I knew this was a sensitive topic for Basil and I wanted to approach it as delicately as possible.

“Alright,” Basil responded, after a moment of silence.

“What do you think about the current design and material of the memorial? I prefer for the epitaph to remain the same, but we should update the stone,” I said, expressing my desire for a revamp of materials.

I waited, looking at Basil’s contemplative face.

“..I suppose it should stay as the Alistair mainland granite, that’s what it’s always been,” Basil replied with an unreadable expression.

I nodded in agreement.

“I also think the stone should remain the mainland granite, but I’d like to add an inlay of Verdantian jade over Lady Ophelia’s name. You don’t think that's too much do you?” I asked, watching Basil’s face light up.

“Of course not! That’s a wonderful idea!” Basil exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement.

I smiled as we finalized the details into a usable structured document.

“Thank you for your time today, Basil,” I said, shaking his hand firmly.

“Yes, I very much look forward to it. I’ll gather a crew and start clearing out the garden immediately,” Basil said, with a newfound eagerness that had not been present before.

I smiled and made my way back towards the entrance of the greenhouse.

It had taken a few hours, but Basil and I were able to successfully come up with a solid plan for the garden layout.

It was now time to meet with the second person on my list, Marcus Arkwright, the master carpenter of the Alistair countryside estate.

I’m told he’s a loud and demanding man in his mid to late 40s. He’s rather built for an older man, but his competence in his work speaks for itself.

You’d usually find him in the estate’s workshop, surrounded by wood and tools, wearing his signature worn leather apron, with a focused expression on his face marking him as a man of skill and integrity,...

That was not, however, what I found.

“Who the hell are you, Ant?” The older man asked, towering over me with his large arms crossed.

I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, this must’ve been the reason I’d never come across these people before.

“Good day, Mr. Arkwright. My name is Henry Dorran. I am Lady Isadora’s footman,” I introduced, trying my hardest to give the man a genuine smile.

“You must need something. There’s no way they sent someone like you to work,” He said bluntly.

“Someone like me?” I asked, blinking in utter confusion.

“Yea, a weakling who can’t use his hands for a damn thing except to polish a shoe,”

Unbelievable.

And I thought Mr. Murphey was bad.

This man’s certainly a nasty piece of work.

“I have been tasked with the restoration of the east wing pleasaunce and I’ve come to request your assistance as the master carpenter,” I said, ignoring his previous comment.

“Oh, I see. You’re here to put on an expensive, flashy display for that trinket of a disgrace in the east wing?” He remarked harshly, with a throaty laugh.

“Mr. Arkwright, please watch your words, she is still your Lady,” I warned.

“Grew a wee backbone did, ya?” Marcus said as I narrowed my eyes at him, but opted to hold my tongue.

Arguing with him now would be disastrous for the restoration.

“I’ll save you a bit of time, so you can get back to polishing your shoes,” He said, taking an imposing step toward me.

“I’ll not help a runt like you, who doesn’t understand, rip apart what’s left of Lady Ophelia’s memory,” He said, concrete in his refusal.

I’m not sure why, or even how, I mustered up the courage to do so, but with my eyes narrowed and restoration layout in hand, I shoved past the massive man straight to the closest workbench.

In one swift motion, I shoved all the tools and active projects onto the floor and neatly laid out my restoration plan on the workbench table top.

“I’ve never known a man to talk as much as you do. If you’re going to drone on, at least do it about what I came here for,” I said, glaring at him.

I was absolutely not going to allow this bastard to try and intimidate me, especially when I agreed to do this project with pure intentions.

“I’ll give you this, Henry the footman, you’ve got balls, but they’re made of glass,” He said, shrugging.

Back handed complement aside, his attitude had completely changed. He stood staring at me, letting his arms fall to his sides casually in a less aggressive stance.

I’m completely certain this man is of unsound mind, and I’d be hard-pressed to believe anyone telling me differently.

“Now, Mr. Arkwright, if you’ll please look here I have a detailed plan made with Basil Thorne, that I’d like your input on the feasibility,” I said, clearing my throat and running my hands over the outstretched papers to smooth them.

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. But 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 he 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, before 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 through, deary! 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, Miss 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.

Simply nodding, 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 had Beatrice married 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 same 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 through 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 truth were being pulled, the whole tapestry was coming apart before our very eyes…

And we hadn’t the faintest idea.