by Melissa
Part 21. Whispers
of doubt, seeds of action.
Mrs. Henderson,
the head maid, awoke with a scowl. The news of Melissa's arrest had soured her
mood considerably. She sat up in bed, the crisp cotton sheets doing little to
soothe her ruffled feathers. Melissa, in jail? The girl was a handful, no
doubt, always pushing the boundaries, sneaking around with papers when she
should have been learning her duties. Mrs. Henderson had suspected for some
time that Melissa had been studying in secret, a fact that had irritated her
more than surprised her. But theft? That was a different matter entirely.
Melissa was many things – spoiled, entitled, a touch too clever for her own
good – but a thief after her arrival at Elmwood? That, she couldn't believe.
Mrs. Henderson
rose and walked to her wardrobe, a sturdy, no-nonsense piece of furniture.
Inside hung her uniform, starched and impeccable, ready for the day. It was a
variation of the standard maid's uniform, designed to reflect her position as
head maid. The dress was a dark grey, a shade more dignified than the navy blue
worn by the other maids. It was still long, reaching just above her ankles, but
the cut was slightly more tailored, reflecting her authority. The white apron,
as crisp and clean as ever, was longer as well, extending almost to the hem of
her dress. It was also devoid of any pockets, a symbol of her supervisory role,
as she wasn't expected to do the same chores as the other maids. A small, grey
cap, trimmed with a slightly wider band of lace than the others, completed the
ensemble.
Mrs. Henderson pulled the dress from its hanger, the heavy fabric a familiar weight in her hands. She slipped it over her head, the smooth fabric a welcome comfort. She fastened the buttons, her fingers moving with practised ease. The apron followed, the long white expanse a stark contrast to the grey of the dress. She tied the strings at her back, the bow neat and precise. Finally, she placed the grey cap on her head, adjusting it until it sat perfectly. Looking in the mirror, she saw Mrs. Henderson, the head maid, a force to be reckoned with.
Dressed and ready
to face the day, Mrs. Henderson left her room and headed to her office, a small
but functional space located at the back of the staff quarters. The room was
sparsely furnished, containing a large oak desk, a comfortable armchair, and a filing
cabinet. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with neatly organized
files and ledgers. A large window overlooked the gardens, providing a calming
view, though Mrs. Henderson was far too agitated to appreciate it at the
moment.
Mrs. Henderson sat
down at her desk, pulling out the staff schedule. As she reviewed the
assignments for the day, her mind raced. Melissa's clandestine studies didn't
surprise her. She'd suspected the girl was intellectually inclined, but she'd
warned her repeatedly. The dean, Mrs. Cavendish, was a stickler for the rules.
No staff member was allowed to be studying while working. But Melissa, stealing
money? It made no sense.
Could Melissa have been framed? The thought occurred to Mrs. Henderson. It was possible. But why? Who would want to frame her, and for what reason? The questions swirled in her mind, unanswered. She drummed her fingers on the desk, her brow furrowed in concentration. Melissa was one of "her girls," as she privately thought of the maids under her charge. And one of her girls was in trouble. Unjustly, she suspected. Melissa might be a rule-breaker, but she didn't belong in jail. She belonged at Elmwood Academy, under Mrs. Henderson's watchful eye, learning the way to conduct herself as a proper servant. A little discipline, a little guidance, that's what the girl needed, not a prison cell. Mrs. Henderson felt a surge of protectiveness. She was responsible for her staff, and she wouldn't let this injustice stand.
