I held my breath as the large assuming man moved to stand beside me, bending over slightly to look at the papers scattered about. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and assume he was actually going to read the restoration layout, but looking at him from the side of my eyes, he seemed so focused. After what felt like an agonizingly long amount of time, he spoke.

“Hm, wattle fences are no good. It’s affordable, but it isn’t durable and doesn't have a high resistance to rot. We want to stay away from weak construction, that’ll deteriorate quickly.” He said, running his fingers along the pages. I was completely shocked, was this man actually giving me constructive feedback?

“Would a stone material work better?” I questioned. Never had I considered the longevity of the wood. I only knew that wattle fences were easy to install.

“What’s this? A pergola never existed in the garden, it’ll be a headache to worry about,” Marcus mumbled under his breath. It had been loud enough to hear, so I made a point to ask any questions I could get in while Marcus was being agreeable. 

“Well, what about a fountain?” I asked. He suddenly turned to look at me, well more so in my direction. His eyes seemingly off somewhere distant. After a moment he replied.

“..No. I don't think a–,”

DISSOLVE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s pleasuance garden. An afternoon conversation near a large shaded oak tree. 3PL POV.

“–a fountain in the garden? I don’t think that would work,” Lady Ophelia answered. A smile playing on her lips. Marcus sat there next to the Duchess, atop the Silent Jade Moss, under the shade of an old oak tree.

“My, my, I seem to find out more and more about the marvelous Marcus Arkwright with each passing day,” She continued with a chuckle. 

“I-I just think that it might be a nice addition to your garden,” Marcus stuttered.

“Oh, Mr. Arkwright, I completely agree! Fountains certainly have their appeal, and I’m pleased to know that you have such refined tastes for sculpture. I’ve always felt that the premier sound in a garden is the hum of bees and the rustle of leaves that can not be found in a gushing fountain."

WIPE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s workshop. A meeting in the late morning. Most certainly not a ‘heated’ conversation. Henry’s POV.

“–a fountain in the garden? I don’t think that would work. A well-crafted pergola, is a fine idea,” Marcus said, nodding his head in agreement.

Marcus ended up speaking with me for over an hour. He thoroughly explained things I didn’t understand, like why a new landscape design that had been poorly planned could end up causing major headaches in the future. Signifying the importance of keeping the current landscape, by simply updating the materials, would be mutually beneficial to the new design. He explained that the only way the new pergola would last is if we ensure it's built on the proper footings, which would prevent the wood from rotting or the structure from shifting over time.

“Two more things, Footman,” Marcus said pointing to the paper on the workbench. I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes, I’d been here so long and he’s still calling me whatever she wants.

“This new memorial, just know, we’ll have to contract a stone mason, and the Verdantian jade won’t be easy to come by,” Marcus explained, gathering the papers and tapping them on the table, aligning them.

“Where do you take your lunch?” Marcus asked, after my stomach growled loudly.

“The east wing kitchen,” I replied, clearing my throat. My face flushed in embarrassment.

“Right, I’ll finish the list of material and supplies and have it ready for you to pick up this afternoon. I assume you need approval from the steward?” He asked. I simply nodded in agreement.

“That’ll be good,” He said, smirking, holding out his stout hand. I took it and shook firmly before making my way out of the workshop.

A place I wish I never had to return to, I thought massaging my throbbing hand. There was no reason to squeeze that hard.

------------

Feeling only the slightest of triumphs, I made my way back towards the east wing. Passing by a second-floor hall window, I saw Basil and his crew hard at work uprooting plants from the garden.

The closer I got to the kitchen, the stronger the yeasty notes of fresh-baked bread seemed to smell. I had no idea what Mr. Murphy was cooking, but my mouth couldn’t help but salivate at the savory smell of sauteed onions and garlic. 

“Coming though, dreary! Delivering lunch for the gardeners,” Mrs. Murphy called, rushing out the kitchen door. Two large covered trays balanced atop her hands.

“Help set the table, will you? I don’t want those milky stumps on my cutlery,” Mr. Murphy whispered to me before hurrying behind Mrs. Murphy.

“Hello, Mrs. Shelby,” I said with a smile, walking into the kitchen.

“Henry, how nice to see you, come sit for a minute. I’m sure you’d had a day,” The older woman said, lightly patting the wooden chair at the table beside her. I obeyed and took a seat. Out of all the staff in the east wing, I had the most fondness for Shelby. She was a seasoned employee who was fair and didn’t judge. She also didn’t care what other people had to say about her, either. As long as her work was done, she was content. It dawned on me then, that Shelby was absolutely a seasoned employee. In fact she may be able to answer some of my questions.

