‘Let the two of them handle it as they see fit.’

This was why he was truly an exceptional butler. Not only was he competent in his own duties, but he also excelled at distinguishing what was not his responsibility.

Upon arriving at Dunville Park, Remzwick handed over the still-unconscious Henry Fairfax and went directly to meet Mrs. Fairfax to explain the situation. Mrs. Fairfax listened with a furrowed brow, though fortunately, her expression was not one of suspicion.

“Are there any other injured people?”

“No, ma’am.”

“Laura Pendleton must have been quite shaken. Comfort her well, and tell Ian Dalton to stop by when he returns from Leeds.”

Remzwick bowed deeply to Mrs. Fairfax before leaving Dunville Park.

By the time he returned to the manor, it was nearly five o’clock, as the bells chimed. Dinner was still an hour away, but Remzwick headed to the dining hall to gauge the servants’ sentiments.

When he arrived at the dining hall, three maids were setting the table: Hannah, Deborah, and Susan Donovan, all general maids. Unaware of Remzwick’s presence, they clattered dishes and cutlery while chatting.

“Will he be hanged?”

Deborah asked as she arranged forks and knives. Hannah, folding napkins nearby, shook her head.

“Hanging’s too harsh. He didn’t actually steal anything, did he?”

“Still, sneaking into private property with centuries of history to steal deserves hanging.”

“You could ask the magistrate to have him hanged easily.”

Susan Donovan, a local maid setting out plates, chimed in.

“Master Dalton wouldn’t ask, though. He’s not on good terms with the magistrate.”

“Not on good terms?”

“Yeah. Back when Master Dalton was at university, he dined with the magistrate at Dunville Park. Apparently, the magistrate got drunk and insulted his own wife, saying she was like a cow. He said she rolled over him in bed one night and nearly crushed him.”

“Isnшени’t that a compliment?”

The maids giggled.

“Anyway, it’s not something to say at a formal gathering. Master Dalton called it vulgar and pointed right in the face of the fifty-something magistrate. They say he still badmouths Master Dalton.”

Deborah let out a chuckle.

“And yet, he got Leon sent to life imprisonment. What a laugh.”

Hannah, a second-year hire from out of town, asked while folding napkins.

“Leon? Who’s that?”

Deborah answered.

“The former land agent, Leon Rich.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard of him. Didn’t he do awful things to tenant farmers’ daughters?”

“What a disgrace to his name. Probably getting his just deserts in prison now.”

The three snickered.

Remzwick listened quietly to the maids’ chatter, confirming that the story he’d spread had effectively circulated among the servants. That was fortunate.

‘Now it’s time to rein in their frivolous behavior.’

Remzwick considered it a butler’s duty to ensure the servants maintained proper conduct. Gossip and crude talk were forbidden in this manor. As a result, he was wildly unpopular among the staff, but he knew he wasn’t a politician or an opera singer.

Loading up on reprimands, Remzwick took a step toward the kitchen but stopped in his tracks at Deborah’s next words.

“By the way, Hannah, when are you going to tell the mistress?”

“Tell her what?”

“You said it’s obvious she’s pregnant. She needs to know so she can get checked!”

Hannah grimaced.

“I’m afraid I’ll get scolded. She’ll get checked when her belly grows, won’t she?”

“There’s no time to wait. My family’s roof back home is leaking, and I need to send extra money this month.”

Susan Donovan interjected.

“Hey, what if you’re wrong? Then you and Hannah owe me a pound each.”

“No way. Hannah’s so good at spotting pregnant women. You’d better have two pounds ready.”

Thud. The dining hall door opened, and Remzwick stepped in.

The maids’ conversation stopped abruptly at the butler’s sudden appearance. Startled, they set down their cutlery and gave slight curtsies.

Remzwick surveyed each maid with the stern glare that the servants dreaded.

“You dared to place bets on the mistress? Setting aside that disrespect for now, you think the mistress is pregnant?”

The maids were speechless, trembling with dismay and anxiety.

Remzwick fixed his gaze on Hannah, who attended to the mistress’s wardrobe.

“Is it true?”

Hannah, looking as if she might cry, cautiously nodded.

“What’s your evidence?”

“Well… her physical changes are quite clear…”

Remzwick let out a low hum and regarded Hannah for a moment.

Hannah was only twenty-one, a young woman with no personal experience of pregnancy. Yet her observations were reliable. Before coming to Whitefield, she had worked in a household where the mistress was a veritable goddess of fertility, constantly pregnant or giving birth.

