperate is always the one who breaks first. She must have made a scene, or dragged him out like a viper coiled round her neck.
An awkward silence settled between them. The embers in the fireplace were still smouldering, a reminder that someone had tried to warm the atmosphere in the early hours of the morning. The man who had been pacing finally sat down, looking defeated.
-I don't know... I find it hard to believe he gave up so easily. Not without... without telling us something. Even by his standards, this is absurd.
The stiff-featured brother set the glass down on the table with a dry click.
-Maybe he finally had some shame. Or he understood that he was losing the game. Or maybe... -he paused, lowering his voice- maybe he realised that he wasn't going to be chosen.
-After all, who knows? There's no guarantee that we'll all get a share of the inheritance, is there? -
-And you're not worried? -The other looked at him, squinting. Not a bit?
-Worried? -The brother laughed, short and humourless, "For someone who's been crying for attention all his life? No. If he's gone, good riddance. And if he's not gone...
-What?
-Then you will be late. As usual.
The silence returned, but this time with a different layer. It was no longer the emptiness of an interrupted conversation, but the weight of a shared, if poorly digested, conclusion. The third brother's disappearance was not official, nor confirmed... but it was beginning to feel like a definite absence.
And while one of them seemed to almost enjoy the potential increase in his inheritance share, the other kept drumming his fingers on his knee, unable to shake the feeling that something wasn't right.
Finally, the most restless one got up again.
-I will look for one of the servants. Maybe someone has seen him go out.
-And what do you expect them to tell you? -That he left in the middle of the night, crestfallen and crying? That his wife dragged him to the road and now they're on a train to the city? Come on, you know him as well as I do. You know him as well as I do. If he didn't leave any footprints, it's because he didn't want us to find them.
-Or because he couldn't leave them.
The phrase floated in the air for a few seconds before the two brothers exchanged a long, tense look. It was the first time one of them had verbalised the possibility. Not that he had left. But that something had prevented him from doing so.
And yet it was the hard-browed brother who spoke for the last time, in a slightly lower but firm voice.
-Don't start with silly theories. This house has enough ghosts already.
The other didn't respond, but he didn't seem convinced either. The conversation was over - at least for now. But the division was clear on their faces. One had convinced himself that the third had left voluntarily. The other... still kept his guard up.