“Shelby, I had a question about the Villani family,” I said, turning my body slightly in the chair to fully face her. She stared at me with an expression that gave nothing away. She simply nodded, prompting me to continue.

“I heard that the Mauvais family was stripped of its title and is now a sub-family of house Villani. How did Viscountess Beatrice become Duchess Alistair?” 

“House Villani over the centuries has raised its kind to be arrogant and hypocritical. When one is powerful, entitlement and cruelty are often left unchecked. That is what that woman brought here, but what you really want to know is how Beatrice Mauvais-Villani became Beatrice Villani-Alistair,” Shelby said, a brief look of profound revulsion flashed across her face. What she said was nothing short of the truth. How did Beatrice marry into house Alistair and what happened to Jeramiah Mauvais and his family?

“After the Duke wed, Beatrice married Viscount Jeremiah Mauvais under the pressure of house Villani. She was able to successfully secure a position in the imperial court through the Mauvais family. At the time, she didn’t have much power, but she had enough status and wealth attached to her name to intimidate, exploit, and punish anyone of her choosing. Jeremiah Mauvais, being at the top of the list at the time,” She explained. I gulped, growing uncomfortable with how the story was unfolding. If it was as I suspected, Jeremiah Mauvais was indeed deceased and not by accident.

“It’s said Jeremiah died in a carriage accident, right in front of his loving wife and innocent child,” Shelby said flatly as she stared into my eyes. Those eyes were wholly inconsistent with her words, almost as though she didn’t believe anything that she was saying.

“Do you not believe that to be the cause of his death?” I questioned.

“I absolutely believe that to be the cause of his death, I just believe it could have happened twice over and that would’ve been the reason I lay before you today,” She said, simply.

“Do you mean to say that his death was staged–?” I paused, as Shelby held up her wrinkly hand.

“Stop. Henry, we do not dwell where there is no proof. A rotten heart has eyes and ears just like you and I, only it hides beneath lavish clothes. Watch.your.tongue,” She said quietly, before lowering her hand.

I hadn’t really fully understood the weight of the situation until now. If what Shelby says is true, then we’ve all been thrust into a dangerous web of deceit. Not only that, we were asked and agreed to it like fools. Each and every one of us is disposable, just like Viscount Mauvais. Perhaps just like Lady Isadora and Ophelia as well.

“The Villani’s have cast a shadow over house Alistair, for some time now. We’ve grown used to it. Sometimes complacency is the safest place to reside, Henry,” She said, looking at me seriously. Before I could reply the Murphy's came bursting though the door clamoring loudly.

“Alright, who's ready for lunch?” Mrs. Murphy asked, starting to place the bowls of prepared food on the table.

“Where’s Anita?” Mr. Murphy asked, taking a quick look around the kitchen.

I looked around as well, that was indeed strange. Anita typically was present with everyone else when we joined for meals. I couldn’t help but wonder if she’s gotten caught up helping Lady Isadora? Although, when I served her, I never even saw the inside of her chambers. I put the idea that it could be anything concerning out of my head. Amid the symphony of the light clatter of cutlery on wooden plates and the buzz of lively conversation between us all, I found it rather hard to harbor such negativity. It seemed we had found the beginning of a family and some semblance of normalcy here in the east wing…

But how wrong we were. The delicate threads of our truth were being pulled, and the whole tapestry was coming apart before our very eyes, and we hadn’t the faintest idea.

“My god, Anita! Whatever is the matter?” Mrs. Murphy cried out as her fork clattered to the ground.

I turned to look, and by the kitchen door there stood Anita, frozen in the doorway. A vacant gaze overtook her face, she was too pale and seemingly drained of complete complexion. Her mouth was turned down and as her bottom lip held a visible tremble. Almost as though she was trying to suppress all the emotions that threatened to spill out any second. I couldn’t help but think of a conversation I had with Sir Ashborne, about those–,”

DISSOLVE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s east wing, doorside of Lady Isadora’s bed chamber. An initially casual conversation between a personal knight and a footman while waiting to deliver coal and a warm meal. 3PL POV.

“–those unfortunate souls ravaged by war,” Sir Ashborne said, with little to no expression on his cleanly shaven face. Henry paused briefly before responding.

