Chapter 3: Morning Queries in the Study
The morning sun brought no warmth, only a glaring, clinical light that exposed every imperfection in the study's wainscoting. I sat behind the heavy oak desk, turning a brass paperknife over and over in my palm. The door clicked open, and Clara entered, carrying a silver tray with a porcelain teapot. Her movements were precise, rehearsed, but her eyes kept darting toward the heavy velvet curtains as if expecting someone to step through them.
"Clara," I said, setting the paperknife down. "Set the tray here."
She complied, her fingers trembling slightly as she poured the amber liquid into the cup. She didn't look at me, keeping her gaze lowered toward the polished mahogany surface.
"You were in the drawing room yesterday when Jura spoke," I began, my tone low and steady. "You heard what she said about the night."
Clara's hand froze above the silver creamer. She took a slow, deep breath, her chest rising and falling beneath the stiff white lace of her apron.
"I hear many things in this house, Mr. Julian," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner. "Things that are meant for the walls to keep."
"Victor was in the corridor last night. Outside my door," I said, leaning forward. "Jura isn't talking about ghosts. She's talking about someone who walks through private quarters uninvited. Does he have keys to every room?"
Clara looked up then, her eyes wide and dark with a quiet, hard-earned fear. "Mr. Victor holds the master ring. The old one. The heavy brass set that opens every deadbolt in the east and west wings. He keeps it in his desk drawer in the estate office. But... there is another ring."
"Another ring?"
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"A duplicate set," Clara said, leaning closer, her voice dropping to a harsh rasp. "Made six months ago, right after the last audit. He claimed it was for emergency staff access, but none of us were ever given those keys. Only him."
The pieces clicked together with the heavy finality of a vault door closing. The nocturnal visits weren't random wanderings; they were systematic checks of our private spaces, conducted by the man responsible for the estate's ledgers.
