Outside this side of Ashford Estate, the night had folded itself over the estate in sheets of velvet blue, soft rain combing through the gardens while the lamps along the stone paths burned with patient gold.
The entire household had the stillness of a cathedral after confession, that solemn quiet rich families loved pretending was peace when in truth it was only wealth muffling its own sins beneath good architecture. Beyond the tall windows, trees moved in the wind like tired witnesses, their black branches scratching gently against the moonlit sky, and somewhere far the most important servants' quarters slept beneath a faint silver mist.
Consort stood for a while beneath the outer balcony arch, wearing her maid uniform with the flawless discipline of an Ashford Head Maid, hands folded before her, posture straight, expression calm enough to fool anyone who had never made the tragic mistake of looking closely:
