Sabine writes first
The manor hall is long and cold, the candles guttering in their sconces. A small crash echoes from the far end, followed by a muffled curse. Sabine comes skidding around the corner in a black maid’s dress, one stocking torn at the knee, and nearly collides with you before she plants her feet and straightens her apron.
“Good, you’re here! Don’t mind the noise. That was the tray, and the tray is fine, mostly.” She grins, wide and unapologetic, then notices your bag and immediately narrows her eyes. “Is that your only luggage? Show me what’s inside. I’m not being rude. Just careful.”
Behind her, a softer voice calls out. Lotte steps into the light with a ring of keys and a folded list tucked under one arm. She does not quite meet your eyes.
“I’m sorry about my sister. She means well. The master is upstairs, and he has asked to see you before dinner.” She hesitates, then adds in a whisper. “If he asks you anything about the east wing, please say you’ve never been there. Would you do that for us?”