Hazel's P.O.V
I let out a heavy sigh. A limp curl flutters in front of my left eye, but returns to its inconvenient place. It's nearly Christmas and I've hardly had any chances to spend any time with Harry. And with Gran's recent diagnosis, neither of us have thought it was wise to ask for her permission to let us properly date one another.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
I look up and grimace at the sight of Jack sauntering into the sitting room.
"You'd pay double not to hear them, I think." I retort.
"That steamy, Princess?"
Blood rushes to my face. I twist my gaze to stare out the window, but from the corner of my eye, I catch Jack staring at me with a cheeky grin.
"Marvelous, I've found you both," Gran says, entering the room.
"Gran, you're supposed to be resting upstairs," I tell her. The doctor had said she was under strict orders to rest, but as her injuries from the fall began to heal, it was becoming harder for her to take her other diagnosis more seriously.
"I'm supposed to be avoiding stress," she corrects, "which, with Christmas right around the corner, I'm finding rather hard to do."
"How is it that I may be of service, Mrs. Williams?" Jack asks, leaning back in his chair. With his long legs stretched in front of him, I can't help but notice his good looks.
"I have two more days until I leave for London. If there's anything I can do," he continues with irritating sweetness,"Why call me your happy servant."
Jack catches me staring and lifts one brow, a hint of a smile resting on his lips. I cross my arms and look away, huffing at the size of his ever growing ego.
"Goodness, Hazel! Isn't our Jack here such a dream."
A hard laugh escapes my lungs. Gran shoots me a glare while Jack just grins.
"Sorry," I say, clearing my throat. "Just a tickle..." I wave my hand about while pretending to cough instead of laugh.
Gran eyes my silently for a second, before saying, "Well, Jack, I do have an enormous favor to ask you."
"By all means."
"You know of our annual Christmas party."
"Of course. I've been going since I was a young boy."
"Well, seeing as we're no longer settled in London, and seeing as I'm not myself this winter, I was wondering if we could perhaps through a joint party."
"Why, that's a splendid idea." Jack smiles.
"You sure it wouldn't be too much trouble?" Gran asks, her hands clasped tightly together.
"No, not at all. I'd be happy to have it at our home in London and I'm sure my mother and sister would be thrilled to plan."
"Well, I wouldn't want them to do everything. I'll connect them with my usual catering staff and entertainment. And of course we'd foot the bill."
Jack waves his hand.
"We'll work it all out. It'd be an honour to help this way.
"Well how do you like that?" Gran exclaims. "Hazel! We'll have to take you shopping. I'll have Louis take you into town so you can grab a few things."
"Whatever for?" I ask confused.
"You're going to London, darling! You can't go dressed like a country gal!" The insult stings just for a moment. "Besides, I need something to fun to look forward to like new ."
Gran makes plans with connect with Jack's mother as I contemplate this new little adventure. I'm not excited to spend time at Jack's, but I'd be lying if the excitement of London didn't dawn on me.
I take notes on a small yellow pad of paper, promising to call the caterers on Gran's behalf. It takes a few hours, but Gran has most of the details in order given she's done this so many times.
"Hazel, do you mind helping Margaret prepare for dinner," she asks as we near the end of her plans.
"No not at all," I say, placing my pen and paper down.
"How are you feeling? Shall we get you upstairs for some rest?" Jack asks.
"Yes, perhaps just a lie down for a small while would be nice. You wouldn't mind helping an old woman upstairs would you?"
Jack lets out a small chuckle, "It'd be a delight."
I let them to it and take reprieve in the kitchen with Margaret.
Harry's P.O.V
The car clumsily turns up the drive to the estate, jostling the man and his weak leg.
"Damned leg," Mr. Williams mutters to himself. He catches himself on his cane, the apple of his weathered cheeks reddening ever so slightly.
"My mother may or may not join us," Mr. Williams winces, changing the subject as he readjusts his coat. "Depends on the day, I'm afraid."
"I hope I'm not imposing tonight," I say.
"Nonsense. Besides, Hazel will likely enjoy the added company."
He looks back at me. My throat tightens at his thin, knowing smile.
"She's been pretty cooped up, you see."
I nod, looking away as I shuffle nervously in my seat. I haven't had the nerve yet to ask him about his niece, but I hate living in guilt.
When we exit the car, I flex my hand nervously, trying my hardest to fight the urge to fidget with my hair as I follow the man up the damp stone steps.
"Hazel!" Mr. Williams calls as we shuffle into the opulent foyer. I shudder. Whether it's from the sudden blast of heat from entering the house or the leering portrait of some distant Williams relative, I'm not sure.
"Hazel!" Mr. Williams hollers again. "Sorry, she's usually around here somewhere."
"Coming!" her sweet voice sing out. My chest tightens.
"Sorry, sorry! There was a situation with the oven and the- the- POOF it made!" Hazel's hands gesticulate wildly about her as she hurries down the lavishly decorated hallway. She's an absolute misfit with flour sprinkled across her apron and her frizzy hair jutting out of place. The thought of scooping her up in my arms and running far away from here flashes through my mind.
"Oh-" She stops abruptly. She grins. "Hello there, Harry."
"Hullo," I manage to get out. My heart swells.
