The Secret Cult Chronicles of the Decaying Lake Manor

On the sofa in front of the fireplace sat an elderly woman wearing a dark purple velvet dress, her silver hair neatly combed.

Although her face was wrinkled, her eyes were still clear and sharp. George remembered that this was Violet, the original owner's grandmother.

She had a wool blanket over her knees and was holding onto a lady's cane with one hand.

The man sitting in the high-backed armchair behind the desk was Viscount Edward de la Porte.

He was wrapped in a thick, dark morning robe, much thinner than I remembered, with an unhealthy ashen complexion, sunken eyes, prominent cheekbones, and his fingers trembling slightly on the armrest.

A white Labrador Retriever was lying at the Viscount's feet.

When George came in, he raised his eyelids, his somewhat cloudy eyes looked over, and he tried to pull the corners of his mouth upward, but failed to form a complete smile.

Two people were standing next to the desk.

One of them was George's uncle, Albert, who wore gold-rimmed glasses, had a refined air, and was holding a book in his hand.

Seeing George enter, she closed the book and gave him a gentle smile.

The other was Don Arthur de la Porte.

He was a burly man, dressed in well-tailored hunting attire, with a meticulously manicured beard, and his eyes held a vitality that seemed somewhat out of place in the slightly oppressive study.

When he saw George looking over, he smiled and nodded in greeting.

"George! My dear child."

Grandmother Violet spoke first, her voice filled with joy.

She reached out her hand to him.

George strode forward, knelt on one knee beside the sofa, and took his grandmother's hand: "Grandma, I'm back."

"Good boy, it's good to see you back. You must have had a long journey." His grandmother patted his hand affectionately.

George stood up, turned to his father behind the desk, and bowed respectfully: "Father."

Edward de lapol gave a muffled response from his throat.

He slightly raised his hand, his voice low and hoarse, clearly weak: "George... sit down."

His gaze lingered on George's face for a few seconds, then he wearily closed his eyes again.

"George, was the journey smooth?" Uncle Albert asked gently, breaking the brief silence.

"It went fairly smoothly, Uncle, thank you for your concern. The carriage ride was a bit bumpy, but luckily the weather was nice."

George replied and sat down in a chair next to Uncle Albert.

Sybil and Frederick each found a seat and sat down.

"How's it going, London? Your... job? Ha, a viscount's heir going to actually be a resident physician, that's not exactly 'noble'."

Arthur's voice was loud and clear, with a slightly foreign accent, and his attitude was very casual.

George briefly recounted his work at St. Simeon, omitting the esoteric aspects and focusing only on daily ward rounds, conversational therapy with patients, and the overcrowding and coal smoke of London.

Grandmother listened attentively, nodding solemnly from time to time, while Uncle Albert listened thoughtfully.

Arthur, on the other hand, seemed quite interested, occasionally interjecting with questions about London's sights and sounds.

"It's good that you're back; your family needs you."

Viscount Edward suddenly spoke up again during a break in George's narration.

His voice wasn't loud, but for some reason, everyone in the room fell silent the moment he spoke.

He raised his hand and waved, pointing towards the manor outside the window.

"My days are numbered. Now that you're back, take your time to manage the estate... Albert and Carson will help you..."

He stopped to catch his breath, his chest heaving, and his face seemed even more ashen.

A strange light flashed in Old Lady Violet's eyes as she softly advised:

"Edward, don't rush, George just got back, there's plenty of time."

Viscount Edward stubbornly shook his head, his cloudy gaze refocusing on George's face with a resolute air.

"No...time is running out, you need to get ready as soon as possible." He paused, as if he had used up all his strength, "This family...will depend on you from now on."

The study was silent except for the crackling of the burning wood in the fireplace.

George felt that invisible pressure fall on his shoulders, but looking at his cheap father's dejected appearance, his doubts deepened.

"I understand, Father," George replied in a deep voice. "I will do my best."

"Good..." Viscount Edward seemed finally satisfied, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes, as if his words had exhausted all his energy.

Uncle Albert aptly changed the subject, asking George for details of his journey.

Arthur joined in, while his grandmother Violet inquired about George's life in London.

Sybil occasionally chimed in, trying to lighten the mood.

Frederick sat silently in the corner, his fingers unconsciously stroking the velvet on the sofa armrest, appearing somewhat absent-minded.

Time passed in conversation, and soon there was a gentle knock on the study door. Butler Carson entered and respectfully asked:

"Madam, Sir, dinner will be ready soon. Mrs. Hughes is wondering when we should eat?"

"Then let's go."

Old Lady Violet nodded and stood up, leaning on her cane.

Viscount Edward slowly opened his eyes with Albert's gentle calls and support, and stood up with some difficulty, leaning on the armrest.

George followed the others out of the study and, led by Carson's butler, headed towards the dining room.

Sybil followed him and whispered:

"Your man, Elliott, should already be waiting for you in your room."

George understood, parted ways with the others at the top of the stairs, and went up to the third floor alone.

The corridor was covered with thick carpets, which absorbed the sound of footsteps.

He pushed open the door to his room.

The room was spacious and, by George's standards, quite elaborately decorated.

The four-poster bed, made of dark walnut wood, was draped with heavy curtains.

The fireplace was lit, dispelling the chill of early autumn.

Elliott stood with his back to the door, next to an open suitcase, holding a neatly pressed black evening tuxedo jacket.

Upon hearing the door open, Elliott immediately turned around.

"Young master, you're back. I'm just getting you dressed."

George nodded and took off the casual jacket he had worn on the trip.

Elliott quickly helped him change into a crisply starched white shirt, a black waistcoat, and a bow tie, and finally put on a well-tailored black tuxedo jacket.

"How's it going in the servants' quarters?" George asked casually, adjusting his cuffs.

Elliott's hands moved without pause, his voice was low but his speech was clear.

"Butler Carson personally took me there. The rooms were very clean, and there were quite a few servants."

"In the butler's room, Mr. Carson introduced me to Mrs. Hughes, the housekeeper, the head valet, and the head maid. Mrs. Hughes seemed kind and friendly—it felt like the rules here were strict under Mr. Carson's leadership, but the atmosphere was still quite harmonious."

George listened quietly, and at the end he smiled.

"Carson and Mrs. Hughes' personalities don't seem to have changed much. Thank you, Elliott, this is very helpful."

"If I'm not mistaken, the atmosphere downstairs in the manor is always very harmonious; you'll like it here."

"Yes, sir." Elliott smoothed out the last wrinkle in George's coat and took a step back.

George nodded in satisfaction and patted Elliott on the shoulder.

"Alright, let's get to know this manor now."