Chapter 4: A Quiet Slip Past The Guards
The silence in the servant quarters after midnight had a heavy, suffocating weight to it. My maroon uniform still carried the faint scent of the roast lamb and heavy red wine from the evening service, but the lace collar felt tight against my throat, chafing slightly as I breathed. I sat on the edge of the narrow metal cot, rubbing my palms together to chase away the chill that had settled deep into my bones. Outside my small window, the wind rattled the bare branches of the oak trees against the brick facade of the east wing. Every creak of the old floorboards overhead sounded like footsteps, reminding me of Lorenzo’s heavy stride and Elena’s sharp-heeled shoes clicking against the parquet.
I couldn't just stay here. The image of the elderly man’s wrinkled hand resting against my stomach—his frail fingers offering a quiet anchor when the world in that opulent dining hall was collapsing around us—kept playing behind my eyes. He had called me by no name, but his defense of me had been absolute, and Elena’s cold threat still echoed in the corners of my mind. They were planning something in the dark, away from the prying eyes of the few remaining loyal staff. If I didn't find out how he was holding up, nobody else would.
I slipped my shoes off, carrying them by the heels to muffle any sound, and cracked my bedroom door open. The hallway was plunged in shadow, the warm chandeliers of the main floor extinguished for the night, leaving only the pale moonlight cutting through the tall, arched windows at the ends of the corridor.
Moving with practiced stealth, I kept close to the wood-paneled walls where the carpet absorbed the worst of my footsteps. My route bypassed the main stairwell entirely, where I knew private security guards were stationed during the night shift. Instead, I headed toward the narrow service corridor used for laundry carts and tray collection—a labyrinth of narrow passages that threaded through the hidden heart of the grand old mansion.
The air grew cooler and smelled of old dust and damp stone as I descended toward the dining hall level. As I approached the intersection near the east staircase, a low murmur of voices made me freeze instantly. I pressed my back hard against the cool plaster, holding my breath.
"Shift change is at two," a heavy, gravelly voice muttered just around the corner.
"Keep your eyes on the hall by the library," a second voice replied, accompanied by the distinct metallic jingle of a guard's belt. "The old man’s tossing and turning, but Madame Elena said nobody goes near that table tonight unless she authorizes it personally."
"Even the girl?"
"Especially the girl. She’s got some nerve, but Lorenzo’s ready to clear out the whole lower wing if she shows her face again."
I waited, listening to the slow, heavy thud of their boots as they patrolled away toward the library wing. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that felt too loud in the dead of night. When the footsteps faded down the hall, I crept forward until I reached the heavy double doors of the grand dining hall.
I tested the brass handles gently. They didn't budge. Locked from the inside, just as I had feared. The massive oak panels were thick enough to deaden any sound from within, leaving me cut off from the very room where the fate of the estate—and the man who had defended my unborn child—was being decided.
Frustration flared briefly, but training took over. Estates this old, built in the early part of the last century, always had redundancies. Behind a heavy velvet drape two yards down the wall, concealed behind a decorative molding of carved oak leaves, was the secondary maintenance panel.
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My fingers traced the small brass latch in the dark. It gave way with a faint, oiled click. I pulled the panel open, revealing a narrow vertical shaft where old radiator pipes and electrical conduits ran upward between the walls. A draft of warm, polished air breathed out from the gap, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of old beeswax and expensive pipe tobacco.
Squeezing sideways into the tight space, I felt my way upward using the wooden support beams until my fingers brushed against cold glass. I pressed my face close to the back of the large ornamental mirrors that lined the far wall of the dining hall, peering through a hairline gap in the tarnished backing.