"Ahem," Mr. Williams clears his throat. Having completely forgotten my manners, I quickly snatch my hat off of my head.
"I hope it won't be too much of a bother to set an extra plate," he continues, eyeing me. "Harry here will be joining us for dinner. "
"Not at all," Hazel replies, taking Mr. Williams' coat. She holds out her hand towards me, gesturing for me to give her mine as well. A small sick feeling twists inside my stomach. I hand her my coat, unable to shake the unsettling feeling I get from seeing her dote on us like a housemaid.
"Wonderful, then. We could all use a chance to talk business a bit further," Mr. Williams says.
"The dining room is set. I'll just need to go get Grandfather. Shall I join you all tonight?" Her warm brown eyes flicker over to me. "I've been eating with Grandmother in her room you see," she explains softly.
"I doubt our conversation will be of any interest." Mr. Williams says. Her face falls a little. My ego lights up.
Mr. Williams continues on, but I can barely hear him. Hazel nods along and I find myself drawn to the curls that peak out from her pulled back hair. It's only when she turns back and heads towards the kitchen that I realize I've completely missed what's going on.
"Right this way, Harry," Mr. Williams says, turning on his cane. Jack who appeared during our conversation rolls his eyes at me with a barely audible scoff. I bite back the urge to say something.
Once in the dining room, we take a seat at the ornate wooden table. Portraits of men fighting in famous battles and gloomy pastoral scenes loom over us. I'm sure one painting alone is worth more than I'll make in a lifetime. Yet, however detailed and beautiful they may be, my eyes trace the along edges of faded wallpaper the precise shape of a rectangle. Curiously, I look around. I count at least three more.
Why are there missing paintings?
"I've got it, I've got it!"
I look up to find the elder Mr. Williams collapsing into his seat at the head of the table. He lets out a loud harrumph. Hazel backs away slightly while still keeping her arms out just enough to help him.
"Go on," he waves her off while he fixes himself in his seat. She hesitates for a moment, but when he reaches for his glass of wine, she scurries out of the room.
The same eery feeling comes up as before. Why in the world would such a wealthy family have their own granddaughter serving as their cook and waiter? Especially, when this family had a full staff working here a year ago?
"So Henry," the senior Mr. Williams begins.
"Harry," his son cuts him off.
"Harry, that's right," the old man says, waving his knife as butters a roll. "My son tells me you've done well monitoring all departments recently. Catch me up to speed."
He's an intimidating man, but work is one of the few things I feel confident about. I know all of the moving parts of the factory like the back of my hand. Effortlessly, we dive into conversation regarding most of the day to day operations. I hardly even take issue with Jack as he follows along. That is, until the tone in the conversation shifts.
"Now is the time to be ahead of the curve. Take advantage of the opportunities that sit right in front of us," Jack says, tapping his finger against the hard oak of the table.
"And what would that look like?" Mr. Williams inquires.
"Assembly lines have greatly increased our efficiency. Clearly. But they also require large spaces. As business owners, we need to be prepared for how our operations may be forcefully modified. Change does not need to mean reduced."
I lean back in my chair, confused by this proclamation.
"I'm afraid I don't follow," I say. "You're suggesting we limit operations?"
He ignores my question and turns back to the senior Mr. Williams who leans back in his chair, hands folded in his lap as he regards Jack.
"Sir, you are a man who solidified his fortune by understanding the needs of his country and countrymen. I doubt you are a man to be fooled by grand political statements and wishful thinking. And, from the look of how you run your factory and household, you are aware of the situation we're in."
"Your point."
"My point is that the time of massive factories is over," Jack states matter of factly.
A soft tremble shakes the floor. I glance over to see Mr. Williams' bad knee bouncing. He presses his palm against it, steadying his leg. His gaze never leaves his plate.
"You speak with confidence on the matter," the elder Mr Williams says, ignoring the tense nature of his son.
"My new system would allow for workers to focus on isolated components. Increasing production on smaller pieces, allowing them to be assembled together within confined, protected spaces."
I blink back the confusing nature of this language. The idea of redesigning our machinery for workers to build in separate, smaller locations seems absurd.
"And this is a model you are currently executing within your own business?" Mr. Williams asks.
"Yes. And, it is with good faith that I share this sensitive information with everyone here," Jack shoots me an icy glare, "that this plan has been pitched to those... above."
"I'm sorry," I stammer, having had enough of the confusion. "Forgive me. But I don't follow. How could this ever improve efficiency?"
Jack scoffs slightly. The other two men look at me with solemn eyes.
"I appreciate your honesty, son," the senior Mr. Williams says after a moment. "Perhaps, an analogy. You've heard the expression, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket?"
I nod.
"And why might that be?" he pushes me along.
"If you over invest in something and it goes wrong, you're at a loss."
"Exactly." Jack cuts in with a dry sneer, "Now what if rather than just accidentally over-investing, a german blows the basket up."
Suddenly, everything makes sense. The cutting back on staff. The selling of paintings. Hazel serving as house maid, cook, and nurse. They're in preparation. Preparation for a war. A long one.
My blood runs cold as all three men look at me with something curious in their eyes. They're not just betting their entire household and business on war. They're betting that of everyone sitting here tonight, I'll be the one fighting it.