Chapter 2
Beyond the heavy silk drapes separating the main salon from the service corridors, Faye Ellis stood nervously near the edge of the room. The twenty-five-year-old maid was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing delicate features, clear, fair skin, and highly expressive eyes. Tonight, however, she possessed an exhausted, deeply vulnerable manner that sharply contradicted the festive elegance of the estate.
She wore a fitted black maid dress with a cinched waist, a white apron, white collar and cuffs, and a white ruffled maid headband. But her pristine uniform was a ruin. Her black dress was noticeably creased, her white apron was lightly rumpled, and her lace headband sat slightly askew. Loose strands of dark hair had escaped her updo, framing a face paralyzed by the sheer exhaustion of enduring Isabel’s relentless, quiet bullying throughout the day.
"Faye, you cannot just stand there," the head butler whispered harshly, adjusting his own tailored coat as he passed her. "The reception is in full swing. The guests near the fireplace require more champagne."
"I am trying, sir," Faye replied, her American accent trembling slightly as she gripped the edges of her silver serving tray. "I just needed a moment to catch my breath."
"You can breathe when your shift is over," the butler interrupted coldly. "Miss Cross gave explicit orders that the staff remain highly visible. Now fix your hair and make yourself useful."
Faye squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back a wave of profound fatigue. She pushed herself off the marble column, her flat shoes gliding silently over the polished floor as she approached the large stone fireplace. The heat from the roaring fire offered a brief respite from the drafty corridors. She kept her head down, offering crystal flutes of champagne to the laughing syndicate capos and their wives.
As she navigated the burgundy velvet sofas, a strange, suffocating tension settled in her chest. She had noticed Rosie’s absence since the early morning. Isabel had claimed the three-year-old was with a nanny, but Faye knew every member of the staff, and the assigned nanny had been dismissed for the holiday.
"Thank you, my dear," an elderly woman smiled, taking a glass from Faye's tray. "It is a wonderful party, isn't it?"
"Yes, ma'am. Very beautiful," Faye murmured politely, offering a fragile smile.
Faye took a step backward to allow the guests more room, her heel brushing against the edge of a thick, heavy Christmas rug positioned directly beside the fireplace.
As she stood there, a faint, muffled sound caught her attention.
She froze, her expressive eyes darting around the noisy room. The string quartet was playing a lively carol, and the guests were laughing loudly, but Faye's proximity to the floor allowed her to catch it again. It was a soft, rhythmic thumping, followed by a tiny, muffled whimper.
"Did you hear that?" Faye asked, her voice barely a whisper, looking at the capo standing nearest to her.
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"Hear what, sweetheart?" the man laughed, completely oblivious, taking a heavy sip of his drink. "Only the sound of success."
Faye’s heart began to hammer violently against her ribs. She looked down at the thick Christmas rug. She knew the architecture of the historic mansion intimately. Beneath that specific rug lay an old, heavy wooden floor hatch that led to a small, unheated storage cellar. It was a space entirely forgotten by the family, used only occasionally for holding surplus winter firewood. The muffled, desperate whimpering was coming directly from beneath her feet.
