Chapter 3 - Midnight Warnings
The solitary lamp on my iron-framed cot cast long, wavering shadows against the damp stone walls of the staff quarters. I sat on the edge of the mattress, my left hand resting in my lap, the black wool glove feeling heavier by the hour. A soft, double knock rapped against my door—too measured to be Mrs. Gable, too light to be Julian. I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs, before standing slowly to slide the iron latch back.
Clara stood in the dim corridor, the silk of her red dress replaced by a dark velvet evening wrap. She looked out of place among the exposed pipes and whitewashed bricks of the basement level, yet she carried herself with the same effortless authority she wore in the dining room. Without waiting for an invitation, she stepped past me into the narrow room, her gaze sweeping over the simple dresser and the single small window near the ceiling.
"You have a habit of drawing lightning, girl," Clara said quietly, keeping her voice pitched low so it wouldn't carry through the thin floorboards above. She reached into the pocket of her wrap and pulled out a small, thick envelope, placing it deliberately on the wooden nightstand.
I stared at the envelope, my fingers curling into my palms. "I didn't mean to drop the tray. My hand slipped."
"Julian doesn't believe in accidents," Clara replied, turning to face me, her dark eyes sharp and appraising under the dim light. "He spends his life managing risks, dissecting variables, and rooting out anything that doesn't fit his understanding of the world. A housemaid wearing a single glove in the middle of a formal dinner is an anomaly he won't let go of. He has people who dig into backgrounds for sport."
May you like
"I have a right to my privacy," I said, though the words sounded hollow even to my own ears. In this house, privacy was a currency only the wealthy could afford.
"Privacy is a luxury reserved for those who don't need hiding places," Clara said, her tone softening just a fraction, devoid of malice but dripping with cold pragmatism. She tapped the envelope on the wood. "There's enough cash in there for a bus ticket out of the county, first thing in the morning. If you stay, Julian will find out what you're hiding under that fabric. And once he finds an answer he doesn't like, neither of us will be able to protect your place here." She turned toward the door, pausing with her hand on the frame. "Think about it before sunrise."
