“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 at the threshold.

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… objects even.” 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..

“What’s this?” Hartley asked, giving me a confused, yet still annoyed look, then snatching the letter out of my outstretched hand.

I watched as all the confusion evaporated, leaving only sheer annoyance on his face.

We might be able to get somewhere now.

DISSOLVE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s head butler’s office. A transaction of sorts between a head butler and a footman. 3PL POV.

Henry watched in silence as Mr. Abraham stamped the official seal on the letter he had just finished penning.

Although he didn’t speak for the Duke in any official capacity, it was within his right as head butler, to act as the Duke's principal representative and manager of the ducal household.

“In the most ideal situation, you shouldn’t have to use this letter,” Mr. Abraham said, extending the sealed document. 

Henry took it but found Mr. Abraham’s hand held tight to the other end.

Their eyes met, confusion clear on Henry’s face.

“Because men like Hartley Meyer, who are accustomed to power and revel in its misuse, tend to find ways to strike back when their plans go awry,” Mr. Abraham said flatly, releasing the letter and turning back to the work on his desk.

I stared down at the neatly folded page in my hands.

Is something like this really that powerful?

WIPE TO:

The Alistair countryside estate’s stewards office. The end of a meeting about Lady Isadora’s garden restoration. Henry’s POV.

I watched as Hartley’s hands tightened, slightly crumbling the edges of the letter.

In a flash, the annoyance was gone.

You would never have known he held such a nasty attitude in the first place.

“Aright, Mr. Dorran, against my better judgment, I will make the necessary preparations. These tools will be delivered to the estate workshop first thing in the morning,” Hartley said with a curt smile.

Seeing Hartley accept defeat felt good, but it also gave me a foreboding sense of danger.

 He didn’t seem like the type of man that’d willingly accept losing a battle of wits, but for now, I’ll take what I’m given.

Consequences be damned.

“Thank you for your gracious assistance, Mr. Meyer. I shall take my leave,” I said with a deep bow, leaving the man to his own devices.

It was time for me to return to the east wing.

I needed to update Maisy on the restoration’s progress and see how Anita was faring.

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

 On my way back to the east wing, I happened upon Anita in the courtyard.

She was too far for me to call out to, but close enough to stop back by on my way from meeting with Maisy.

However, something seemed odd…

I stopped in my tracks, straining to see closer.

Was she smoking?

What a horrid habit for a servant to have…

…moreso what an expensive habit for a servant to have…

I watched her pace back and forth in the courtyard. Her trembling hands ignited one cigarette after another.

Perhaps, I should meet with Anita now–. 

“Henry, just the man I wanted to see,” Maisy said with a smile, half her body hanging out of the vestibule door, she beckoned me inside.

Having no choice I followed, giving one final glance behind me to the troubled looking Anita.

“The steward notified me of the approved proposal. I must say I’m quite impressed,” She chimed, placing a small ivory box in her apron pocket.

Was that a cigarette box?

“I do hope you didn’t intentionally send me on an impossible mission,” I said, trying to keep the dead seriousness out of my tone.

She let out a soft laugh before replying.

“Surely you jest, who knew you had such a good sense of humor, Mr. Dorran,” She said.

The slightest bit of life flashing behind those big brown eyes.

“I’d gone to find you in the garden, but how convenient it is we’d meet here instead,” She continued.

I simply nodded, suddenly wishing to be anywhere else.

“This is a copy of the proposal document, do let me know of any immediate changes. I’ll handle them swiftly,” I said, reaching into my breast pocket and handing her a small folded stack of papers.

I was amazed at the speed in which she reviewed them.

Looking back up, she gave me a nod.

“Thank you for your efforts today. If you’ve nothing else, you are dismissed. Anita will be handling the meal this evening,” Maisy said, turning to leave with a smile.

I simply nodded as she left the empty vestibule, heading down the corridor towards Lady Isadora’s bedroom.

I don’t know why, but the moment she was out of sight, I dashed back out the door into the courtyard.

My frantic search had been in vain.

Anita was gone.

Only the heavy smell of cigarettes lingered in the air.

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

I patiently waited in Mr. Abraham's office as he thoroughly reviewed my report in silence.

“Thank you, Henry, you may leave,” He said with a satisfied nod of dismissal.

I swiftly exited the room and set my sights on my next destination, which I was not particularly looking forward to.

On the short walk back to the steward’s office, I wondered if I’d have an encounter similar to earlier today?

I was coming for a completely different reason, so I couldn’t possibly imagine the man holding a silly grudge like that–

“Dorran.” Hartley said, his tone dark and bitter.

Well, maybe I could imagine him holding a grudge.

“Good evening, Mr. Meyer. I’ve come to collect my weekly pay, if you would–,” I started as he slung a medium sized sack of gold on the desk between us.

I stared down at the faded brown sack.

That was certainly far more gold than I’d ever seen in my life.

“Mr. Meyer, there seems to be some sort of mistake,” I started.

Surely, he wouldn’t be so evil as to try to frame me for embezzlement or something to that effect?

Hartley gave me a brief, knowing glance that I couldn’t for the life of me place the meaning.

I felt a chill run down my spine and an uncomfortable feeling creep into the pit of my stomach the longer he insisted on looking at me with those stern, beady eyes without a word to follow.

“This is your pay for your work prior to reassignment and your current pay as footman and coachman,” Hartley said.

“This still seems to be a bit excessive–,” I started, before being cut off.

“Mr. Dorran, I will only explain once more. This pay is compensation for the highly sensitive nature of your new assignment and includes back pay for the coachman position. As your value to the Duke's household has increased exponentially due to your proximity to Lady Isadora. Please do not continue to pester me with senseless questions. I am a very busy man and, as you can see, the line for payment behind you is quite long,” He explained, gesturing to the ajar door of servants waiting in line.

Silenced and still in utter shock, I grabbed the weighted brown sack and placed it securely in my breast pocket.

I kept my head down as I passed by the line of servants waiting to be paid. I let out an awkward chuckle, I never thought I’d feel the sensation of having enough coin on my person to potentially be the target of a mugging. 

The humor in itself was short-lived as my mind began to race yet again.

As I made my way home, I couldn’t help but think how I hadn’t even performed any duties as coachman, and barely performed my duties as footman.

Did the duke truly care that much for his daughter to go so far as to overpay servants for her safety and our discretion?

Or is something else more sinister happening here?