The Criswell's Curse

“What did you say!?” Bradley quickly snatched the cup from her hands. His emerald eyes focusing on the pearly inside of the porcelain. “You knew it had poison! Why did you drink it!?”

“Ophelia! It’s a lie, is it not?” Mace rushed towards her, his hands strongly grabbing her arms. But her expression didn’t change. “It... can’t be...”

“Are you implying we allowed an assassin to infiltrate our estate!? On such a prestigious date at that?!” Devlin spoke obnoxiously loud for a man whose honor had yet to be questioned.

Calmly, Ophelia moved slightly forward. The noble’s gazes stamped on her back, piercing through her very soul. “How should we solve this situation...?”

The Earl leaned towards an older butler with a large mustache adorning his upper lip, like a chandelier hanging on a ballroom ceiling. “Erwin, gather all the servants here.”

Patricia’s eyes were filled with concern, a curse of her own negligence. Not even once had she glanced at her father, seen the intrigue in his eyes, the calmness in his stance after such grave incident. She failed to see the tingling comradeship between Ophelia and Devlin, a faint connection created just moments before.

Whispers flew in the air as butlers and maids alike began to appear in the garden, lining up by gender and position.

“Come here, Patricia.” The Earl called out to his daughter once everyone was outside.

Slowly, they walked, surveying each servant’s features before moving onto the next candidate. First were the butlers serving the Earl and his son, the heir to the estate; then the maids who focused on pleasing the guests in the garden; and then the cooks.

Rumors subsided as the relatives reached the last line. But Ophelia could see it, the girl with sweaty hands impulsively being pushed onto the dress; her head low as an ostrich’s, hoping to dig itself into the dirt ground - Millicia stood out like a sore thumb.

“I’m certain none of this is necessary, Earl.” Duke Criswell intervened, his throat slightly dry. “Everyone here is well aware of your good name. We know such thing couldn’t succeed in your home.”

But they didn’t stop. And eventually they saw her, the anomaly in the bunch.

“Lift your head.”

The maid’s fingers trampled her dress as she ignored Patricia’s commands. She could sense it, all the noble’s eyes on her, all the pressure on her person. But it wasn’t her fault. How could she predict Ophelia to appear at the back door right after she poisoned her tea?

“Are you deaf? Lift you head.” The Earl’s voice was sharper, stronger, making the maid’s body shudder.

Remaining still like an icy lake in the middle of Frosting, Millicia gulped down hard, cold sweat dripping down her back. Reluctantly, she took a quick glance at the Duke, who stood next to his second-born child, nerves clogging up his popping veins. Their souls connected but immediately lost touch.

This mission had always been a double-edged sword, however, its danger never laid on that man.

“Impertinent maid!” Noticing Devlin’s growing impatience, Erwin dashed towards the maid, grabbing her by the cheeks. “Obey your lord!”

I’m his scapegoat... Millicia gritted her teeth and held her breath, hoping to deny the consequences from reaching any closer.

“Riddle me this, Duke. There are two individuals, one filled with greed for what he doesn’t possess; other tainted by an unspeakable lust for revenge, stopping at nothing for it. Who would you say survives the encounter?” Ophelia grinned, causing the Duke’s body to stiffen.

She couldn’t know... there’s no way... Alvin kept on trying to deceive what his gut yelled. He needed to believe his daughter to be the naïve, quiet, obedient child she once was. How could she have turned into such a monstrosity?

“My daughter is fine. I am certain this is simply a misunderstanding...” In a shallow attempt to save his own skin, Alvin approached the Earl, patting his shoulder gently. “In fact, I just heard the other day... new ships are docking in the East. You’ve seen them in person, isn’t that right, my friend? Are they as grand as they say?”

The Duke’s intentions were crystal clear. His charmingly friendly way of changing the conversation topic was smooth; however, he was far too desperate, far too eager. He had forgotten the most basic rule in the elite’s mind. To nobles or aristocrats, there was only one thing that surpassed power and wealth: raw entertainment.

“Your Grace, are you, perhaps, suggesting I leave doubts regarding the Hillgarden’s honor?” The Earl’s reply forced Alvin to quietly back away, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

Devlin signaled his butler with his right hand, and, in a single movement, her head rose.

Patricia gasped. “Who are you?”

Flushed cheeks being pressured by two calloused fingers; a trail of signs passing from her almond eyes, threatening to collapse onto her sleek nose, Millicia’s face was unique, recognizable.

So this was your plan... The Earl covered his wide smile with his hand, hoping to hide it from the piercing stares of the guests. He knew this girl, this peculiar maid - he had seen her many times before at the Criswell’s mansion.

“I asked, who are you!?” Patricia yelled, frustrated by the maid’s constant silence.

“I...” Struggling to speak, Erwin removed the grip from her cheeks. “I am a new maid, milady... I was hired to help in this luxurious event...”

“Crap...” Ophelia mumbled as her hand grabbed the table. The unknown substance was beginning to show its power. Slowly but consistently, strength had been leaving her body and her body temperature had risen. She wouldn’t last long.

“We haven’t hired maids in more than half a year. Who hired you?” The Earl’s eyebrows lumped down, drawing together. But she didn’t say a word. “Erwin, tie this woman up. We must report this incident to the royal guards.”

As the maid was being escorted out, Ophelia gasped. Her hands trembled, tears dropping from her eyes. “It is you... I recognize you!”