Chapter 2
I moved Mia and Anna out of the dining salon.
Mia protested because she wanted to stay with her mother.
Good.
Attachment should not be punished.
They went together.
I kept the glass.
No one touched it.
Our physician examined the residue privately and told me only what mattered.
It was not something that belonged in a drink.
Likely intended to leave a person weak, disoriented, or unable to think clearly for a period of time.
That was enough.
I did not need chemistry.
I needed motive.
When I returned to Anna, she was sitting in the small staff lounge with Mia asleep across her lap.
Her hands were worse up close.
Red.
Cracked.
I frowned.
“How many hours have you been cleaning?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Depends on the day.”
“Who assigns you?”
“Miss Celeste.”
Of course.
“Why your hands?”
Anna hesitated.
“She removed gloves from some tasks.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“She said gloves made staff lazy.”
Cruelty disguised as standards.
“Did anyone else lose gloves?”
“No.”
There.
Targeted.
“Why you?”
She looked toward Mia.
“I started asking questions.”
“What questions?”
“Why she kept sending me into your private dining room before meals.”
My jaw tightened.
Anna had noticed pattern.
Celeste noticed Anna noticing.
So she increased work.
Damaged her hands.
Made her look careless.
Then forced her to taste drinks.
Cause symptoms.
Create visible evidence of chemical exposure.
If I became ill, the servant with raw cleaning hands and access to my table would look perfect.
I looked at Mia.
Three years old.
May you like
The only person who had seen enough pieces without understanding why adults wanted them hidden.
Children are dangerous to conspiracies because they do not know which observations are supposed to remain polite.
