The knock was rushed. Three sharp taps — which was quite uncharacteristic for Mrs. Maureen.
Mrs. Cross looked up from her crystal pen set, her fingers frozen mid-ink. "Enter," she called, she was already annoyed. She looked back down, into her book.
Maureen stepped in, her usually unreadable face taut with so much urgency.
She stood at the edge of the sitting room, hands tightly folded in front of her. Her mouth was pressed into a line so thin it looked carved. She cleared her throat. Still Nothing.
Mrs. Cross delicately turned the page of a leather-bound book, seated beside a tray of untouched tea and shortbread.
"Maureen," she finally said, not lifting her gaze. "I do hope this is important. You know how I feel about disruptions before noon."
Mrs. Maureen took a step forward, lowering her voice.
"Ma'am, I wouldn't have interrupted unless it was important," she said quickly.
Mrs. Cross set her pen down. "Then don't waste time convincing me it is."
Maureen took one step closer again and lowered her voice even more. "It's the new girl. Ashley Patterson."
"What about her?" Mrs. Cross finally looked up, with one brow elegantly raised.
"She… found something whilst in the study."
Mrs. Cross's brows twitched. "Found what, precisely?"
Maureen took a careful breath. "The letter."
The silence that followed was instant and full.
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Mrs. Cross set her book down with exquisite care.
"That letter?" Her gaze sharpened.
Maureen gave a slight nod. "Yes."
The words hung between them like a storm cloud. Mrs. Cross rose slowly, smoothing out a wrinkle on her sleeve. She turned away, walking toward the window, the sun highlighting the sharp bone structure of her face.
"Did she read it?" Her eyes narrowed.
"Yes ma'am. She read it out loud to Elise."
Mrs. Cross's head tilted slightly. "Of course she did. That child's always been too eager to talk." She turned, calm but cold. "How much?"
"The entire thing, I believe."
Mrs. Cross crossed her arms, her rings catching the light. "And Elise? What did she say?"
"She asked who N.C. was. Ashley didn't know."
Mrs. Cross let out a breath. "So, she doesn't understand the context."
"No, ma'am."
A pause.
"Still…" Maureen added, "she's been asking questions. A lot of questions. She's too observant. She doesn't just do her job — she looks."
Mrs. Cross picked up her teacup but didn't drink. "It was a mistake bringing her in. That was Luke's idea, yes?"
Maureen's voice tensed. "Yes, ma'am. He insisted she had the right energy."
"Too much energy," Mrs. Cross muttered. She sipped. "And entirely the wrong kind."
"And she has been seen talking to Jake twice this week." Mrs. Maureen added.
"And the letter." Mrs. Cross placed the cup down firmly. "That was meant to be destroyed years ago. I suppose I'll have to burn what's left of the past myself."
Maureen hesitated. "What do we do with her?"
Mrs. Cross's face hardened. "We put her in her place. Remind her what she was hired to do."
"And Elise?"
Mrs. Cross narrowed her eyes. "Elise is still young. She is loyal, but malleable. We'll tighten her boundaries."
"She won't understand."
"She doesn't need to. She just needs to obey."
Mrs. Cross stood, adjusting the cuff of her pale cream blouse, voice like ice: "It's time she was reminded that curiosity has its cost."
Mrs. Cross turned, voice sharp. "Send for Ashley. Right now."
Ashley was scrubbing the edge of the stone path near the back garden when the butler appeared behind her.
"Miss Patterson."
She startled, nearly dropping the brush. "Y-yes?"
"Mrs. Cross has requested your presence. Immediately."
Ashley wiped her hands on the hem of her apron, heart beginning to pound. "Did she say what for?"
"No, miss." The man's face gave nothing away. "Please come with me."
Ashley nodded and followed in silence, with anxiety curling inside her like a living thing.
Had Andrew said something? Or Jake? Did Elise mention the letter? Was she about to get fired?
