Chapter 2 - Whispers in the Servants' Quarters|
The back stairs of the mansion were constructed of thick, unpolished white pine designed to absorb the sound of footfalls. Dante descended into the basement level where the staff quarters were hidden behind the commercial kitchen.
He stopped outside Room 104. A sliver of warm, yellow light bled from beneath the heavy oak door.
He knocked twice. Low and measured.
The door opened almost instantly. Elena Vasquez stood in the doorway, her dark hair falling loose over her shoulders. She had taken off her white apron, but her hands were still pale with leftover baking flour. When her eyes met Dante’s, the breath left her chest in a sharp, terrified hitch.
“Mr. Moretti,” she whispered, clutching the doorframe. “Please... I am packing our things right now. I swear to you, Sophia didn’t mean any harm—”
“Elena,” Dante interrupted gently, keeping his hands loosely folded at his waist. “May I step inside?”
Elena swallowed hard, her eyes darting toward the narrow bed in the corner where three-year-old Sophia slept under a yellow knitted blanket. The child’s arm was wrapped tightly around the one-eared stuffed cat.
“Yes, sir. Of course,” Elena murmured, stepping aside.
Dante entered the small room. It smelled faintly of lavender, flour, and warm milk. He remained standing, refusing to loom over the space.
“Tell me what happened yesterday around seven in the evening,” Dante said softly.
Elena lowered her head, her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt.
“I was polishing the silver in the dining room sideboard,” Elena stammered, her voice shaking. “Sophia was playing with her wooden blocks in the hallway alcove. I turned my back for five minutes to fetch more rag polish.”
“And when you came back?”
“I saw Miss Isabella coming out of your private study,” Elena confessed, tears brimming in her eyes. “She was pulling her hand out of her coat pocket. Sophia was standing by the door, pointing at her. When Miss Isabella saw me, her face went cold. She told me if my child ever wandered into your wing again, she would make sure we were both thrown into the street.”
Dante’s gray eyes turned as cold as winter slate.
“Did Sophia say anything to you when you brought her down here?”
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Elena pressed a trembling hand against her mouth.
“She said... she said the pretty lady replaced the gold bird with a heavy rock.”
