Chapter 5 - EVERY PAIR
The housekeeper who finally spoke was named Marie Ellis.
Fifty-six.
Worked for me fourteen years.
She came into my office the morning after the dressing-room incident and closed the door.
“Sir, I should have told you.”
Those words never lead anywhere good.
“What?”
“Miss Lila and the shoes.”
“How long?”
“About six weeks.”
I stared.
“You saw?”
“Twice.”
“And?”
“I stopped it once.”
“What happened?”
“Miss Drayton told me it was a father-approved responsibility exercise.”
My voice dropped.
“You believed her?”
Marie looked ashamed.
“Not completely.”
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“She said you were trying to stop babying Miss Lila before the wedding.”
There.
Wedding.
Again.
Then:
“She told staff not to interfere with step-parenting.”
“She is not Lila’s parent.”
“I know.”
“Now.”
Marie absorbed that without defense.
“What exactly did she make Lila do?”
Small tasks at first.
Carry polishing cloths.
Match shoes to boxes.
Dust shelves.
Then sit beside the stool while Camilla prepared for events.
Camilla turned it into a ritual.
One pair before lunch.
Then three.
Then every shoe she intended to wear that week.
When Lila resisted, Camilla said:
“Your mother worked with clothes. You can too.”
That sentence was cruel enough.
Then worse:
“Service runs in you.”
I stopped Marie.
“Who heard that?”
“Two dressing assistants.”
Names.
Both interviewed.
Both confirmed.
One had objected.
Camilla dismissed her from the dressing suite.
Not fired from employment.
Reassigned to downstairs laundry coordination.
A social punishment.
Then the designer-shoe rack.
Why thirty-seven pairs?
A wardrobe assistant explained.
Camilla had a catalogue photography session scheduled for Tuesday.
Two days after the incident.
A professional museum photographer.
Halcyon curator.
Insurance appraiser.
Trust representative?
No.
That was strange.
May you like
If trust-owned pieces were being photographed for a museum loan, Commonwealth should have been involved.
They had not been invited.
