Chapter 13
The House Purse money became a staff emergency fund.
Not charity theater.
No donor names.
No plaque.
No portraits.
Employees could request help confidentially.
Medical bills.
Housing emergencies.
School costs.
No repayment through obedience.
Benedict contributed another ten thousand.
I asked why.
“Symmetry.”
Of course.
Old men need drama.
I accepted it.
Linnea heard and laughed.
Good.
She later returned to the main estate voluntarily.
Not as symbol.
As senior dining supervisor.
She had become excellent at organizing rooms.
More importantly, she had zero fear of telling important people no.
Useful skill.
I offered the promotion.
She negotiated salary.
Hard.
I respected that.
“Double.”
“No.”
“Then keep looking.”
I laughed.
We settled somewhere painful.
Good.
Rosamund attended her first Westcott dinner again that winter.
No engagement.
Guest.
Linnea supervised service.
They saw each other.
Rosamund stopped.
“May I speak to you?”
Linnea answered:
“Not while I’m working.”
Perfect.
Rosamund nodded and walked away.
Later Linnea said:
“She listened.”
May you like
Small.
Important.
