Chapter 4 - Shadows in the Garden
Over the next three weeks, a quiet revolution took place within the Vale estate.
Under Clara’s gentle guidance, Noah began to emerge from his shell. He didn't speak in long sentences, but he used small words—water, blue, outside, book. He stopped throwing heavy bronze statues and biting his caretakers. He allowed Clara to wash his hair, change his clothes, and hold his hand when they walked through the grand corridors.
However, Noah refused to enter the main dining room, and he completely panicked whenever Mrs. Hargrove approached him.
Clara began taking Noah out into the estate’s expansive glass conservatory every afternoon. The sunlit glasshouse was filled with exotic orchids, towering ferns, and the warm scent of damp earth—a stark contrast to the cold, sterile atmosphere of the main house.
One chilly Tuesday afternoon, while Noah was sitting on a low wooden bench carefully arranging red and yellow autumn leaves into neat rows, Clara noticed Mrs. Hargrove standing outside the glass doors, watching them intently.
Mrs. Hargrove wasn't looking at Noah with warmth or relief. Her expression was cold, calculating, and strangely anxious.
When Clara stood up to stretch, Mrs. Hargrove opened the glass door and stepped inside, her key ring jingling loudly at her waist.
Noah instantly tensed, scrambling behind Clara’s skirt and clutching the fabric tightly.
"He seems much calmer around you, Clara," Mrs. Hargrove said, her voice slick as oil. "Mr. Vale is very pleased. In fact, he has instructed me to manage your payment directly from the house account."
She pulled a crisp, white envelope from her blazer pocket and offered it to Clara.
Clara looked at the envelope, but didn't take it immediately. "Mr. Vale told me my salary would be handled through his personal secretary."
Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes flashed with a momentary sharp annoyance before she smoothed her features. "I am the house manager, Clara. Everything goes through me. Take it. Consider it an advance for your brother's medical bills."
Driven by her family's desperate need, Clara reached out and accepted the envelope. "Thank you, Mrs. Hargrove."
"Just remember your place, child," Mrs. Hargrove added, leaning in slightly, her shadow falling over Noah. "You are a maid from the slums of Cicero. Do not start thinking you mean anything to this family. When the boy is fully healed, Mr. Vale will hire a proper, educated governess, and you will be sent back to your diner."
With that bitter parting gift, Mrs. Hargrove turned and walked out of the conservatory.
Clara felt a dull ache in her chest, but she shook it off. She didn't care about staying in this opulent house forever. All she wanted was to save her brother.
She slipped the envelope into her pocket. Later that evening, when she returned to her room to check the contents, she pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills. But as she flipped through the cash, a small piece of folded carbon paper fell out from between the bills.
Clara picked it up. It was a copy of an old internal delivery receipt from the mansion's private security firm, dated two years ago—the exact week Julianna Vale died.
The receipt listed a purchase of three high-end hidden audio bugs, delivered directly to the estate.
May you like
And the signature at the bottom of the order form, authorizing the installation of wiretaps in Julianna Vale's private quarters, was not Dominic Vale’s.
It was signed by Mrs. Hargrove.
