“I don't like this."
The steward's voice was low but firm as he spoke to the housekeeper in the dim hallway outside Ashton's room.
“He's asking questions. About the staff. About her."
The housekeeper pursed her lips. “You think the girl's a threat?"
“I think she's more than she says. That tea maid moves like a field medic and quotes battlefield statistics. I don't care if her forged clearance says 'Reena'—no servant learns to dress bullet wounds like that."
From the shadows, Erin listened in silence, hand clenched around her cleaning rag.
---
Inside the guest wing, Ashton sipped his tea, watching raindrops trace lines on the window glass. When Erin entered, he didn't turn.
“Still no sugar," he noted.
“You don't take sugar."
He raised an eyebrow. “And how would you know that?"
Sh
