The air in the kitchen crackled with a different kind of tension than the hushed unease that permeated the rest of the house.
Here, amidst the clatter of dishes and the murmur of tired voices, gossip thrived. And the subject of their whispers was the elegant woman.
Hazel, usually a silent observer in these gatherings, found herself unusually attuned to the conversations swirling around her. She scrubbed at a stubborn stain on a dinner plate, her movements jerky and agitated. The other maids, oblivious to her inner turmoil, chattered away, their voices laced with a mixture of awe and suspicion.
"Did you see her coat?" Lucy, exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Crimson velvet, embroidered with silver! It must have cost a fortune."
"And her eyes!" chimed in Mira, . "Like violets, they were. I've never seen anything like it."
"she must be a doctor ,"agnes continued, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "A doctor in…delicate matters." She cast a significant glance towards the closed doors of Mr. Stern's room.
A ripple of knowing laughter went through the room. Hazel's stomach churned. Delicate matters? What delicate matters could Mr. Stern possibly require that needed such an…unconventional doctor? The image of Irene,with her icy elegance and piercing violet eyes, flashed through her mind, fueling a growing unease.
"she might be his woman lara whispered. "He doesn't let any woman get close to him"
The whispers and gossip continued, each word a tiny pinprick to Hazel's already frayed nerves. They talked about her beauty, the hushed conversations, the closed doors . They talked about the rumors, the possibility of the woman being his. The strange loud sound the heard the night before.
Hazel's grip on the plate tightened. She didn't like it. She didn't like the whispers, the insinuations, the way they were talking about Mr. Stern, about Irene. A wave of possessive anger washed over her. Mr. Stern, despite his aloofness, had always been…kind . He'd taken all of them in. given them a comfortable home a purpose. And now, these gossiping harpies were dissecting his life, his secrets, like vultures picking at a carcass.
But it wasn't just loyalty that fueled her anger. It was something else, something darker, something that gnawed at her insides. It was jealousy. Jealousy of Irene's elegance, her confidence, her apparent hold over Mr. Stern. Jealous of the way she moved through the house, so assured, so untouchable. Jealous of the secrets she shared with her employer, secrets that Hazel, despite her proximity, could only guess at.
The whispers continued, each word a twist of the knife in Hazel's heart. She could feel the anger rising in her, a hot, burning sensation that threatened to boil over. She slammed the plate down on the table, the sudden clatter silencing the gossiping maids.
"That's enough!" she snapped, her voice trembling with barely suppressed rage. "You don't know anything. You're just gossiping, making up stories."
The maids stared at her, surprised by her outburst. Hazel rarely spoke up, preferring to remain in the background, unnoticed. But tonight, something had snapped. The jealousy, the resentment, the feeling of being utterly insignificant had finally pushed her over the edge. She glared at them, her eyes flashing with a fury that surprised even herself. And in that moment, they saw something in her gaze, something fierce and untamed, that made them shrink back, their whispers dying in their throats.
Hazel stomped out of the kitchen.. she was irritated and furious .
Now, she was out in the hallway, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. She needed air, a moment to compose herself before she went back to the simmering chaos of the kitchen. She hadn't meant to cause a scene, but the words had tumbled out, driven by an anger she couldn't contain.
As she rounded the corner, still fuming, she collided with someone. A gasp escaped her lips, and she stumbled back, apologizing profusely. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention…" she looked up suddenly realizing who it was.
But Irene didn't respond. She simply straightened up, her face a mask of… something. Hazel couldn't quite place it. It wasn't anger, not exactly. More like… tightly controlled frustration .
Irene's lips were pressed into a thin line, and her brow was furrowed. She secured the button if her shirt, and just walked pass Hazel, her steps stiff and precise.