The Maid's Secret

The old mansion stood like a sentinel at the edge of the village, wrapped in ivy and time. Most people whispered about it, half anxious and half ammunition, but for Mira, it was where she worked. Before the sun painted the sky every morning, she tied her hair in tight rolls, dressed in a simple grey dress and an apron, and went through the forest to the property.

Mira was a maid with Greystone Manners for six years. She wiped out his endless halls, polished his old mirrors, and prevented the dust from claiming the Wetherby family legacy. The last remaining legacy, Mrs. Eleanor Wetherby, has never been seen by anyone since she retreated to the West Wing's quarters. The meal was left in front of their door, and their answers came with short results. Mira has never taken care of silence. I had time to think about it, a dream. Her hands were always busy, but her mind went far away - cities she had never seen before, stories she imagined, and worlds where she was not just a "maid."

On a fall afternoon, Mira heard something strange as the leaves danced on the marble floor she had just swept away - a child, a weak cry like a sob. This part of the house has been sealed for decades since Lord Wetherby's death. Curiosity not only tugs her heart, but also her obligation. Despite this, the sound has returned, but now it is unmistakable.

Drawn by something she couldn't explain, she traced the sounds after a creaking door and a faded portrait. The hall was lined with dusty furniture made from white fabric, like frozen ghosts. In the end, there was a big door she had never opened. It wasn't closed.

The interior was kindergarten, and time was not touched. A wooden shaking horse stood next to the crib. The toys were scattered as if the child had just left. There is an old music box in the corner, with its lid slightly open.

SOB has stopped.

Mira approached the music box and raised the lid. A soft melody bulging out - disappointment, urgent. There were letters and letters of age.

She developed it with her trembling hands. Written in an elegant script and directed towards Mrs. Eleanor.

"I can no longer live with a secret, Eleanor. The truth about what happened to our children will last forever to me. If anyone should know, they are. He died and was not born. He was taken away. I had to lie. sorry. "

Mira stared at the letter, but the music box was still playing her ghostly melody. A cold passed through them. Did Mrs. Eleanor's children live there?

She returned to the West Wing, and her heart knocked. For the first time in six years, she was urgently knocking on Mrs. Eleanor's door.

"Go," the usual fragile answer came.

"That's important," Mira said. "It's about your son."

Silence. The rock sound then rotates. The door cracked.

Mira expanded the letter. A pale, trembling hand reached it. The door closed again. After a while, it became clear that the mother's deep, broken cry was not the child's sob. That night, Mrs. Eleanor Mira called with me.

She appears smaller than Mira introduced, and is easily broken in a velvet chair in the fire. The letter was in her lap.

"Where did you find it?" She asked. "In the East Wing, in Kindergarten."

Mrs. Eleanor's eyes were in tears. "They told me he was dead. He said it was for the best. The woman of my reputation should not raise a child born... incomplete, they called him. I believed them. "

Mira hesitated.

"I don't know," she whispered. "But I have to find you. Would you help me?"

From that day on, Mira was no longer a maid. Together they acquired an old ledger, questioned the oldest staff at the Manor House and discovered the truth. The child was given to a distant relative who was addressed with the wrong name. After months of searching, they found him - a quiet man who worked as a school teacher in a nearby city and had no idea of ​​the truth about his birth.

When the mother and son met, no words were needed. The music box plays gently between them.

As for Mira, Mrs. Eleanor offered her a new role - household owner, confidant, companion. But Mira had discovered something more valuable than promotion. She discovered courage.

She was still cleaning the Manor House and still wearing an apron. But she went through the hall with a higher head. It wasn't just maids anymore. She was the one she heard when she whispered a door where the past was closed and no one else did it.

And she changed everything.