Morning tea was served in the small drawing room—the one with pale gold wallpaper, filled with antique porcelain and lace cushions, its air perpetually thick with the cloying scent of black tea and lavender potpourri.
Margaret was dressed in a pearl-gray morning gown today, her hair impeccably coiled at the nape of her neck, her face wearing a precisely calibrated expression of remorse and maternal affection. She poured the tea for Vivian herself, her movements graceful and fluid, the gilded rim of the white porcelain cup gleaming in the morning light.
"Here, dear, try this tea," she pushed the cup forward, her voice soft as if soothing a child. "Darjeeling, this year's first flush. I remember your mother—oh, I mean Elizabeth—used to love this most."
Vivian accepted the cup but did not drink immediately. Steam rose, carrying the rich aroma of black tea and a faint, almost imperceptible… other scent. Very faint, barely there.
She remembered Theodore's words.
*Don't drink the tea she pours.*
"Thank you, Mother," she said softly, cradling the cup, letting its warmth seep through the porcelain into her palms. "You're too kind."
"It's the least I can do," Margaret sat down opposite her, picking up her own cup and giving it a gentle blow. "About last night… I'm truly sorry. Really, Emilia, I never imagined such a thing could happen in this house. That Susan… she always seemed honest and dutiful, which is why I entrusted her with some of the banquet tasks. Who would have thought…"
She sighed, her eyes filled with sorrow.
"It's my fault, for not taking better care of you," she continued, her tone even gentler. "You've been back in this house for some time now, yet I've only assigned you one maid. Anna is a good girl, but managing your daily needs, your wardrobe, your room, and handling all the miscellaneous tasks alone—it's truly too much for her. That's how someone found an opening to tamper with the gift for Catherine."
*Here it comes.*
Vivian sneered inwardly but maintained her usual meek expression.
"Mother, it's not your fault," she lowered her eyes. "I wasn't careful enough myself."
"No, it was my oversight," Margaret shook her head, reaching out to grasp Vivian's hand—her palm was warm and dry, but Vivian felt a slight pressure from her fingertips. "So I think it's time to assign you another maid. With two looking after you, I'd feel much more at ease."
She paused, observing Vivian's expression.
"What do you think? If you have someone in mind, you can tell me. If not, I've already picked out a clever, sensible girl from the maids."
Her words were flawless, considerate.
But Vivian knew this "clever, sensible" maid would be Margaret's eyes and ears, reporting her every move.
She raised her eyes to look at Margaret, a grateful smile slowly curving her lips.
"Mother is so thoughtful," she said, her voice tinged with just the right amount of emotion. "Anna has indeed been overworked. But…"
She paused as if in thought.
"But what?" Margaret asked gently.
"But, if we're adding someone, I'd like to add two," Vivian said softly, a hint of bashfulness in her tone. "Anna mentioned it to me a few times—there's a girl in the kitchen named Lillian, a good friend of hers, hardworking and honest. It's just that kitchen work is too grueling, and the pay is low. She's always wanted to help Lillian. I thought… since we're adding staff, why not add two? One to assist Anna with daily tasks, and another… perhaps to be responsible for my study and studio? I've been thinking of taking up painting again and need someone to help organize my art supplies."
She finished and looked quietly at Margaret.
The smile on Margaret's face froze for an instant.
So brief it was almost invisible. But Vivian caught it—in those gentle eyes, a flash of displeasure and calculation, gone in a blink.
Then the smile returned, even more benevolent.
"Two?" Margaret repeated, patting Vivian's hand lightly. "That's fine, that's fine. After all, you are a Winters young lady; it's only right to have a few more attendants. Lillian… the girl from the kitchen, right? I have some impression of her, indeed a simple child. We'll do as you say."
She picked up her teacup, took a small sip, her movements still elegant.
She set the cup down, as if suddenly remembering something, her tone casual. "Anna, Lillian, plus the clever girl I've picked for you. Three should be sufficient, I think."
It sounded like concern.
It was also groundwork.
Vivian understood. Margaret was already preparing for the next step—at family gatherings, social events, she would "casually" mention: "Emilia has three maids now. If you still feel it's not enough, just tell Mother anytime."
How doting, how affectionate it would sound.
In reality? It was a hint that she was greedy and insatiable.
"Mother's consideration is thorough," Vivian lowered her head, her voice even softer. "Perhaps… just one is enough? The one you picked for me would be fine. I can give Lillian some private assistance."
