Chapter 15: Martha's Tea

Martha Thorne did not summon people. Rooms delivered them. Leah was intercepted by a foundation assistant with pearls at her throat and fear in her eyes. "Mrs. Thorne would like tea in the east salon." The east salon had once been Isabella's favorite room. It overlooked the garden and smelled faintly of lemon polish. She had hidden under the piano there at eight while Martha hosted a governor's wife. Now the piano was gone, replaced by a donation wall. Martha sat beside the window. "Set it there, dear." Leah placed the tray on the low table. Her hands were steady because she had imagined killing this woman too many times to waste the moment on shaking. Martha studied her. "Have you worked with us before?" "No, ma'am." "Your hands are familiar." "I hope they are clean." The corner of Martha's mouth lifted. "Humor. How rare in service staff." Leah poured tea. Martha added one sugar cube, then another. Isabella remembered that Martha hated sugar. This cup was theater, not thirst. "Olivia tells me you served Mr. Costa at L'Etoile," Martha said. "I serve many guests." "And Mr. Hunt." Leah lowered the teapot. "Mr. Hunt orders water." "Mr. Hunt orders people." Martha stirred once. "If he has ordered you near my family, you should ask what happened to the last girl who believed he was saving her." Leah kept her face blank. Martha leaned back. "My granddaughter was beautiful too. Not clever enough, sadly. Clever girls know the difference between opportunity and bait." "I am sorry for your loss." "Are you?" The question hung between them like a blade. Leah thought of the empty grave, the infant bracelet, Elena Voss's arms around a stolen child. "I am sorry for many things," she said. Martha's eyes narrowed. Before she could speak, the salon door opened. Catherine Thorne stepped in and stopped dead. For one second, mother and stolen daughter looked at each other across a tea tray. Catherine's lips parted. She saw something. Not enough to know. Enough to fear. Martha noticed. "Catherine," she said softly, "you look unwell." Catherine's gaze dropped to Leah's wrist. The infant bracelet had slipped half an inch beneath her cuff. Catherine made a sound like a prayer being strangled. "Where did you get that?" she whispered. Martha stood so fast the teacup rattled. Leah turned to leave, but two security men blocked the door. Martha's voice lost every grandmotherly note. "Search her before she leaves this room."