On his first day, the housekeeper Nancy Whitfield opened the service door and welcomed him with a tired but kind smile. She showed him where the tools were stored and offered him water when the sun grew harsh. Over the following days, Michael observed her closely. She was attentive to the children, gentle without being indulgent, and visibly tense whenever Patricia was nearby.
One afternoon, while resting beneath an old maple tree, Michael spoke carefully. “The children seem very quiet,” he said, as if making idle conversation.
Nancy hesitated, her hands twisting in her apron. “They are sweet children,” she replied. “Very sweet. Sometimes too quiet.” She stopped herself, glancing toward the house. “I should not say more.”
Michael needed no further confirmation. He saw the worry she tried to hide.
That evening, Patricia greeted the children with exaggerated warmth. “Did you behave today,” she asked, smiling thinly.
“Yes,” Abigail answered softly.
“Yes what,” Patricia corrected.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Say it properly.”
Abigail swallowed. “Yes, Mrs. Knox.”