Eve Silver

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concentrating on that faded mark. She willed her trembling legs not to collapse out from under her. Though she could feel Dr. Cole's eyes upon her, she could not bring herself to meet his gaze, watching him instead from the corner of her eye.
    “Ah.” After a breath of silence he said, “Come with me.” He turned and began to walk toward the stairs.
    Darcie blinked, stunned by the speed, the ruthless celerity of the sentence meted out to her. Just that, come with me, and her life here was over.
    Poole stepped forward, looking down at her as though she were a particularly repugnant species of insect, one he'd like to crush under the heel of his boot.
    “Go on with you,” he said.
    She glanced at the line of servants. Cook, who'd been kind to her—slipping her an extra biscuit or cake, muttering about girls who could blow away in a breeze. John, the coachman, who said little, but whose eyes spoke more clearly than any long-winded speech. Mary, her roommate, her friend.
    Dr. Cole started up the stairs. Darcie followed, tears blurring her vision, but she hesitated at the bottom step. She expected to be tossed on the street without ceremony or fanfare, not escorted up the main staircase. Perhaps he meant for her to leave of her own accord. She looked about uncertainly.
    Dr. Cole stopped and glanced over his shoulder.
    “Well, come along,” he said.
    “Please, sir,” Darcie began softly, drawing on a reserve of bravery that she had not known she possessed. She only knew with a dogged certainty that she could not leave without her drawings. “I have only one thing that I brought with me to this house. My leather folio of drawings. May I get it?”
    Dr. Cole frowned, then turned and descended the steps until he stood on level ground with her. Her belly writhing like a pit of serpents, Darcie lifted her eyes up to meet his.
    He didn't appear angry, only puzzled. “You wish to retrieve your folio of drawings? To what purpose?”
    “To take with me when I go.”
    “Where are you going?” There was genuine confusion in his tone, along with a subtle thread of impatience.
    Darcie watched him warily. Was he truly insane?
    “Where should I go but out on the street?” she replied, forcing herself to maintain eye contact, rather than obey the urge to drop her head and peek at him through sidelong glances as was her wont.
    “What do you need from the street?” His annoyance was more apparent now. He made an impatient gesture with his hand. “It can wait. I have need of you now. Come along.”
    He began to ascend the stairs once more, then stopped abruptly. Turning, he said, “Poole, I trust I can leave it to you to find a replacement maid-of-all-work. There must be dozens of girls eager to earn an honest wage.” He slanted an enigmatic glance at the butler. “We seem to lose our maids at an alarming rate. Try to find one that will last more than a few weeks.”
    “I shall see to it immediately, sir.”
    Darcie glanced at the other servants. None met her gaze, but she could feel their compassion rolling from them in waves. Suddenly, Mary looked at her and sent her a wavering smile meant to reassure.
    Please don't let me cry, Darcie thought. I'll have an eternity for tears later.
    “I can hardly keep you on as a maid-of-all-work.” Dr. Cole’s pronouncement made Darcie cringe inwardly, her heart heavy as she waited for him to cast her out. “It would be a terrible waste of your talent,” he continued. “Talent which I have need of, given that my own skill as an artist is abysmal.”
    She heard the unified gasps of the other servants even as the meaning of Dr. Cole's statement sank into her benumbed mind. As she turned her head, her glance collided with the butler's. His face was impassive, but high color marked his cheeks.
    As Darcie whirled back towards the doctor, her arm knocked a vase of fresh flowers set on the table by the stairs. Horrified, she found herself caught in the endless mortification of the moment.

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