“You seem a little young for war,” He finally said. 

“When you’re a commoner, every passing day seems to resemble a bit of war, doesn’t it, Mr. Dorran?” Sir Ashborne asked. Henry pondered the question but didn’t respond.

“Just last year, I fought in a great battle. It ran along the empire’s eastern wall, we were to suppress the creatures emerging from the Forest of Death, and for the first time in my life, I saw grown men brought to their knees in fear,” Sir Ashborne said, pausing to look down at the bucket of coal hanging in his hands. After a brief silence, he spoke again.

“Mr. Dorran have you ever heard of a ‘thousand-yard stare’?” He asked, as Henry shook his head.

“An individual is instilled with such terror that they are struck paralyzed in complete fear. Their gaze is left unfocused, fixed on nothing in particular. It’s as if they’re looking right through people and even objects.” He paused, his hands tightening on the metal handle of the coal bucket.

“I pray, I’m able to keep the citizens of the De’Wraith Empire from ever having such a lifeless look as a–,”

WIPE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s kitchen. A seemingly pleasant meal among ‘friends’ in the early afternoon. Henry’s POV.

“–a thousand-yard stare,” I mumbled , incoherently under my breath as Mrs. Murphy and Shelby rushed over to Anita’s side.

“What’s happened Anita? You look a mess!” Shelby asked, the worried expression on her face growing by the second.

I looked over at Mr. Murphy, we both had raised from our seats, standing rigidly in place at a loss for what to do. Whatever may have happened, the duty of consoling Anita was better left to the women.

“..I’m fine, fine.” Anita muttered in a tone that lacked all conviction as she attempted to pull away from Mrs. Murphy and Shelby’s embrace.

“I said I’m fine, damn it! Let go!” We all jumped in surprise at Anita’s uncharacteristic outburst. This was the first time I’d ever heard Anita raise her voice. I watched uncomfortably as she slowly sank to the ground sobbing. What exactly had happened to her?

“Alright, out, out, all of you out,” Mrs. Murphy said quite literally pushing Mr. Murphy and myself out of the kitchen. The door shut behind us with a thud. We stood in a brief silence in front of the sturdy wooden door.

“Won’t be getting back in there for a while,” Mr. Murphy said simply, sauntering off down the hall.

“Where are you going?” I asked after him.

“To eat with the damn gardener’s, I’ll not be deprived of a meal I sweat over all cursed morning,” He said with an annoyed shrug. This man really was unbelievable. I looked back at the kitchen door, it was tightly shut. I let out a worried sigh. In a way, Mr. Murphy was right about one thing. There wasn’t anything left for us to do, it’d be better to check back in later in the day.

--------------

“This is the best you three could come up with?! Ridiculous. Ha! How interesting it is how much one starts to spend when the coin is not his own!” Hartley Meyer spat, slamming the pages of my proposal on his desk.

The final person on my list was Hartley Meyer, the Alistair countryside estate’s steward. Hartley was the only one on the list I’d ever met before. One of the steward’s responsibilities was to process and provide the staff with their pay. I’d see him once a week at the most, only to collect my meager earnings. He was a stern-faced man in his early 40s, though he looked much more weathered than that, with deep frown lines about his face and a receding hairline to boot. I don’t recall him ever having a bad attitude, but I certainly wouldn’t invite the man over for dinner. He just seemed too unapproachable to bother with.

Although his attitude today is rather,.. new.

After being kicked out of the kitchen, I made my way back to Marcus to get the detailed tool list, then immediately headed over to Hartley's office to submit my restoration proposal. I could not have dreamed  that this is how the conversation would go. Maybe this is what Marcus meant when he said, “That’ll be good,” That cheeky bastard. I sighed inwardly, patiently waiting for Hartley to finish his rant about how I was colluding to exhaust the estate of all its funds.

“Mr. Meyer, I assure you, our intention is not to overtax estate funds. Most of the materials included are to replace the preexisting damaged materials,” I explained.

“And the other materials?! Verdantian jade? What a lavish waste! There’s no room in the budget for these excessive restorations.” Hartley said in a tone that led me to believe he had made up his mind and would remain stuck with this unbudging attitude. 

How unbecoming of a higher authority, especially an estate steward. Sighing deeply, I reached into my breast pocket and pulled out a letter dawning the Dukes cobalt blue and silver rook seal. I then extended the letter to him..