The walk to Mrs. Cross's quarters felt longer than usual.
She walked slowly. Her hands still smelled of polish and vinegar. Her heart picked up a strange rhythm in her chest.
The walk felt like miles. She could barely hear her footsteps over the anxious thoughts racing through her mind.
By the time they arrived, she felt queasy. The butler knocked once before opening the door.
"Miss Patterson, ma'am."
The butler opened the door and gestured her in.
The room was stunning. It had tall bookshelves, pale walls, and clean floral scent. All that somehow made Ashley's chest tighter.
Ashley stepped inside, curtsying shakily. She was careful not to trip.
Mrs. Cross sat in her armchair. She had her legs crossed, and perfectly still. A soft classical melody played from an old gramophone in the corner of the room.
"Miss Patterson," she said without looking up. "How fortunate that you're free."
Ashley stayed quiet.
Mrs. Cross finally looked at her. "Tell me. Have you enjoyed your time here so far?"
Ashley blinked. "I—yes. I mean, I've been trying my best."
Mrs. Cross stood, her posture regal. "You've taken liberties that do not belong to you."
Ashley's breath caught. "I didn't mean to—"
"You read something you shouldn't have," Mrs. Cross interrupted, walking slowly around her. "And you discussed it with someone else. Is that how you conduct yourself in every home you work in?"
Ashley looked down. "It wasn't intentional. I was cleaning—"
"And the letter simply leapt into your hands?" Her voice was laced with mockery.
"No ma'am," Ashley said quietly. "I found it behind a book."
"Found," Mrs. Cross echoed. "And instead of turning it in, you read it."
Ashley felt heat rise to her cheeks. "It sounded personal. I was just—curious."
"Curiosity," Mrs. Cross murmured, circling her like a hawk, "is the fastest path to destruction in this house."
Ashley felt her throat close.
"I didn't mean to pry," she said quickly. "It just… It fell out when I was dusting. I put it away."
Mrs. Cross stepped closer, her heels whispering against the rug. "You read it."
Ashley's mouth went dry. "Just a sentence. I wasn't—"
"You read it," Mrs. Cross repeated, her voice softer now. Way too soft. "And you showed it to someone else."
"I didn't mean anything by it. I was confused—"
Mrs. Cross stopped in front of her.
"Let me make this perfectly clear," she said, her words like polished glass. "You were hired to clean, to change the sheets, and to polish silver. You weren't hired to go poking around in private matters that do not concern you."
"Did it not occur to you," she went on, "that certain things are hidden for a reason? That some stories are not yours to uncover?"
Ashley swallowed hard, "I wasn't trying to cause trouble."
"And yet," Mrs. Cross said, stepping in front of her, "trouble seems to follow you."
Mrs. Cross walked slowly past her. "You speak to the sons. You question the staff. You linger where you shouldn't."
"I only asked Elise—"
"Elise is young and impressionable," Mrs. Cross snapped. "We've worked very hard to maintain order here. We don't need new maids unsettling things."
Ashley felt heat rush to her face — part fear, part anger. "Then maybe you should've told me what not to touch."
Mrs. Cross turned slowly, as if studying a child who didn't know when to keep quiet.
"I suggest you mind your tone, Miss Patterson."
Ashley pressed her lips together.
Mrs. Cross smiled. "To help you focus, I've had Maureen prepare a list. Something to keep your hands busy and your thoughts out of matters far above your station."
The door opened.
Mrs. Maureen entered the room with an unreadable face. She held a clipboard with several pages clipped to it.
She handed it to Ashley without a word and without making eye contact.
Ashley scanned the first page, with her hands trembling.
Her mouth tightened.
"I have two sons who barely listen. A staff full of gossip. And now I have you — poking into ghosts you were never meant to see." She paused. "So. What exactly are you hoping to find here, Miss Patterson?"
Ashley met her gaze. "Nothing. I just want to work and send money to my mom."