*Retreat to advance.*
Sure enough, Margaret immediately shook her head. "How could that be? I said two, so it'll be two. I'm your mother; am I afraid people will say I spoil my daughter?"
Her smile was warm, but her eyes were icy.
"It's settled then. Anna, Lillian, and… there's a girl among the maids named Bella, clever, diligent, and careful. She can go to you."
*Bella.*
Vivian noted the name in her mind.
"Thank you, Mother," she thanked her again, picking up the teacup and pretending to take a small sip.
***
When the news reached the kitchen, Lillian was cleaning the silverware from breakfast.
She was a slight girl in her early twenties, her brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back, her apron stained with water and a bit of flour. Hearing the supervisor say, "Miss Emilia specifically asked for you to serve in her rooms," the silver spoon in her hand clattered into the sink.
"Me?" Her eyes widened, her voice trembling. "To serve in the young lady's rooms?"
"Yes," the supervisor nodded, expressionless. "Report to the east wing, third floor, this afternoon. Hand over your current duties."
Lillian stood frozen until the supervisor left and the other maids gathered around, offering congratulations, envy, and a few sour remarks, before she snapped back to reality.
To serve in the young lady's rooms.
What did that mean? It meant no more waking up before dawn, no more washing mountains of dishes, no more sweating in the kitchen's oppressive heat. It meant clean, respectable uniforms, regular hours, better pay, and… dignity.
At Winters Manor, kitchen maids were at the bottom. A personal maid in a young lady's chambers was a position many maids didn't dare dream of.
"Lillian!" Anna ran in from outside, throwing her arms around her, eyes sparkling. "Did you hear? The young lady wants you! I knew she'd agree!"
Lillian looked at her friend, tears suddenly spilling over.
"Anna," she choked out, "I… how can I ever repay the young lady…"
"By doing your job well," Anna wiped her tears, lowering her voice. "And remember who truly treats you well."
Lillian nodded vigorously.
She knew, of course. In this house, no one was kind without reason. Except for Anna, except for… Miss Emilia.
The young lady who returned from the west, seemingly meek and quiet, yet made everyone look at her anew at last night's banquet.
She remembered Anna sneaking back to the kitchen last night, eyes red, saying the young lady had been framed, almost… Lillian's heart had clenched then. She'd worked at Winters Manor for five years, seen too much of this. Servants pushed out to take the fall, their masters untouched.
But this time was different.
Not only was the young lady unharmed, she'd turned the tables and exposed the true culprit—at least, the visible one.
And now, the young lady was pulling her out of the kitchen's mire.
Lillian dried her tears and swore in her heart.
She would repay this kindness with loyalty.
With her life, if necessary.
***
That afternoon, third floor, east wing rooms.
Bella arrived a little earlier than Lillian. She was a tall girl, mid-twenties, with delicate features and proper manners, clearly well-trained. Seeing Vivian, she performed a perfect curtsy, her voice crisp.
"Miss, I am Bella. Madam sent me to attend to you."
"Very well," Vivian nodded, her gaze lingering on Bella's face for a second.
Bella's eyes were bright, her gaze straightforward, showing nothing unusual. But Vivian noticed her eyes swiftly scanning the room—the vanity, the desk, the nightstand, the wardrobe—as if familiarizing herself, or perhaps… gathering information.
"You and Lillian will assist Anna with my daily needs from now on," Vivian said mildly. "Anna will inform you of the specific arrangements."
"Yes, Miss," Bella curtsied again.
Lillian arrived then. She was visibly nervous, nearly tripping at the doorway, her face flushing crimson. Anna quickly steadied her, whispering reassurance.
Vivian looked at Lillian—this slight, timid-eyed girl, standing in stark contrast to the composed and proper Bella beside her.
She had a plan.
"Lillian," she spoke, softening her voice further, "Anna has often mentioned you, saying you're hardworking and honest. I'd like to entrust the study and studio to your care, is that alright?"
Lillian, overwhelmed by the honor, nodded repeatedly. "Y-yes, Miss! I'll do my very best!"
"As for Bella," Vivian turned to the other girl, "you will be primarily responsible for the dressing room and the drawing room."
"Yes, Miss," Bella curtsied again, a flicker of barely perceptible satisfaction in her eyes.
The dressing room and drawing room—these two places could reveal the most about a person's social engagements, relationships, even… secrets.
Margaret would be pleased with this arrangement.
So was Vivian.
Because she had entrusted the truly important places—the study and studio—to Lillian.
