Chapter 2 - THE MAID WHO GAVE AWAY HER LUNCH
Adrian returned to Whitmore House the following afternoon. He wore the
same coat, but Malcolm had helped him change the details. The beard was
rougher, his trousers were stained, and he carried an old canvas bag.
Victor recognized him immediately.
“You again?”
“I was hoping for a little water.”
“You were told to stay away.”
“I only need a drink.”
Victor came out of the booth. “Do you think this is a public park?”
Before Adrian could answer, the kitchen door opened. Grace stepped
outside with a covered container.
She stopped when she saw him.
“You came back.”
“I was passing by.”
“Have you eaten?”
Victor threw his hands up. “You cannot be serious.”
Grace ignored him. She placed the container on the low stone wall.
“There’s soup and bread. It was made for the staff, but I saved some.”
Adrian looked at it. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Victor folded his arms. “You know the staff food is counted.”
“Then count mine as a meal I didn’t take.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said so.”
Grace looked at him. “You’re not the kitchen manager.”
Victor stepped closer. “And you’re not the owner.”
Adrian nearly laughed.
Grace handed the container through the bars. “It’s still warm. Be
careful.”
“Thank you,” Adrian said.
She glanced at his limp. “Your foot looks worse.”
“Old injury.”
“There’s a clinic near the bus station. They sometimes see people
without insurance.”
He looked at her. “You know a lot of places that help people.”
“I’ve needed help before.”
A bell rang from the kitchen. Grace glanced toward the house.
“I have to go.”
“Did you eat?” Adrian asked.
She smiled faintly. “I’m not hungry.”
He knew that answer. It was what people said when they wanted someone
else to stop worrying.
That evening, Adrian returned to the gate. He sat beneath the stone wall
and watched the kitchen windows. A little after seven, Grace came out
carrying a paper bag. She walked past the garden shed, crossed the
service lane, and stopped at a small cottage behind the old greenhouse.
An elderly woman opened the door.
Grace handed her the bag.
“It’s the soft bread you like, Mrs. Bell. And I brought your
prescription.”
The older woman tried to give her something in return. Grace gently
pushed her hand away.
“You need it more than I do.”
Adrian watched from behind the hedge.
Mrs. Bell touched Grace’s cheek. “Your mother would be proud of you.”
Grace looked down. “I hope so.”
Adrian knew the name Bell. Eleanor Bell had once been the head cook at
Whitmore House. He remembered her as a warm woman who used to slip him
biscuits when his father was away.
Why was Grace delivering food to her?
And why did Eleanor mention Grace’s mother?
He waited until Grace returned to the house before approaching the
cottage.
“Can I help you?” Eleanor asked.
“I’m looking for a place to sit for a minute.”
She studied his clothes, then opened the door wider. “Come in out of the
cold.”
On a small table near the window sat a framed photograph of a young
woman in a housemaid’s uniform.
Adrian stopped breathing.
He knew that face.
It was Anna Miller.
The woman who had worked in Whitmore House when he was a child. The
woman his father had accused of stealing a family heirloom. The woman
who had disappeared from their lives twenty years earlier.
The following evening, Adrian watched Grace cross the garden with the
paper bag. He waited until she returned to the house before approaching
Eleanor’s cottage.
Eleanor was sitting beside a small electric heater. A prescription
bottle stood on the table beside the photograph.
“Are you a friend of Grace’s?” she asked.
“I met her outside.”
“She gives away too much.”
“She seems to have very little.”
Eleanor smiled sadly. “That’s why I worry about her. She thinks she can
fix every problem by giving away one more thing.”
Adrian glanced at the prescription bottle.
“Are you getting the medicine you need?”
“Some months. Grace helps when she can. She brings groceries, pays for a
prescription now and then, and pretends it’s nothing.”
“Why doesn’t she ask the family for help?”
Eleanor’s expression became cautious.
“Because she doesn’t want anyone to say she is using her position. She
knows how quickly a poor employee can be accused of taking advantage.”
Adrian felt the words land.
Eleanor explained that Grace had started helping her after a fall the
previous winter. The household had arranged a small pension, but a
paperwork error had delayed the payments. Grace had filled the gap with
her own wages.
“She’s not related to you?” Adrian asked.
