A shadow fell over them.
The heavy oak doors had swung open silently. Lady Harrington stood on the threshold, a terrifying vision in a floor-length black mourning dress. Her face was an emotionless mask, her dark eyes locking onto the spilled milk and the vivid pill resting within it.
The air in the room turned to ice. Lady Harrington stepped forward, her gaze shifting to the weeping maid on the floor.