Chapter 5 - The Fitting
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“Has Caroline ever threatened you before yesterday morning?” Nathaniel asked, his gaze pinning her in place.
Erin swallowed the lump in her throat. She thought of the dropped bags, the ruined plates, the late-night silver polishing. But none of those were explicit threats. They were the actions of a bully, not a criminal.
“She doesn't threaten me, Mr. Whitmore,” Erin answered carefully. “She just makes sure I know I am invisible.”
Nathaniel’s jaw tightened. He nodded once, dismissing her from the study.
The next morning, the grand living room was transformed into a temporary bridal salon. Caroline’s wedding dress had arrived from Paris, and a team of frantic seamstresses fluttered around her as she stood on a small velvet pedestal.
Erin was assigned to serve tea to the bridal party. She kept her head down, balancing the heavy silver tray, praying she could get through the room without incident.
“Erin,” Caroline called out sharply.
Erin stopped, turning toward the pedestal. Caroline looked stunning in the intricate, hand-beaded lace, but her eyes were cold and victorious.
“Bring the tea here. My mother is parched,” Caroline commanded.
Erin walked over, lowering the tray so Caroline’s mother could take a cup. As Erin pulled the tray back, Caroline suddenly shifted her weight. Her elbow struck the edge of the heavy silver platter.
The teapot tipped violently. Scalding hot Earl Grey tea splashed across the floor, missing the hem of the priceless Parisian gown by mere inches.
“Are you completely incompetent?!” Caroline shrieked, clutching her skirts. “You almost ruined my dress! You clumsy, stupid girl!”
The seamstresses gasped. The room fell dead silent.
“I’m sorry,” Erin whispered, instantly dropping to her knees with a napkin to blot the spilled liquid from the expensive Persian rug.
“Sorry doesn't fix a fifty-thousand-dollar dress,” Caroline hissed, stepping down from the pedestal. She loomed over Erin, her voice dropping into a vicious, venomous whisper. “I told you what happens to people who forget their place. You are going to be fired before dinner.”
“She will not be fired.”
The frail, raspy voice came from the doorway.
Eleanor Whitmore sat in her custom wheelchair, pushed by a private nurse. Nathaniel’s mother looked terribly pale, her silver hair thin, but her eyes possessed a sudden, terrifying clarity that had been missing for weeks.
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Caroline froze, immediately forcing a sweet, angelic smile onto her face. “Eleanor, darling! You shouldn't be out of bed.”
“I may be dying, Caroline, but I am not blind,” Eleanor said, her voice shaking with quiet fury. She pointed a trembling finger at the bride. “I saw you hit the tray. You did it on purpose.”
