It was already a week. Seven days of wasted efforts and today is the day. The day Aunt Margery sees if she made any progress.
Delaney Kingsley sat in the garden gazebo, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The morning air was crisp, but Delaney felt a bead of sweat trickle down her back. Across the small, wrought-iron table sat Lady Margery.
The older woman looked like a queen holding court. She wore a dress of bright pumpkin orange that clashed violently with the pink roses climbing the gazebo trellis. She did not care. She held her teacup with pinky extended, her eyes sharp and assessing.
"So," Aunt Margery said. She took a slow sip of tea. "Report."
Delaney took a deep breath. She had her notebook open on the table. It looked like a battle plan that had gone wrong. There were names crossed out in aggressive black ink. There were notes in the margins that said things like 'Too loud' and 'Smells like soup'.
"It has been… an active week, my Lady," Delaney began cautiously.
