Chapter Two: The Maid With the Ashford Eyes
The girl arrived on a rainy Tuesday.
Her name was Clara Reed.
She was twenty-two, quiet, and dressed in a plain black uniform borrowed from the catering company. Her shoes were polished but old. Her brown hair was tied back neatly. She carried trays with careful hands and apologized even when no apology was needed.
Cassandra noticed her immediately.
Not because Clara was beautiful, though she was in a soft, unpolished way.
Not because she made mistakes, because she did not.
Cassandra noticed her because Richard stared.
It happened during a private dinner for donors. Clara entered the dining room carrying a silver tray of water glasses. Richard was speaking to a senator when he suddenly stopped mid-sentence.
His eyes followed Clara across the room.
Cassandra saw it.
She saw the confusion in his face. The shock. The strange sadness.
After dinner, Cassandra found him standing alone near the fireplace.
“Do you know that girl?” she asked.
Richard blinked. “What girl?”
“The new waitress.”
“No.”
But his voice was too quick.
Later that night, Cassandra called the catering manager.
“Tell me about the girl named Clara Reed.”
The woman on the phone sounded nervous. “She’s temporary staff, Mrs. Ashford. Very hardworking. She asked for extra shifts.”
“Where is she from?”
“I believe she grew up in foster care.”
Cassandra’s fingers tightened around the phone.
“Does she have family?”
“Not that I know of.”
The next morning, Cassandra watched Clara through the kitchen doorway.
Clara was helping Beatrice polish silver.
The old housekeeper looked at the girl with an expression Cassandra had never seen on her face before.
Tenderness.
Almost grief.
Then Clara laughed softly.
Beatrice’s hand trembled.
Cassandra stepped closer.
Around Clara’s neck, half-hidden beneath her collar, hung a small silver locket.
It was shaped like a swan.
Cassandra’s smile disappeared.
She had seen that symbol before.
On the locked nursery door.
On the Ashford family crest.
And carved into the missing key hook in the library.
That afternoon, Cassandra entered Richard’s study without knocking.
He was reviewing company documents.
She placed a printed employee form on his desk.
“Clara Reed,” she said. “Foster child. No family. No background before the age of four.”
Richard did not look up. “Why are you investigating the staff?”
“Because she wears your family symbol around her neck.”
May you like
Richard finally looked at her.
For the first time since Cassandra had known him, he looked afraid.
