Mrs. Brooks sat poised in the library, exuding an aura of refined elegance. Her slender figure, clad in a tailored navy blue dress, seemed almost fragile against the backdrop of the manor's opulent furnishings.
Her features, while striking, were stern and unyielding, with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and piercing black eyes that seemed to bore into Ophelia's very soul.
Her dark hair, styled in an impeccable bob, framed her heart-shaped face, and her full lips were pressed into a firm line, betraying no hint of warmth.
Despite her youthful appearance – she couldn't be more than thirty-five – Mrs. Brooks radiated an aura of authority, her presence commanding respect.
As Ophelia entered, Mrs. Brooks's gaze narrowed, scrutinizing her from head to toe. Her voice, low and measured, dripped with courtesy, but her tone was unmistakably aloof.
"Ah, Miss Johnson, welcome to Oakwood Manor. I trust your journey was uneventful?"
Ophelia felt a shiver run down her spine as Mrs. Brooks's eyes lingered on her, sizing her up.
"Thank you, Mrs. Brooks," Ophelia replied, her voice steady. "The journey was smooth, thank you for asking."
Mrs. Brooks nodded, her expression unchanging. "Excellent. Please, take a seat, Miss Johnson."
Ophelia sat in the offered chair, her hands clasped together in her lap.
"Let's begin, shall we?" Mrs. Brooks said, her eyes locked onto Ophelia's. "Could you please tell me your name, age, and relevant experience?"
Ophelia took a deep breath. "My name is Ophelia Johnson. I'm 22 years old. As for experience, I've worked as a housekeeper for three years, and I've also volunteered at Oakdale Home, caring for the elderly."
Mrs. Brooks's gaze never wavered. "I see. And what makes you think you're suitable for this position at Oakwood Manor?"
"I believe my experience as a housekeeper, combined with my compassionate nature and strong work ethic, make me an ideal candidate," Ophelia replied confidently. "I understand the importance of attention to detail and discretion in a private estate like Oakwood Manor. I'm also comfortable with the demands of caring for a large household."
Mrs. Brooks's expression remained unreadable, but her eyes seemed to bore deeper into Ophelia's soul. "I'll be frank, Miss Johnson. This position requires more than just housekeeping skills. It demands loyalty, confidentiality, and flexibility. You'll be working closely with my family, and we value our privacy above all else."
Ophelia nodded, sensing the weight of Mrs. Brooks's words. "I understand, ma'am. I assure you that I'm committed to maintaining confidentiality and upholding the highest standards of professionalism."
Mrs. Brooks leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers together. "Very well, Miss Johnson. I'll now outline the terms of your employment, should you be selected for the position..."
"Firstly, your day begins at the sound of the morning bell," Mrs. Brooks stated, her voice firm. "You will prepare red coffee for the entire family. Our chef, Caitlin,will handle breakfast. Once the family has finished eating, you will clean the house.
"From 9:30 am to 3:45 pm, you are free to attend to your personal affairs. At 3:45 pm, you will prepare afternoon tea for the family.
"It is imperative that you retire to your room by 4:00 pm sharp. Your safety is guaranteed from morning to 4:00 pm. However, if you leave your room after 4:00 pm, please note that your safety is no longer our responsibility."
Ophelia's eyes widened slightly at the stern warning, but she nodded to show she understood.
"As for compensation, you will receive 50,000 dollars weekly," Mrs. Brooks continued. "Your duties will commence tomorrow morning. Finley will show you to your quarters."
Ophelia felt a surge of excitement mixed with trepidation. The salary was astronomical, but the rules seemed strict and suffocating.
"Do you have any questions, Miss Johnson?" Mrs. Brooks asked, her eyes narrowing.
Ophelia hesitated before speaking.
"What happens after 4:00 pm, ma'am? Is there something I should be aware of?"
Mrs. Brooks's expression turned glacial.
"That, Miss Johnson, is none of your concern. Your focus is on your duties, not the family's personal affairs. Remember, discretion is key."
Ophelia swallowed, sensing the weight of the unspoken warning. "Yes ma'am."
Here's the continuation:
Finley, the butler, appeared at the library door, his expression impassive. "Shall I escort Miss Johnson to her quarters, ma'am?"
Mrs. Brooks nodded. "Yes, Finley. See that Miss Johnson is settled in."
Ophelia rose from her seat, smoothing her dress. "Thank you, Mrs. Brooks."
As Finley led Ophelia out of the library, they traversed a labyrinthine corridor adorned with cobweb-shrouded portraits. The air thickened with the scent of old books and decay.
They approached a door hidden behind a tapestry, which Finley pushed open to reveal a serene garden. The sunlight filtering through the trees cast eerie shadows on the ground.
Ophelia's gaze fell upon a garden bed filled with black roses, their petals so dark they seemed to absorb the light around them. She shuddered, feeling an inexplicable sense of foreboding.
Finley's voice broke the silence. "The family's private garden, Miss Johnson. Please, avoid this area after 4:00 pm."
Ophelia nodded, her curiosity piqued.
As they continued to her quarters, Ophelia couldn't shake the feeling that the black roses held a dark secret.
Finley led her to the second floor Finley stopped at a door adorned with an intricately carved wooden panel. "Your quarters, Miss Johnson," he announced, producing a brass key to unlock the door.
Ophelia entered, finding herself in a cozy, elegantly furnished room. A four-poster bed dominated the space, surrounded by plush curtains. A dresser, vanity, and armchair completed the suite.
Finley handed her the key. "You'll find everything you need here. Dinner will be served in the dining hall at 3:23 pm. Please don't be late."
"Thank you, Finley," Ophelia said, her eyes scanning the room.
As Finley departed, Ophelia noticed a small, cryptic message on the dresser mirror, scrawled in red ink:
"They watch after dark."
A shiver ran down her spine. Who wrote this? And what did they mean?
Ophelia's gaze fell upon the window, overlooking the black r
ose garden. The flowers seemed to beckon her, their dark petals whispering secrets.