Chapter 247: Chapter Two Hundred AndForty Seven
The carriage was parked at the corner of a quiet, narrow street, partially hidden by the shade of a large oak tree. Inside, the atmosphere was tense. Eric sat staring out the window, his gaze fixed on a modest house down the block, a house that now seemed like a fortress.
Aiden, his trusted aide, slipped back into the carriage, his movements quick and silent. He sat opposite Eric, his face grim.
"How did you know, Your Grace?" Aiden asked, his voice a low whisper. He had just completed a slow walk around the block, and what he saw confirmed Eric’s suspicions completely.
Eric remained silent for a moment, his mind piecing together the ugly puzzle. Aiden continued, filling the silence. "Like you said, there are hired people all over the place. Two at the front door, one at the back alley, and another two just walking the street, pretending to be locals. They don’t look like official guards. They look... rough."
Eric finally broke his silence, though his eyes remained on the house. His arm rested on the edge of the open window, his chin resting on his curled fingers. "It’s obvious," he said, his voice flat. "Philip’s methods are thorough. He isn’t protecting a grieving family. He is quarantining a secret." He turned his gaze from the house to his aide. "Something is very fishy. That’s why they won’t let anyone meet or talk to the deceased’s family. They are suffocating the truth before it can even draw a breath."
Aiden’s shoulders slumped slightly. "Then there’s no way to approach them. We can’t get past those men without causing a scene."
Eric’s expression hardened with resolve. A small, determined smile touched his lips. "There’s a way," he replied, looking past Aiden to the other side of the street, where a lone figure was beginning to approach the house.
Amber walked with her head down, her posture slightly stooped, as if from a lifetime of hard work. The faded calico of her dress was clean but well-worn, and her hair was pulled back in a rough ponytail, with stray hairs escaping to frame a face that she had made deliberately plain. She looked like a thousand other domestic servants in the city—tired, unimportant, and invisible.
As she reached the front gate of the Kirk residence, the two burly men standing guard immediately blocked her path. They stood with their arms crossed, their expressions bored but watchful.
"State your business," one of them spoke, his voice a low rumble.
Amber did not look them in the eye. She gave a small, subservient bow of her head. "I’m here to do my work," she said, her voice meek. "I am the new bath attendant. It’s time for her to bathe. She’s with child and heavy so bathing is a lot of task for her.."
The other guard looked Amber up and down, his eyes taking in every detail of her appearance. He saw the worn-out dress, the simple hairstyle, the hands that looked rough from work. He saw exactly what he was meant to see: a lowly servant girl who posed no threat. He turned to his partner and gave a slight nod. They agreed in unison that she was of no consequence.
"Go on then," the first man grunted, stepping aside.
Amber slipped past them without another word. The front door opened into a small, dark room that smelled of sorrow . A fire crackled weakly in the hearth, doing little to dispel the gloom. Sitting in a chair by the fireplace was a young woman, her hands resting on a swollen, pregnant belly.
Her eyes were red-rimmed and fixed on the flames, lost in a world of grief.
Amber approached her quietly. "Excuse me," she said gently. "You are Mr. Kirk’s wife, right?"
The woman, startled, turned to look at Amber. Her face was pale and tear-streaked. "Yes," she answered, her voice raspy. "Who are you?"
Amber bowed again. "My name is Amber Carson. I’m from Carson Textiles."
At the mention of the company’s name, a tremor went through the woman’s body. She flinched as if struck, her hands immediately tightening over her belly in a protective gesture. "What do you want?" she asked, fear replacing the vacant grief in her eyes. "Are they sending more people?"
"No, no, nothing like that," Amber said reassuringly, keeping her voice soft. "I’m not with them. I would like to ask you about Mr. Kirk’s accident, if you’re able."
The wife was quiet, her eyes darting nervously towards the front door. She trusted no one.
Amber continued, sensing her fear. "I know you’re scared, but there are people who want to help you find the truth. Could we talk for a moment outside? Just for some fresh air."
The woman shook her head, her fear palpable. "Of course not," she whispered. "They won’t allow that. They told me not to speak to anyone."
Amber offered a small, confident smile. "I’ll take care of that," she promised.
Amber helped the young widow to her feet. She draped a shawl over the woman’s shoulders and then walked with her to the front door. The two guards watched as they approached.
"She needs some air," Amber said, her voice carrying the authority of a caregiver. "The physician said it’s important for the baby. We’ll just be at the end of the walk for a few minutes."
The guards exchanged a look. They had been hired to keep people out, not to act as jailers for a pregnant woman. Amber’s story was plausible, and her demeanor was professional. One of them shrugged. "Fine. But don’t be long."
Amber led the woman down the path, past the gate, and towards the corner where the carriage waited, its door already open.
As soon as Mrs. Kirk was settled on the plush leather seat inside the carriage, the dam of her composure broke. Sobs wracked her body as she told her story, the words tumbling out between gasps.
"They came the same day it happened," she cried, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. "A man from the hiring agency. He said it was my husband’s fault. He said my Noah was careless." She looked at Eric, her eyes pleading for him to understand. "He said there’s no use fighting it and that I should just take the money and settle it quickly. For the baby’s sake."
The carriage was silent, save for her heartbreaking sobs.
"They said they have papers," she continued, her voice trembling. "Papers that are proof that Thomas was negligent. That he signed something about the risks."
Eric leaned forward, his expression a mixture of pity and focused intensity. "Papers?" he asked, his voice calm and steady, trying not to startle her further. "Mrs. Kirk, by any chance, did you get to see these papers? Did they show you what your husband supposedly signed?"
The woman shook her head, a fresh wave of tears streaming down her face. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
"No," she sobbed. "They just told me they had them."