Clara’s voice trembled, and then, with a shimmer of tears, her whole face lit up with surprise and joy.
I froze, my throat tightening. “...Clara.”
Although Clara was only a maid in this household, she was the only one who had ever truly been kind to me.
The other servants always treated me with polite indifference, their tones distant and detached.
To them, the Locke family had only one daughter—Evangeline. I was nothing but air.
That sweltering summer when I broke out in a rash in the stuffy storeroom, it was Clara who used her own money to buy me a small fan.
In winter, when I was shivering from the cold, she secretly brought me an electric blanket.
Thinking of that, an ache rose in my chest, my nose stinging for no reason.
Her gaze fell on the plastic bag in my hand, and her voi
