Chapter 2 - The Cottage Beyond the Glass
The physician arrived within forty minutes, accompanied by the quiet hum of tires on gravel. Dr. Mercer was a man who had attended to the Sterling estate for thirty years, a witness to discreet illnesses and quiet arrangements. Yet, when he knelt to examine the burns blistering Elena’s forearm, his weathered hands moved with unusual hesitation.
"First-degree burns, thankfully," Mercer reported after dressing the wound. "The fabric absorbed the worst of the scald, but the stress... the child's heartbeat is elevated. She needs quiet. Absolute bed rest, clean air, and nourishment."
Julian stood near the bay window of the guest wing, watching rain begin to smear the glass. He had refused to send Elena back to the staff quarters, placing her instead in the east suite where natural light washed over pale linen. It was a space usually reserved for visiting dignitaries, not domestic help.
"Was she kept in the potting sheds, Mercer?" Julian asked, his tone flat. "Be honest with me."
The old doctor sighed, packing his stethoscope into worn leather. "I was summoned twice over the summer to attend to a feverish girl behind the glasshouses. Victoria informed me you had approved the quarantine due to a contagious influenza. I did my duty as a physician, Julian. I did not ask questions I knew would cost me my practice."
A heavy silence followed. Complicity in the Sterling household was not maintained through violence; it was bought with comfortable salaries, sustained through quiet compromises, and sealed with polite silence. Everyone had looked away because looking away preserved their livelihoods.
Julian walked out into the corridor. He found Mrs. Gable, the head housekeeper who had served his mother before him, standing by the linen press with downcast eyes.
"You knew," Julian stated.
"Master Julian, Madame Victoria threatened my pension," Mrs. Gable replied, her voice cracking beneath decades of stoicism. "She told us Elena was unstable. She said the girl was obsessed with you, that the child wasn't even yours, and that exposing it would destroy the foundation's charity standing."
"Where did she sleep?" Julian asked.
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Mrs. Gable swallowed hard, pulling a rusted brass key from her apron pocket. "The north shed behind the hydrangeas. It has no radiator, sir. Only the old kerosene heater."
Julian took the cold brass key into his palm. It weighed practically nothing, yet it felt heavier than every asset his grandfather had ever deeded to his name.
