Chapter 9
The basement kitchen was warm, smelling faintly of roasted garlic and damp linen. Clara sat at the center wooden prep table, staring down into a white ceramic mug of chamomile tea that Mrs. Gable had brewed for her. Her eyes were still red, and her lower lip quivered whenever she thought about the way Elena had pointed at her in the foyer. Mrs. Gable, a stout woman with silver hair pinned into a neat bun, stood beside her, patting the girl's shoulder with a heavy, calloused hand. "Drink it down, child," Mrs. Gable said gently. "Mr. Julian isn't one to let an injustice stand. He'll sort it out upstairs." Before Clara could answer, the heavy wooden door at the top of the stairs creaked open. Footsteps echoed on the concrete steps—heavy, measured footsteps that belonged to Julian. Both women turned as Julian entered the warm, bright kitchen. He wasn't wearing his suit jacket anymore, having tossed it over a chair upstairs, but his white shirt and patterned tie remained neat. He stopped a few feet from the table, looking down at the young maid with a expression that was difficult to read—serious, yet entirely softened from the cold authority he had displayed in the drawing room.
