Chapter 4
Three years later, in the back garden of Preston Manor, Charlotte sat on the veranda, a book in her hand, but her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon.
The sky was gloomy and overcast, the clouds pressing down so low they looked like a heavy lead-gray curtain.
"My lady." A maid approached, carrying a cup of coffee, and respectfully placed it on the small table beside her.
Charlotte withdrew her gaze and glanced at her.
The maid was Lily Campbell, sent by Edward to serve Charlotte. But everyone knew she was really there to keep an eye on her.
In the past three years, Charlotte had gone through eight sets of servants, and every group was another bunch of spies for Edward.
Charlotte never cared about the constant surveillance.
She followed her daily routine without complaint: eating, drinking, sleeping, going out when necessary, and meeting guests as required. She was the picture of propriety and duty. No one could find fault with her.
For three years, not once had she left Preston Manor, nor had she ever done anything that could be considered improper.
Therefore, the servants in the manor would whisper among themselves, "That lady from the Sinclair family is heartless. Her whole family is dead, and yet she's living so comfortably."
Charlotte heard the gossip, but she simply smiled.
She wasn't living comfortably.
No one knew that she lay awake every night, waiting for dawn. She had to have someone taste her food first, just in case it was poisoned. She had to analyze every word anyone said to her, always on guard.
She had no freedom at all.
"My lady," Lily spoke up again, "it's the fifteenth today. As tradition dictates, you should go to the memorial hall to pay your respects."
Charlotte's expression tightened.
In the Preston family's memorial hall, the memorial plaques of Edward's parents were displayed.
But Charlotte knew that beneath one of the floor tiles in the memorial hall, there was a hollow space. Hidden there were her parents' clothes and personal effects.
For the past three years, it was the only place she could honor her parents.
"Alright," she replied, rising to her feet and putting the book down.
Lily followed close behind, matching her every step.
Charlotte walked on without looking back.
The memorial hall was small but spotless.
Charlotte walked in, sat on the cushion, picked up a candle, lit it, and placed it in the sconce.
The memorial tablets of the Preston ancestors were lined up in rows, their black backgrounds and golden lettering radiating solemn dignity.
Charlotte sat there, hands pressed together, eyes shut, her lips moving ever so slightly as she murmured a silent prayer to herself.
Lily lingered at the doorway, quietly keeping an eye on her from afar.
When the candle had burned down, Charlotte opened her eyes and rose to her feet.
She didn't leave right away. Instead, she walked over to the east side of the memorial hall and gently placed her hand on the wall.
On the wall hung a portrait of Edward's father, General Richard Preston.
Charlotte gazed at the portrait, her eyes calm and steady.
"Richard," Charlotte whispered, as if talking to herself, "I wonder how Edward is these days. He hasn't come home in a while. If you're watching from heaven, maybe you could appear in his dreams and remind him to visit more often."
Lily lingered at the doorway, listening without a hint of suspicion.
But she had no idea that Charlotte's fingertips were gently tapping the wall hidden behind the portrait. She tapped three times.
It was a coded signal.
On the other side of the wall was a narrow alley outside Preston Manor. There, an old man sold candies all year round, no matter the weather.
That old man was one of Charlotte's agents.
Three years ago, two months after Charlotte married Edward, she managed to reconnect with the surviving followers from Anthony's old ranks.
They kept their identities hidden, scattered throughout Betrico, lying low like unremarkable stones buried in the earth.
They were waiting for their chance.
Charlotte withdrew her hand, turned to Lily, and said, "Let's go back."
Lily answered softly and followed her out of the memorial hall.
As they reached the doorway, Charlotte paused for a moment and glanced back at the portrait.
Richard's face in the painting was stern and commanding, his eyes sharp.
Charlotte's lips curved into the faintest of smiles.
It vanished in an instant, so quickly that Lily didn't notice.
That night, Charlotte sat in her room with no lights on.
She sat in the darkness, holding a tiny scrap of paper. Earlier that day, the old man selling candies had slipped it into her hand as he passed her a piece of candy.
There were only four words written on it: [The time has come.]
Charlotte stared at those four words, her smile deepening little by little.
She had waited three years, and finally, the moment she'd been waiting for had arrived.