Two days later, as always, Anette entered her room to wake her, and, when she left, there was a basket full of laundry on the armchair. Between the freshly cleaned linens, skilfully concealed, there were two small bottles that Janice was quick to pocket inside the folds of her dress, before the young maid came back, apologizing profusely for her mistake.
That same night, the door that led to the Duke's bed chamber opened, projecting a ray of light into the dark room. Janice quietly entered and called out to the seemingly asleep figure. "My Lord?" When she received no response, she got closer to the bed where the man was lying. She looked at him, making sure that his chest wasn't moving anymore, and then, taking out a handkerchief, patted it lightly on his lips, removing any remaining trace of poison. When she was satisfied with her job, she reached the door and peeked out: the hall was desert. Quiet as a cat, her steps muffled by the thick carpets, she went back to her chambers and quickly fell asleep.
The morning after, her husband's attendant burst into her room while she was reading, looking like he had just seen a ghost.
There was sweat on his forehead and his hair was ruffled, as if he passed his hands through it multiple times. He bowed quickly.
"My Lady!" Janice arched an eyebrow at his urgent tone. "I have come to inform you that the Duke was found dead in his bed this morning. We're still trying to understand what happened; Dr. Harcheron has been called, and I hope he can shed some light on the cause of his passing."
The duchess brought a hand to her heart, her face morphing into an expression of pure shock. " Dead?!" It looked like she was going to cry, her eyes bulging out and her mouth quivering, but she quickly composed herself. "I see. I wish to be left alone for the day but please, if Dr. Harcheron were to find something, inform me."
The attendant bowed again and offered her his condolences before closing the doors behind him. Janice let a smirk appear on her face; if everything went well this afternoon her husband's death would be declared natural, just the unavoidable conclusion of a long life. It had been a fairly simple plan: sending one of her most loyal maids to the pharmacist, asking for a poison with a delayed effect and its antidote, lathering the ointment on her lips before dinner, and pressing a shy kiss on her husband's mouth before returning to her chambers, where a cup full of the cure awaited for her.
Truly, a simple, easy plan. But, simple plans, Janice knew, were always the ones that had the most chances of succeding, almost void of any dangerous variables and left in the hands of few, trusted people. She shook the little bell on her desk, calling for her maids; Annette arrived quickly, followed by Clara, the girl she had sent to the apothecary. The two servants' expressions were almost comically opposite; Annette could barely hide her fear, all bitten lips, and wide eyes, while Clara exuded an aura of almost feline satisfaction, her plush mouth curved into a smirk. That wouldn't do.
"It seems like the Duke has died this night, girls; I would appreciate it if you could prepare my mourning garments and... refrain from showing any strong emotions." The two looked properly chastised at her pointed comment but quickly eased back when they saw her indulgent smile.
They both smiled back but Janice could tell that something was troubling the young girls by their lingering stares. "What is it? Just tell me what's wrong and we'll try to fix it" They looked at each other, hesitating, but then Clara spoke up.
"It's just that... you look different, Your Grace, you talk differently and act differently and we... we just wanted to know why." She sighed: Janice knew that soon or later someone would have questioned her behavior, so unlike Juliana's. It must've been particularly strange for the two maids, that spent with her most of their time. Luckily she had already prepared for that question. "What you've noted is true, I am not anymore the person I was before. Last week, during my visit with Dr. Harcheron, I received some news that completely changed the way I thought and saw the world and I fear I'll never be the same. I feel like I've spent my entire life blind and only now I can see clearly. I can only hope you can still be my friend, even though I've changed, maybe irreversibly."
She heard a loud gasp and the next thing she knew was Annette holding her hands, with tears in her eyes.
"Of course, I will always be your friend, Your Grace! You don't have to worry!" Janice felt strangely moved by the earnest face in front of her, by her sweet, genuine promise: she wasn't used to people being so... real with her. She spent most of her time interacting with her employees, always behind a professional mask that didn't allow feelings or softness and here she was, this young girl, whom she had so much power on and yet was still able to be that vulnerable with her.
She lightly caressed her hair. "Thank you, Annette. And... rest assured I will always be yours too." Like one's voice might be rough after not talking for an extended time so, Janice'voice broke while speaking those words, that, 'till that moment, had been foreign to her.
---
"Your Grace, I can't say I was expecting your visit." Mr. Jameson let her in his office, his surprise evident on his face. Janice took a seat in front of his desk and waited for him to sit too. "I've never preoccupied myself with my husband's business but now..." She lowered her eyes and clenched her hands on the black silk of her dress, trying to give her best impression of a grieving widow. "Now that I'm alone I want to know what goes on in my duchy. You were the duke's right hand and I hope we can too have a fruitful relationship."
The man sighed, fiddling with the papers on his desk. "I admire your determination, My Lady. The situation of the duchy is desperate; our fields don't earn as much as they used to and we have no activity that differentiates us from the others. The Duke contracted many debts to maintain the luxuries of the mansion but I'm afraid that soon we won't be able to do that anymore."
While it wasn't uncommon for the aristocracy to contract debt, Janice was disappointed by what Jameson was telling her; it was just another problem to solve that was thrust into her unwilling hands. But at the same time, she felt her spirit lift at the challenge in front of her, the same hunger for success that motivated her to double the size of her father's company: maybe this could be her new purpose, restoring the duchy's glory.
"I would like to have an account of our debts and major spending points. Also, I would be very grateful if you could compile a list of our major resources and send it to the manor." She smiled at the shocked expression on the man's face. "If I want to be useful, I will need all the possible information. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Jameson."
The vassal smiled, maybe for the first time since she had met him, the deep wrinkles on his forehead, slightly smoothing out; it must have been hard for him, Janice thought, managing such a big territory with an incompetent boss he couldn't deny. "It will be my pleasure, Your Grace. I will make sure to send those documents as soon as I can. I hope you'll manage to find what you are looking for."
---
Janice moved swiftly into the night, walking quickly through one of the most infamous districts in the city; she didn't have to search long, led by the clamor that echoed in the whole street. She stopped in front of a seedy tavern, ignoring the leers of the two men who were leaning against the wall, smoking what looked like a pipe. She had made Clara lend her one of her cloaks, a nondescript brown mantle, made of rough cotton, that would have blended in the seedy pub much better than her finely decorated capes.
When Janice opened the door, she was hit by a strong smell of alcohol and the shouting just got louder. She ignored the man playing the fiddle on a table and the waitresses and went straight to the back of the room, choosing a table near the wall, from where she could see the entire space and still remain hidden.
She couldn't help but internally roll their eyes at the atmosphere inside the place, so intensely clichè; there was a group of incredibly suspicious folks doing something that could only be described as conspiring, and curvy baristas who laughed loudly and walked around the place with jugs full of beer. If she had read a scene like that she would've immediately called Haley, demanding something more original. She tried to ignore the stab of pain that followed that thought; she would never have the chance to scold Haley about her love for cliches again. In fact, she would never say anything to her niece at all.
Before she could lose herself in her mind, a chiming sound, that could barely be heard, almost completely covered by the noise, drew her attention; the entrance of the tavern opened, revealing a cloaked figure.