The morning light, sharp and insistent, sliced through the windowpanes of Emmeline's room, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Emmeline, dressed in a simple, but elegant, cream-coloured gown, sat at her vanity, her reflection staring back with an unreadable expression. Elara, her movements swift and efficient, moved around her with the practiced ease of a seasoned servant. Emmeline felt a knot of unease tighten in her stomach, but she forced a smile. Breakfast with the Countess. It wasn't a social event she anticipated with joy, but a necessary obligation. She had learned to accept the Countess's blatant disdain as a part of life in Blackrock Keep.
"Elara," Emmeline began, her voice smooth despite the tremor beneath, "do you know anything about… Isabelle?"
Elara paused, her movements slowing as she fastened a jeweled brooch to Emmeline's gown. "About the Countess, Your Grace?" she asked, a slight tilt of her head betraying nothing.
"No, not the Countess," Emmeline said, gently. "About the Duke's first wife. Isabelle. Do you know anything about her?"
Elara's gaze drifted to Emmeline's, but there was no flicker of recognition, no trace of her memories. "Oh, yes, your Grace," she began, quickly, her voice a little too bright, "a lovely lady. She loved fine silks and her husband dearly. She was a woman of grace and style. Quite a few folks mourned her passing." The words rolled off her tongue, practiced and rehearsed. Emmeline watched, a growing sense of disquiet settling in her gut. Something didn't feel right about Elara's response.
"Did she... suffer?" Emmeline pressed, her voice barely a whisper.
Elara's hands froze mid-motion. "Suffer, Your Grace?" she echoed, her eyebrows raising slightly. "Well, yes, I suppose everyone does at some point. Everyone suffers." Her voice had taken on a strange, almost detached tone. "But surely, Your Grace, you must not grieve the happenings of the past."
Emmeline felt a cold prickle of unease. "But...wasn't she ill? Didn't she…?" Her voice trailed off, her mind racing. Had she imagined something, or was there something more to Isabelle's passing? Elara's evasiveness was unsettling.
"Your Grace, your breakfast awaits. The Countess is quite impatient, and, well, Her Grace's time is far too valuable to be wasted." Elara smiled gently, her eyes fixed on the breakfast tray. "And, surely, you do not wish to keep Your Grace waiting."
Emmeline sighed inwardly. She knew better than to press Elara further. The maid's words were hollow, devoid of any real information, masking something far more unsettling. Elara was a servant; a mere cog in the machine. She wouldn't be privy to such intimate details. Still, a lingering unease clung to her. The way Elara had shifted, the way she had avoided her gaze. It felt like Elara had a secret, something she wasn't sharing, something she was actively concealing.
As Elara carefully arranged the breakfast items, Emmeline felt a growing awareness that Elara was not simply a maid, but a carefully placed observer. A sentinel. And what did she know, or hide, about Isabelle? About the Duke? About Blackrock Keep?
Emmeline nodded, taking a slow, measured breath. She straightened her shoulders. She wouldn't be intimidated. She wouldn't allow this suspicion to consume her. Today, she would simply present a composed face and a steady smile. She would observe the Countess, gauge her demeanor. She would allow Elara's evasiveness to fade into the background noise. After all, she was here to survive this unwelcome situation, not to solve a mystery. She would face the Countess with an impenetrable exterior, her composure unreadable, and observe everything with a wary eye, until she felt that there was something to look further into.
With a final, controlled smile, Emmeline turned to face the prospect of breakfast with the Countess, certain that it would, at the very least, provide an interesting observation. She felt a growing determination in her heart. She would unravel this mystery, if necessary. She would simply wait. She would observe. And she would survive.