Chapter 6: A Daughter Standing Where The Servant Had Knelt
I kept my hand open beside me and did not reach for Lily.
She had come away from the broken flute because I had moved between her and the glass, but distance mattered now. She stood near my shoulder, close enough that I could feel the uneven rhythm of her breathing, yet not touching me. Her gray uniform hung from her narrow frame as if it belonged to someone larger. One sleeve had slipped toward her elbow, exposing the dark mark circling her wrist.
The ballroom had not resumed its music. The string players remained near the staircase with their instruments lowered. Guests held their champagne glasses without drinking. Their attention moved between Lily, the shards on the marble, and the official envelope in my hand.
I wanted to pull my daughter against me. I wanted to carry her out of the room and shut every door behind us. Instead, I left the choice visible. My palm stayed at my side. Lily could step closer or remain where she was.
After a moment, she moved half a pace.
That small movement changed the room more than any raised voice could have. She was no longer kneeling beneath Camille's dress. She was standing beside me, and everyone could see that the arrangement had not been voluntary or ordinary. Camille's empty champagne glass remained in her manicured hand. Her black silk hem was still near the place where Lily had been made to gather the pieces.
Richard had stopped descending. One hand gripped the banister, and his broad body blocked part of the staircase. The confidence that had filled his face earlier did not return. He watched Lily as though her position beside me had become a new kind of threat.
I looked at the bruise beneath her left eye. The color had begun to fade at the edges, but the shape remained clear enough to resist explanation. Then I looked again at her wrist. The mark was not hidden by the uniform now. It formed a dark ring against her skin.
I did not ask who had done either thing. Not in front of the guests. Not while Richard and Camille watched for any question they could turn into a defense.
There were other facts I needed first: how long Lily had worn the uniform, whether she had been expected to serve during the party, what had happened before the glass broke, and whether the mark and bruise came from the same recent treatment. I needed to know what room she slept in, what she had been given to eat, and whether she could leave the mansion safely with me. None of those answers could be taken from her in a crowded ballroom.
Lily's eyes remained fixed on the envelope. Recognition was there, but fear stood in front of it. My arrival had altered the balance of power without making her feel safe. She knew Richard was still on the stairs. She knew Camille was still close. She knew the guests could watch and still do nothing.
I lowered the envelope slightly, keeping the seal visible but no longer presenting it like a weapon. The property could wait one more minute. Lily could not.
Camille shifted toward Richard. The movement was careful, almost graceful, but it put her nearer the staircase and farther from the broken flute. Richard's fingers tightened on the banister. Neither of them looked at the uniform for long.
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I turned my body enough to place Lily behind the line of my shoulder without concealing her. The decision was practical: shield her from the room, but do not make her disappear from it. Her hand hovered beside mine. When her fingers finally touched the back of my glove, they were cold.
Above us, the chandelier continued to burn over the silent party. The envelope waited in my other hand, sealed and decisive. Before I opened it, I needed Lily's account—and before she could give it, I had to get her somewhere the room could no longer use her fear against her.
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