Mrs. Cross's expression didn't change. "Then perhaps you should do just that. And leave the rest to those of us who've lived through what you only wonder about."
Mrs. Cross then turned her gaze to the clipboard.
"This," she said, "is your revised schedule. It is to ensure your time is well spent."
Ashley took another look at it and glanced down.
• Reorganize all pantry storage by size, label, and frequency of use.
• Polish the ballroom chandeliers — all five — by hand.
• Scrub the second and third-floor hallway tile grout with vinegar and brush.
• Iron and fold all banquet linens for Sunday's dinner.
• Wash and detail all windows in the east wing.
Note: All chores must be done before dinner.
All this… today?" she asked faintly.
Mrs. Cross was pouring herself more tea. "Before dinner service."
Ashley looked up, stunned. "This is… a full day's work. For three people."
Mrs. Cross smiled faintly. "And yet, you're one."
Ashley felt tears threaten the corners of her eyes but refused to blink.
Ashley stared at her. "But that's— that's impossible."
Mrs. Cross didn't even blink. "Not if you're quick. You are quick, aren't you?"
Ashley clutched the clipboard to her chest, heart pounding.
"Yes, ma'am," she said quietly.
"Good." Mrs. Cross smiled that same delicate, distant smile. "Then we won't have any more... incidents."
"Is this punishment?" Ashley asked out of confusion.
"No," Mrs. Cross said. "It's discipline. You needed to be reminded of your place."
Ashley's voice was tight. "I think I understand now."
"I'm glad," Mrs. Cross said. "Do let us know if any other letters… fall into your hands."
Ashley turned without a word.
She quickly stepped into the hallway, shoulders stiff, lips pressed into a thin line.
She couldn't breathe properly. She couldn't think either.
The clipboard felt like a brick in her arms. She walked briskly down the servant corridor, the clipboard pressed flat against her chest.
Her mind felt like a chalkboard full of scribbles — thoughts bumping over each other, messy, and loud.
They were punishing her. Not firing her. Not yet. But they were watching, waiting, and smiling while they buried her under work.
She blinked hard to keep the tears down and turned toward the staircase.
She passed by the side staircase and saw Elise coming down the hall, with a folded towel stack in her hands.
"Elise," Her voice came out sharper than intended. But she needed to see her. Needed someone, anyone, to talk to.
Ashley hurried toward her. "Elise, hey—"
But Elise didn't stop.
She didn't even slow down.
She walked right past Ashley, eyes fixed ahead, jaw tight.
"Elise?" Ashley turned, stunned. "Didn't you hear me?"
Nothing. Not even a glance back.
Ashley stood frozen in the corridor, blinking after her.
Her throat felt dry. Her chest ached. That hollow feeling from before — it returned like a bruise being pressed.
Ashley tried once more. This time, stepping into her path. "Elise, hey."
Elise's eyes flickered to her — then immediately away.
"Elise?"
"I can't talk right now," Elise said quickly, not stopping.
"But just for a second—"
"I can't, Ash." Her voice was tight, almost guilty. She brushed past.
Ashley turned to follow. "Did something happen? Did someone say something to you?"
Elise didn't answer.
"Elise, please—"
Elise paused at the end of the hallway, not looking back. She stood for a moment, then turned the corner without a word.
Ashley stared at the empty space she left behind.
Her chest felt like it had collapsed inward.
The one person who made this place bearable had just… walked away.
She sat down at the base of the stairs, the clipboard now limp in her hands.
The hallway was quiet.
But the silence felt watched.
She looked down at the list again, blinking away the sting behind her eyes.
The tasks blurred together. The floor felt too still. The house too quiet.
She gripped the paper tighter, her knuckles white against the edge.
She glanced once more down the hallway where Elise had disappeared.
Then, softly — like someone afraid of the answer — she whispered the only question her heart could manage:
"What is going on in this house?"