Chapter 8
Later that afternoon, under the pretext of gathering fresh linens for the guest rooms, Clara slipped down the narrow, hidden back staircase that led to the servants' quarters in the stone-flagged basement. The air here was cooler and smelled of damp earth and laundry soap. The domestic staff had grown noticeably distant over the past few weeks, whispering in corners and avoiding direct eye contact whenever Isabella walked through the halls. Clara found Mrs. Higgins, the elderly housekeeper who had served the family since Clara was a small child, sitting by the hearth peeling apples with a small paring knife. The old woman looked up quickly, her wrinkled face tightening with anxiety as she gestured for Clara to keep her voice down.
"You shouldn't be down here, Miss Clara," Mrs. Higgins whispered, glancing nervously toward the heavy wooden door that led to the main cellar. "The mistress has eyes everywhere. She dismissed the kitchen boy yesterday just for speaking to you in the corridor."
"I need to know the truth, Mrs. Higgins," Clara said, pulling up a small wooden stool and sitting close to the old housekeeper. "My father is beginning to see what she has done, but we need proof of her past before she came here. Who is Isabella really? Where did she come from?"
Mrs. Higgins paused her knife, an apple peel curling into her lap like a ribbon of red parchment. She let out a long, shuddering sigh. "She didn't come from the circles she claims, Miss Clara. Before she married your father, she was a companion to an elderly shipping magnate in Baltimore—a man who died under very mysterious circumstances, leaving his entire estate to a young, penniless woman who vanished shortly after the funeral. The lawyers investigated at the time, but there was never enough concrete evidence to bring charges. She is a chameleon, capable of wearing any face required to secure wealth and status."
Clara absorbed the chilling revelation. Isabella was not merely an ambitious second wife; she was a calculated opportunist with a history of preying on vulnerable, aging men of means. Julian had been her next target, and the estate had nearly fallen completely into her trap.
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"Is there any documentation left from that period?" Clara asked urgently. "Letters, receipts, anything that can prove her identity before she changed her name?"
Mrs. Higgins shook her head slowly. "The mistress purged her personal effects the week she arrived here. She burned a trunk full of old papers in the courtyard incinerator under the guise of spring cleaning. But..." The housekeeper hesitated, her wrinkled hand trembling slightly. "There is one thing she missed. In the back of the pantry, tucked behind the old spice jars, is a ledger from the Baltimore household that was accidentally mixed up with our dry goods delivery months ago. I kept it because I had a bad feeling about her from the start."
