Chapter 3 - The Name on the Guest List|
The medic said Clara's knee wasn't broken, though the bruising would be painful for a few days. She wrapped it, gave Clara a small packet of pain relievers, and advised her to avoid standing for too long.
Victoria waited until the medic left.
“Give me the jacket.”
Clara looked up.
“What?”
“Mr. Moretti's jacket. He doesn't need you walking around in it.”
Clara gathered the black fabric closer around herself.
“He gave it to me.”
“He lent it to you.”
“Then I can return it to him.”
Victoria's eyes narrowed.
“You're making a spectacle of yourself.”
Clara stared at her employer, trying to recognize the woman she had once believed was merely demanding rather than cruel.
“You told me to come here.”
“And you came dressed like that.”
“You told me to find something formal with thirty-eight minutes' notice.”
“Don't raise your voice.”
“I wasn't.”
Victoria leaned closer, her smile bright enough for anyone watching to mistake the exchange for affection.
“You will apologize to Beatrice. Then you'll collect my things and wait outside the ballroom. I don't want you speaking to Mr. Moretti again.”
“Why?”
“Because people like him don't involve themselves in problems like you unless they expect something.”
The words struck harder than Clara expected.
She had heard versions of them all her life. Be grateful for the opportunity. Don't imagine you're one of us. Never confuse someone's temporary kindness with a change in your position.
Clara slowly stood.
“My knee hurts. The medic said I should sit.”
Victoria's face hardened.
“Then sit in the service corridor.”
A voice behind them interrupted.
“She'll sit wherever she chooses.”
Victoria spun around.
Dante Moretti had returned. His security chief stood several steps behind him, holding a phone.
Victoria's expression transformed instantly.
“Mr. Moretti! I was just checking that Clara was comfortable.”
“No, you weren't.”
Dante pulled out the chair beside Clara and sat down.
The simple act seemed to disturb Victoria more than a shouted accusation would have.
“May I ask what this is about?” she said.
“You may ask.”
He waited.
Victoria forced a laugh.
“I mean, why are you so interested in my assistant?”
Dante's eyes moved to the silver sparrow locket resting at Clara's throat.
“Where did you get that necklace?”
Clara instinctively covered it with her hand.
“It belonged to my mother.”
“What was her name?”
“Evelyn Bennett.”
The name landed between them like a dropped glass.
Dante didn't speak for several seconds.
His security chief looked up sharply from the phone.
Victoria noticed both reactions.
“Is there something wrong?” she asked.
Dante ignored her.
“Was Evelyn ever known by another name?”
“Not that I know of. Why?”
“Did she ever work in Manhattan? Around the docks?”
Clara shook her head.
“She worked in a legal office for a while. Before I was born, I think. She rarely talked about it.”
“Do you still have anything of hers?”
“Some letters. A photograph. Why are you asking me these questions?”
Dante studied her face, as though comparing it to a memory he hadn't allowed himself to revisit.
“Because I knew someone who wore a necklace like that.”
Clara touched the tiny silver bird. One wing had a faint dent, and the clasp had been repaired twice. Her mother had worn it every day until the week she died.
“Who?”
Dante's security chief approached and spoke quietly into his ear.
“Sir, the archive record matches. Evelyn Bennett filed the original complaint. The case was closed after the witness disappeared.”
Dante's jaw tightened.
“What complaint?” Clara demanded.
Neither man answered immediately.
Victoria took advantage of the silence.
“This is becoming inappropriate. Clara has been employed by my family for nearly a year. If there's some personal issue, I would appreciate being informed.”
Dante finally looked at her.
“Your family has been employing Clara?”
“Yes.”
“Under what contract?”
Victoria blinked.
“An ordinary employment contract.”
“Then you won't object to an independent review of her wages, working hours, and deductions.”
“That's absurd.”
“I'm sure the records will clarify it.”
Victoria's cheeks flushed.
Clara felt the conversation sliding into a world she didn't understand. Her mother's necklace, a vanished witness, a complaint she had never heard about, and a powerful man who seemed to recognize all of it.
“Mr. Moretti,” she said carefully, “I appreciate your help tonight, but I don't want to become part of some private dispute.”
Dante looked at her for a long moment.
“You already are, Clara.”
Before she could respond, a woman in a silver gown approached and handed him a folded card.
“Someone left this at your table.”
Dante opened it.
Clara watched his expression change.
The card contained a single handwritten sentence.
The Bennett girl should have stayed forgotten.
May you like
For the first time that evening, Dante Moretti looked genuinely afraid.
And Clara understood that the torn dress was the least dangerous thing that had happened to her.