A girl of no value to Margaret, but of absolute loyalty to her.
***
Later, Anna showed Lillian around the study. Vivian sat in the armchair by the window, seemingly reading, actually listening to their whispered conversation.
Lillian regarded everything in the study with awe—the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the heavy oak desk, the fine stationery, the old-fashioned telescope by the window. She dusted the shelves with extreme care, as if handling fragile treasures.
"Miss," she suddenly whispered to Anna, "these books… has the young lady read them all?"
"Most of them," Anna also kept her voice low. "The young lady loves reading. Sometimes she reads all afternoon."
Admiration shone in Lillian's eyes. "That's wonderful. I… I only had a few years of schooling."
Vivian set down her book and looked at her.
"Lillian, where is your hometown?"
Lillian started, then quickly turned. "Miss, it's Portland, Maine."
*Portland.*
Vivian's heart gave a little jump.
"Portland…" she repeated softly. "My father—I mean, an old friend of an elder of mine, I believe was also from Portland. His surname was… Harris? Or Harrison? I can't quite recall."
She was testing.
Lillian thought for a moment, then shook her head. "I haven't heard of him. Portland isn't a huge city, but there are plenty of people. And I left to work very young, so I'm not too familiar with people and things back home."
Vivian nodded, asking no more.
But that spark in her mind had ignited.
*Harris. David Harris.*
Her father's most capable assistant, chief financial officer, loyal for fifteen years. An upright man, exceptionally skilled, fiercely loyal to her father. Vivian remembered him—not tall, wore glasses, always spoke unhurriedly, but understood the accounts better than anyone.
Three years ago, his son was diagnosed with a congenital heart condition requiring long-term treatment. David resigned, saying he needed to return home to focus on his child. Her father tried to persuade him to stay, but seeing his haggard look, ultimately agreed.
Before he left, her father gave him a check—a substantial sum, enough to buy a house in Portland and hire a nurse to help care for the child.
David initially refused. He said, "Mr. Ellwood, you've treated me well all these years, I can't—"
"Take it," her father cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You need to get your child the best treatment, understand?"
David's eyes reddened, and he finally accepted.
After that, Vivian never saw him again. She only heard occasionally from her father that his son's surgery was successful, recovery was good, he himself taught accounting at a local community college, living a quiet life.
And then… the Ellwood family's downfall.
Bankruptcy, accusations, her father imprisoned.
And David Harris, far away in Portland, busy caring for his child, teaching, living his quiet life, probably unaware of what happened in New York.
Even if he knew, what could a former employee who left three years ago do?
But Vivian knew—David knew too much. The company's accounts, fund flows, the true nature of those "suspicious transactions"… If he could testify, her father's case could turn around.
The problem was how to find him.
How to contact him without alerting anyone.
"Miss?" Anna's voice pulled her back to reality. "Are you alright? You look pale."
Vivian shook her head. "It's nothing. Just remembered some old things."
She looked at Lillian, an idea forming.
"Lillian," she said softly, "could you do a favor for me?"
Lillian nodded immediately. "Of course, Miss."
"I'm looking for a person. His name is David Harris. He used to work in New York, moved back to Portland three years ago. His son has a congenital heart condition, so he might need regular hospital visits. If it's convenient for your family… could you ask around for me?"
She kept it vague, mentioning neither the Ellwoods nor the CFO, only calling him an "old friend of an elder."
Lillian, though puzzled, didn't ask further, just nodded firmly. "Yes, Miss! I'll call my mother tonight. She's lived in Portland for fifty years, knows many people. If this person exists, she'll find him."
Vivian felt a wave of relief.
"Thank you, Lillian," she said sincerely. "This matter… please keep it confidential. I don't want to trouble that elder."
"I understand, Miss," Lillian's eyes were determined. "I won't tell anyone. Not even Anna."
Anna smiled beside her. "I won't ask. We just do as the young lady says, no questions why."
Vivian looked at these two girls—one shrewd and capable but with ulterior motives in Bella; two simple, loyal, and willing to go through fire for her in Anna and Lillian.
She suddenly felt this battle might not be so hard to fight.
Margaret had planted eyes.
But she, Vivian Ellwood, was also placing her own pieces.
And her pieces were hidden in the most inconspicuous places.
Like an unassuming potato in the kitchen, something no one would look at twice.
But at the critical moment, even a potato could knock someone out.
She picked up her teacup and took a real sip this time.
The tea had gone cold.
But the fire in her heart burned hotter than ever.