Chapter 3 - The Quiet Space Above
The second-floor linen room was unexpectedly spacious, smelling faintly of dried lavender and sun-bleached cotton. Tall shelves lined the walls, stacked high with neat piles of white sheets, heavy wool blankets, and embroidered pillowcases. A narrow wrought-iron cot had been pulled out from the corner, made up with crisp linens that felt infinitely softer than the thin mattress in my rented room across town. I sat on the edge of the bed, wearing a dry oversized cotton shirt that smelled of clean soap while my damp maid uniform hung over the back of a wooden chair to dry.
A soft knock at the heavy oak door broke the quiet, and before I could answer, Veto pushed it open, stepping aside to let a small, elderly man enter carrying a worn leather medical bag. The man had kind, tired eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and silver hair brushed neatly back from a lined forehead.
"This is Dr. Rossi," Veto said quietly, closing the door behind them and remaining standing near the frame like a silent sentinel. "He's tended to this house for thirty years. He will make sure you and the child are properly looked after."
"Mr. Ferrante tells me you've been working double shifts on your feet without a proper midday meal," Dr. Rossi said, pulling up a straight-backed wooden chair and snapping open his bag with practiced ease. His voice was gentle, carrying the faint cadence of old-country Italy. "Let's have a look at you, young woman. Unbutton your cuffs and let me check your pulse."
For twenty minutes, the small room was filled with the quiet rustle of paper, the steady tick of a pocket watch, and the low murmur of professional questions. Dr. Rossi listened to my chest, pressed his warm hands gently against my swollen abdomen, and measured my blood pressure with quiet concentration. Every time the baby gave a sudden, sharp kick against my ribs, I held my breath, afraid the doctor would find something wrong, something weak.
Instead, Dr. Rossi offered a reassuring smile as he packed his stethoscope away. "You're severely fatigued, and you've lost weight in your face, but the child is strong and active. You need rest, proper nutrition, and an absolute halt to heavy lifting or standing for hours on stone floors. If you ignore this advice, you'll burn out completely before the season changes."
"Can she work lighter duties?" Veto asked from the doorway, his arms crossed over his dark vest. His gaze was fixed on the doctor, demanding a precise, actionable answer.
"Administration, yes," Dr. Rossi said, snapping his bag shut. "Inventory, ledgers, sitting at a desk. But no scrubbing patios, no hauling linens, and no standing in the rain. She needs calm surroundings and regular meals."
"She'll have them," Veto said firmly. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll have someone escort you out."
When the door clicked shut behind Dr. Rossi, the room felt suddenly smaller, charged with an unspoken tension. Veto walked over to the small table by the window, picking up a heavy leather-bound ledger that had been left there earlier by one of the junior footmen. He ran his thumb over the gold-embossed spine before turning his dark eyes back to me.
"You heard him," Veto said softly. "The patio work is finished for you. Permanently."
"Mr. Ferrante, I can't just sit here and take charity," I said, my voice barely above a whisper as I clutched the cotton blanket around my shoulders. "The agency placed me here to work. If I don't earn my keep, Mrs. Gable will find a way to push me out the moment your back is turned."
Veto stepped closer, stopping a few feet from the iron cot. His expression was inscrutable, yet there was a steady, protective weight in his stance that commanded absolute silence. "You won't be taking charity, Willow. You'll be working smarter. The household accounts are a disaster, full of phantom supply orders and inflated vendor invoices that Mrs. Gable's people have been pushing through for months. I need someone with an eye for detail to audit the ledgers from top to bottom. Can you handle numbers?"
May you like
I looked at the heavy leather book in his hands, remembering the bookkeeping classes I'd finished before my life unraveled. "Yes. I can do that."
"Good," Veto said, placing the ledger gently on my lap. "Then starting tomorrow, this room is your office. No one enters without my permission. Let's see who is really invisible in this house when the numbers start talking."