“No. I worked with her mother. Anna and I were close. When Anna died, I
promised I would look after the girl if I could.”
Eleanor leaned back, tired.
“I haven’t been able to do much. Grace is the one looking after me now.”
Adrian looked at the photograph again.
“Did Anna ever speak about the brooch?”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
“Who told you about that?”
“No one. I heard there had been a problem here years ago.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Anna never stole it. She said she had found the dressing room empty.
Your father’s accusation destroyed her. She couldn’t get another
position because he made sure every agency knew about the scandal.”
Adrian’s stomach tightened.
“Did she ever say who took it?”
“She suspected Thomas Caldwell. But she had no proof, and no one wanted
to hear her.”
“Did she tell Grace?”
“Only that she had been treated unfairly. She didn’t want her daughter
to carry that bitterness.”
Eleanor looked at the door.
“Please don’t repeat this to Grace unless you know what you’re doing.
She has spent years trying to build a life that isn’t defined by what
happened to her mother.”
Adrian nodded.
He left the cottage with more questions than answers.
Later that night, Malcolm called with the first payroll findings. The
unexplained deductions were not isolated. They appeared in nearly every
month, often just below the amount that would trigger an internal
review.
Adrian asked him to compare the dates with Victor’s security logs.
There was a pattern: whenever a delivery was recorded as damaged or
missing, Victor had signed the gate report.
“Someone has built a little business inside my house,” Adrian said.
Malcolm replied, “It may be larger than a little business.”
Adrian looked back toward the illuminated windows.
“And the people paying for it are the ones who can least afford it.”
The following evening, Adrian watched Grace cross the garden with the
paper bag. He waited until she returned to the house before approaching
Eleanor’s cottage.
Eleanor was sitting beside a small electric heater. A prescription
bottle stood on the table beside the photograph.
“Are you a friend of Grace’s?” she asked.
“I met her outside.”
“She gives away too much.”
“She seems to have very little.”
Eleanor smiled sadly. “That’s why I worry about her. She thinks she can
fix every problem by giving away one more thing.”
Adrian glanced at the prescription bottle.
“Are you getting the medicine you need?”
“Some months. Grace helps when she can. She brings groceries, pays for a
prescription now and then, and pretends it’s nothing.”
“Why doesn’t she ask the family for help?”
Eleanor’s expression became cautious.
“Because she doesn’t want anyone to say she is using her position. She
knows how quickly a poor employee can be accused of taking advantage.”
Adrian felt the words land.
Eleanor explained that Grace had started helping her after a fall the
previous winter. The household had arranged a small pension, but a
paperwork error had delayed the payments. Grace had filled the gap with
her own wages.
“She’s not related to you?” Adrian asked.
“No. I worked with her mother. Anna and I were close. When Anna died, I
promised I would look after the girl if I could.”
Eleanor leaned back, tired.
“I haven’t been able to do much. Grace is the one looking after me now.”
Adrian looked at the photograph again.
“Did Anna ever speak about the brooch?”
Eleanor’s eyes sharpened.
“Who told you about that?”
“No one. I heard there had been a problem here years ago.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“Anna never stole it. She said she had found the dressing room empty.
Your father’s accusation destroyed her. She couldn’t get another
position because he made sure every agency knew about the scandal.”
Adrian’s stomach tightened.
“Did she ever say who took it?”
“She suspected Thomas Caldwell. But she had no proof, and no one wanted
to hear her.”
“Did she tell Grace?”
“Only that she had been treated unfairly. She didn’t want her daughter
to carry that bitterness.”
Eleanor looked at the door.
“Please don’t repeat this to Grace unless you know what you’re doing.
She has spent years trying to build a life that isn’t defined by what
happened to her mother.”
Adrian nodded.
He left the cottage with more questions than answers.
Later that night, Malcolm called with the first payroll findings. The
unexplained deductions were not isolated. They appeared in nearly every
month, often just below the amount that would trigger an internal
review.
Adrian asked him to compare the dates with Victor’s security logs.
There was a pattern: whenever a delivery was recorded as damaged or
missing, Victor had signed the gate report.
“Someone has built a little business inside my house,” Adrian said.
Malcolm replied, “It may be larger than a little business.”
May you like
Adrian looked back toward the illuminated windows.
“And the people paying for it are the ones who can least afford it.”
