Mrs. Grant has been gravely ill for some time. Olivia Bolton has always been in poor health, and Emily Bolton is not to be trusted, so it has been Henry Clark, without even taking off her clothes, along with Mrs. Carter and a few maids, attending to her side. During this period, they even collapsed from exhaustion twice, so when this diagnosis came out, no one else found it strange. Charles Bolton left a prescription, instructed that the doctor be shown out, left a little maid to serve, and then exited the east side room. Emily Bolton didn’t dare linger either, gave a few instructions, and followed out.

Lying there motionless with her eyes closed, Henry Clark kept listening intently for any sounds outside, but at first, all she could hear was the restless little maid rocking her stool. She didn’t know how long she had endured this endless wait before she finally heard Mrs. Smith calling from the outer room. The little maid dashed out, followed by the sound of her responding, and soon after, the outer room quieted down again.

She waited for a long time, and when Henry Clark still didn’t see the little maid return, she finally breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t move rashly, but carefully considered what to do next.

Should she pretend to be sick for a few days, then find a way to have the little maid pass on a message, so that Olivia Bolton could use the excuse of fearing contagion to drive her out? Or should she simply use her illness to ask her godfather Charles Bolton for permission to leave the residence and return home? But compared to how to get back, figuring out why her family had suddenly disappeared was even more important!

Just as her head began to ache from thinking, a chilling commotion suddenly came from outside, as if someone with a hoarse throat was trying desperately to cry out but couldn’t, or as if someone was writhing in pain on the ground. She could hardly suppress her curiosity to get up and look, but in the end, she just squeezed her eyes shut even tighter.

She was about to leave anyway—better to avoid trouble!

Suddenly, her ears keenly caught a sound, as if someone had lifted the curtain at her door, and that chilling noise grew even louder. Her heart leapt, but she forced herself to remain perfectly still. The next moment, a cold laugh reached her ears.

“Tsk, I wanted this wretched girl to see your fate, but who would have thought she really fainted and still hasn’t woken up. All my effort to send people away for nothing!”

Henry Clark recognized Mrs. Smith’s voice, and was instantly startled by the malicious words and the mention of “fate.” Soon, the curtain fell, and Mrs. Smith’s voice, now muffled by the curtain, sounded a bit hollow.

“Sister Carter, could it be you don’t want to follow the madam? This is a grace from the master. Everyone knows you are the most loyal to the madam in this whole household. Now that the madam is gone, if you die for your mistress, your loyalty will bring great honor and reputation. Even the two marquis households will surely reward your family and friends! Don’t worry, your men and children at home—the master will take good care of them!”

“You… you…”

In the main room, Mrs. Carter, hair disheveled and bleeding from every orifice, finally managed to force out these two words from her throat, as if it took all her strength, her chest heaving violently. Mrs. Smith gave a sinister smile: “Once you’re gone, I’ll be the only maid the madam brought from the marquis’s house. Of course I’ll serve the master and the young lady well, and manage the madam’s dowry for you. Rest in peace!”

Mrs. Carter glared fiercely at Mrs. Smith, and finally, with all her might, forced out a sentence, though her voice was slurred: “Lillian Smith, even as a ghost I won’t let you go!”

“We’ll see when you’re in the underworld!” Mrs. Smith stood up, kicked Mrs. Carter in disgust, and seeing that she had died with her eyes open, felt a chill. She squatted down and tried several times to close her eyelids, but couldn’t, and cursed in frustration, then spat viciously, “Serves you right for pretending to be a loyal servant all the time—this is your retribution! You walk your lonely road, I’ll walk my sunny path. The only one going to hell is you—serves you right for being loyal to the madam and not the master!”

Inside the room, Henry Clark heard every word of what happened outside, and was chilled to the bone. The things Mrs. Smith said revealed far too many shocking truths, especially that the poisoning of Mrs. Carter was actually ordered by Charles Bolton, which made her heart pound with fear. She forced herself to keep her eyes closed and feign sleep. When another round of rustling noises came, she still carefully maintained her motionless posture, her breathing even and steady.

“Miss, Miss Han?”

That gentle call lasted only a moment, then faded away with the sound of light footsteps. Yet Henry Clark still didn’t dare move, not even when the outer room was completely silent. She remained rigid, her mind racing through everything that had just happened.

She couldn’t stay in the Zhang household any longer—she had to get home as soon as possible!

Night had fallen deeply. Outside, not a breath of wind stirred. The branches and leaves of the big locust tree in front of the mourning hall stood motionless under the ghastly white moonlight, casting heavy, dense shadows that made the air seem even more eerie and chilling. The wailing and sobbing that had echoed through the mourning hall during the day could now barely be heard, only the occasional faint sound of weeping drifting through.