The woman behind the desk was a grotesque masterpiece of artifice. Her face was buried under layers of white powder, and her eyebrows had been plucked thin and redrawn into high, perpetual arches of surprise. Her lips were a bruised, dark purple, and her gown—a scandalous shade of lemon yellow—was cut so low it seemed to defy gravity, cinching her waist until the rest of her was pushed upward, revealing her cleavage in a display that made Madeline flush with a mix of shock and confusion.
"Did you come here to study my décor, or are you finally going to tell me why you've invaded my office?" The woman's voice was like gravel on silk, startling Madeline out of her silence.
"Uuh, my name is Madeline and—"
"I don't care for names, child," the woman interrupted, her eyes sharp as a hawk's. She leaned forward, the movement causing the gems on her neck to catch the candlelight. Her gaze raked over Madeline's heavy wool hood and the thick veil that obscured her face. "And what's with the costume? It's sweltering in here. Are you hiding a pox, or are you a spy for the tax collectors?"
"No, ma'am," Madeline whispered, clutching her bag. "I just... I prefer to be covered."
"Why? Are you so hideous that the sun refuses to shine on you?"
Madeline hesitated. She had never considered if she was ugly. "My grandmother... she always said everyone is pretty in their own light."
The woman let out a dry, hacking laugh. "Hmph. A philosopher for a grandmother. How charming." She leaned back, the mahogany chair creaking ominously in the quiet room. "Anyway, what can I do for you, Madeline?"
"I saw the job advert outside," Madeline said, her voice gaining strength from her desperation. "The one offering three silver coins a night. I'm interested."
The woman's gaze grew cold and calculating. "Judging by the looks of things, I don't think you're suitable for the position. We deal in... transparency here. Mystery is only profitable if it's teased, not buried under a horse-blanket."
"Please, ma'am," Madeline begged, her hands trembling. "I really need this job. I'll do anything. I'll scrub the floors until they bleed, I'll clean every dish, I'll organize—"
"Do you even know what you'd be doing?" The woman raised a brow, a flicker of something—pity or amusement—crossing her painted face.
"I can learn!" Madeline insisted, her mind picturing stacks of laundry or soot-stained hearths. "I promise you, I'll be the best worker you've ever had. I'll be 'good' at it, just as your man Rob said."
The woman stared at her for a long, agonizing minute. "Stand up," she commanded. "In front of the desk. Turn around. Slowly."
Madeline felt a wave of nausea at the clinical way she was being inspected, but she obeyed. She did a full rotation, the heavy cloak swishing against the floor.
"You do have a good frame," the woman murmured, scribbling something on a piece of parchment with a quill. Her eyes scanned Madeline up and down with a predatory focus that made her skin crawl. "Now. Take off the veil and the cloak. I need to see the merchandise."
"Please," Madeline gasped, her hand flying to her throat. "Can I... can I keep them on? I'll work twice as hard, I swear."
"Why? Are you hiding from the law? Or a husband?"
Madeline went silent. She couldn't explain the ancient, fearful promise she had made to Maria. She couldn't explain that the veil was her only shield against a world her grandmother swore would devour her.
The woman watched her hesitation, then sighed, tapping the quill against her chin. "Fine. If you want to play the 'veiled maiden,' we can make it work for a night or two. It might even drive the price up for the right kind of gentleman." She wrote a final note on the parchment. "I guess just the eyes will have to work for now. You start tomorrow night. Sunset."
A surge of relief so powerful it made her dizzy swept through Madeline. A smile bloomed behind her veil. "Thank you! Thank you, ma'am. I promise, I will do my best."
As she backed out of the room, Madeline felt like she had just climbed a mountain. She didn't see the woman's expression shift from calculation to a cold, dark curiosity as the door clicked shut.