A Few Days Ago…
The night was cold and heavy, a suffocating blanket of silence over the Thompson estate. In the lower corridors, where the servants slept and the storage rooms were kept, the air was still and musty, the torches in their sconces burning low.
Nora, one of the newer younger maids, crept along the stone passageway, her heart pounding a nervous rhythm against her ribs. She was carrying a small, wicker basket, a heavy burden of charity and fear. Earlier, the head cook had pulled her aside.
"The Dowager has instructed I send someone to the dark room, she doesn't want His Grace to know," the cook had whispered, pressing the basket into her hands. "She may be a wicked woman, but no one deserves to die of thirst. Just leave this bread and water by the door to the dark room. No one will know. Be quick, child."
