Chapter 11: Whispers in the Corridor and Cold Shoulders
The morning sun cut sharp diagonal beams across the polished marble floor of the main foyer, but the atmosphere among the remaining domestic staff was anything but warm. Ever since Arthur appointed me to oversee administrative operations, the unspoken divide between the old-guard department heads and my new position had hardened into open resentment.
As I walked down the sweeping staircase with a stack of vendor invoices under my arm, I overheard the sharp, hushed whispers of Mrs. Gable, the veteran head housekeeper, talking to the new butler near the conservatory entrance.
"—don't know how long Mr. Vance plans on keeping her up in the private quarters," Mrs. Gable muttered, her face pinched with disapproval as she adjusted her starched apron. "A girl straight from a working-class flat in town, running the entire estate just because she handed him some fruit. It's an insult to everyone who's spent decades serving this family."
I paused on the landing, my jaw tightening. I could have turned around and avoided the confrontation, but running away was no longer an option. I squared my shoulders, adjusted my posture, and walked down the remaining steps, my heels clicking sharply against the marble.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gable," I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the quiet corridor.
The head housekeeper froze, her spine stiffening as she turned to face me. Her eyes dropped briefly to the invoices in my hands before rising to meet mine with an icy glare. "Miss Vance—pardon me, Miss Evelyn. I wasn't aware we were keeping office hours in the main hallway."
"We aren't," I replied evenly, stepping close enough to make her shift her weight uncomfortably. "We're maintaining estate efficiency. If you have concerns about my administrative duties or my background, my door is open in the study. But I suggest you keep those concerns out of the public corridors where guests and vendors can hear them. Mr. Vance expects professionalism from everyone in this house, starting at the top."
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Mrs. Gable's face flushed a deep, mottled crimson, but she bit back whatever sharp retort was on her tongue. She dipped her head in a stiff, reluctant nod. "Understood, Miss Evelyn."
As she turned and hurried down the hallway toward the kitchens, a quiet sense of triumph settled in my chest. I wasn't just surviving in Arthur Vance's world anymore; I was holding my ground, proving that my presence in this mansion was earned through capability and strength of will. Yet, I knew that local gossip and high-society whispers outside the gates were only beginning to gather momentum.
