Chapter 4
Night had deepened, and Northwarden Manor was wrapped in silence. But a dim lamp was still lit in Charlotte's courtyard.
She sat in front of her vanity, her expression dark. A rough servant woman stood before her with her head lowered, careful as could be.
Charlotte pulled out a tiny paper packet from her sleeve. She didn't even look at the servant. She just slapped the packet down hard on the table.
"Find a way to slip this into her tea."
Her voice dripped with badly hidden malice.
"Keep it clean. Don't leave any evidence behind."
"Make her sick, then find an excuse to throw her out of the manor."
The servant woman hurriedly agreed, took the packet with shaking hands, and backed out.
I knew nothing about any of this. But Maggie, my personal maid, was sharp as hell.
She was always in and out of the kitchen, eyes open, ears sharper than anyone else's. That servant woman was acting shady, and Maggie noticed.
Maggie quietly intercepted the bowl of tea that was supposed to be delivered to me. She brought the tea over for me to see.
I held the cup and lowered my head to sniff it. A faint, hard-to-place odor was mixed in with the tea's fragrance.
My expression didn't change at all. No panic, no fear, not even a flicker of anger.
If anything, my heart became calmer. So she had finally made her move.
I didn't make a fuss. I only gave Maggie an order.
"Dump this tea and send another bowl back in its place."
"And remember, keep this original bowl exactly as it is for me."
Maggie's eyes showed a little confusion. But she nodded and did as she was told.
She knew her miss always had a reason for everything.
Using the cover of night, I carefully stored away the intercepted tea with the strange smell. I sealed it inside a tiny porcelain bottle and hid it in a secret compartment under the bed.
A mocking little smile curled at the corner of my lips. This was evidence Charlotte had handed to me herself.
The least I could do was keep it safe for her.
The next day, that servant woman, acting under Charlotte's orders, sneaked into the kitchen again. She poked her head around, trying to find out whether I had drunk the tea the day before.
By chance, I was in the kitchen and ran into her without giving anything away. I wore a faint smile, warm enough to make me look like some ordinary young lady of the house.
"Auntie May, is your mother-in-law feeling any better?"
"And your child, how old are they this year?"
I asked casually, my voice light and gentle. But the servant woman gave a frightened shudder.
There was something in my smile that sent a chill up her spine. She stammered through a reply, her eyes darting around, not daring to look me in the face.
The servant woman went back and reported to Charlotte.
"Madam, the eldest miss... I don't think she drank it."
Charlotte's face turned dark at once. She clenched the handkerchief in her hand so tightly her nails nearly dug into her palm.
"Keep watching her. She'll drink it sooner or later!"
Just then, one of the manor's older attendants suddenly came to find me. She bent slightly and lowered her voice.
"Miss Sinclair, the General wants you to deliver some writing supplies to the study at eight in the morning."
My heart gave a violent jump in that instant.
Eight in the morning.
The study.
Alexander Warren.
An emotion I couldn't quite name spread through me fast. Carrying a thick stack of writing paper and several prepared ink sticks, I went to the study.
The study was quiet. The scent of sandalwood mixed with ink and books.
Alexander Warren sat behind the desk with a brush in hand, focused on a military manual. He didn't look up.
I set the things down gently beside the desk and stood to one side with my hands lowered, waiting for his instructions.
After a long while, he finally set down the brush in his hand.
His voice was low, carrying a note of testing.
"What year did you get the scar on your wrist?"
My breathing stopped cold. My heartbeat felt like it was about to burst out of my chest.
I stayed silent for a moment. My fingertips unconsciously rubbed the old scar hidden under my sleeve.
"General, it was in the Year of the Great Northern Turmoil."
The Year of the Great Northern Turmoil. The year the Northern Frontier was thrown into chaos and countless lives were ruined.
Alexander Warren's hand holding the brush stopped completely. He slowly raised his head.
His eyes blazed as they fixed directly on mine. His gaze was calm, yet it carried a force that seemed to look straight through a person.
"That year, when the Northern Frontier fell into chaos, my men were scattered and I was trapped by the rebels."
"Someone saved me and pulled me out of a deep ditch."
"That person's wrist was sliced open by broken stone."
"Blood trailed all the way."
His voice struck my heart like rolling thunder. Every single word landed clearly in my ears.
He knew.
He had known all along.