Within two or three months of giving birth, her belly would swell again, and the cycle continued. Twelve children had been born in succession, and as long as neither spouse lost their reproductive capacity, the pregnancies would likely continue. The couple found life’s purpose in producing children, simple and ignorant as they were.

Around the time of the thirteenth child’s birth, Hannah had finally thrown off her maid’s uniform and fled the manor. During her four years there, she had served as a midwife, nanny, and tutor teaching numbers and letters—all while performing her regular maid duties. It was far too much for a general maid.

After a moment’s thought, Remzwick issued his command.

“Hannah, after dinner, go to the mistress and ask about her pregnancy.”

Hannah, her eyes fixed on the floor, looked up at Remzwick.

“Me, sir?”

“Yes. And report the results to me. Understood?”

“Y-yes, sir…”

Hannah stammered.

“And regardless of the outcome, all three of you will be punished for betting on the mistress.”

The maids’ shoulders slumped. Born into poor families and struggling young in the workforce, they exchanged anxious glances, fearing dismissal.

Remzwick delivered his verdict in a stern voice.

“For the next month, you’ll polish the dishes stored in the warehouse during teatime.”

The maids cautiously raised their heads, their eyes wide like rabbits’.

“Those are items the mistress ordered donated to charity. Assume you’ll polish about a hundred pieces a day and work diligently.”

The maids exhaled in relief and answered, “Yes, sir.” They had escaped dismissal. They could continue earning money for family expenses, saving for a small fabric shop, or buying medicine for an ailing mother.

Remzwick, hands behind his back, turned toward the kitchen. He needed to check on dinner preparations and give the maids space to embrace each other in relief.

But as he headed down the corridor to the kitchen, one of the maids followed him. It was Deborah.

In a small voice, she whispered.

“Sir, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Another bet? This time on whether the master is pregnant?”

“No way! It’s actually…”

Deborah leaned in, bringing her lips close to Remzwick’s ear. Being petite, she bent slightly instead of standing on tiptoe.

“Betty is drinking.”

Betty could only mean Betty Lodge, the laundress and Noel’s lover.

“Sipping cheap wine after work, is she?”

Deborah shook her head vigorously.

“If it were just that, I wouldn’t bother you! The other day, I found a bottle hidden under the ironing board in the laundry room. It was rum!”

“The sailors’ liquor?”

“Yes! Yes!”

Deborah waved her fists excitedly.

“And that’s not all! She’s hidden rum all over the manor—under the eaves, beneath the hay in the stables, in the attic of the north warehouse, and so on! After work, she and Noel drink until they’re stumbling drunk! Half the servants know about it!”

Remzwick raised an eyebrow.

“Why hasn’t anyone reported this to me?”

“Because Betty Lodge is a nasty piece of work. If caught, she bribes people with rum. For those who don’t drink, she uses secrets she’s gathered to silence them. If they have no secrets, she brags about her powerful boyfriend, Noel, to intimidate them, saying, ‘The master’s right-hand man is my lover!’”

This was why the manor’s no-dating rule was crucial. Remzwick sighed.

“Alright. I’ll handle it. You focus on polishing those dishes.”

“Yes, sir.”

Humming a tune, Deborah skipped back to the dining hall, her steps light. For an honest informant, she seemed overly gleeful.

‘A rather unreliable accuser.’

From what he knew, Deborah had a crush on Noel. Or rather, she was one of many women in the manor smitten with him. It was incomprehensible, but Noel Pinch, a balding man with a paunch, was a femme fatale to the women.

Betty was currently the public enemy of the female staff. She had secured Noel, the man every woman coveted, though that was merely the trigger. Fundamentally, Betty Lodge had a flawed character.

She was quick-tempered, cold, selfish, and ignorant. She had no regard for others and no intention of developing any. For the other maids, who shared both workplace and lodgings with her, being in the same room as Betty was torture.

Yet even Betty could act angelic—around powerful figures like Remzwick or attractive men.

In short, Betty Lodge was the kind of vixen women despised most.

With no goodwill among her peers and openly flouting the no-dating rule, the other maids could hardly stand idly by.

Noel had received similar reports about Betty before: that she stole, was pregnant, or cavorted with Noel around the manor at night. All proved false.

Remzwick decided to set Betty’s issue aside for now.

‘Once the master and mistress’s matters are resolved, it won’t be too late to deal with her.’