The following morning dawned clear and pleasantly cool.
As was her custom whenever her duties permitted it, Cassandra attended the morning Mass at one of the smaller chapels in Caldor.
Unlike the grand cathedral at the heart of the capital, this modest chapel seldom attracted large crowds. Its congregation consisted mostly of nearby minor noble households and a handful of respectable townsfolk.
It suited Cassandra perfectly. Quiet places often granted the clearest thoughts.
Stepping inside, she dipped her fingers into the holy water before making the sign of the cross. Her gaze swept the chapel almost absently as she made her way toward an empty pew near the front.
Only then did she notice him.
Sebastian Reaver sat several pews behind the one she chose, dressed plainly in a dark brown tail coat and green waistcoat that allowed him to blend effortlessly into the congregation.
Had she not been expecting his message, she might never have spared him a second glance.
Their eyes met for the briefest of moments.
Nothing more and neither acknowledged the other as she moved to take her seat.
Moments later, the service began.
---
The chapel gradually emptied once the final blessing had been given.
Families departed together, exchanging greetings with close acquaintances in the aisle before making their way outside. Elderly parishioners lingered briefly to speak with the priest.
Cassandra remained where she was, still on her knees.
Her hands rested lightly against the pew before her, her head bowed as though wholly absorbed in prayer.
She wasn’t in any hurry. There was no reason to.
One by one, the voices faded and footsteps sounded fewer.
By the time she finally rose to her feet, only a handful of worshippers remained scattered throughout the chapel.
Satisfied, she stepped outside into the churchyard.
The morning air carried the faint scent of damp earth and freshly cut grass.
Her carriage waited near the gates exactly where she had instructed the coachman to remain.
She had taken no more than a dozen steps before another set of footsteps matched her pace.
"Good morning, my lady."
She looked ahead rather than toward him.
"Good morning, Mr. Reaver."
To anyone watching, they were merely two people leaving church at the same time. No more.
"You wished to speak with me."
"I did." He said. His voice remained low to avoid being overheard. "I’ve spent the past week doing what you asked."
"And?"
"For the most part, Mr. Ravenshire’s movements have been mostly ordinary. Mostly social engagements."
"So nothing of consequence." She probed.
"Not entirely. He has called upon the same residence thrice within the past week."
That was enough to pique her attention but she tamped it down, not wanting to get herself excited over what was most likely nothing.
"A gentleman paying visits to the same house is hardly remarkable." She stated.
"No. It’s not."
"Then why bring it to me?"
"You instructed me to report everything, no matter how insignificant it appeared."
A faint smile touched her lips, hearing the snarkiness in his tone. "I did, didn’t I?"
Sebastian continued before he could get distracted. "The house belongs to a woman. She lives there with a young boy, perhaps four years of age."
Cassandra’s expression remained unchanged, though her mind immediately began filing away the information presented before her.
A woman.
A child.
Repeated visits from John Ravenshire.
It prompted a possibility she could not ignore.
"Do you believe she is his mistress?" Cassandra asked.
"I don’t know." Sebastian answered honestly.
She appreciated the answer. Most people rushed to conclusions. Sebastian preferred facts.
After several thoughtful moments, she said, "I wish to see the house with my own eyes."
"You understand we may find nothing of value." He said to prevent her from getting her hopes up.
"Perhaps." She stopped beside her carriage and turned to face him fully for the first time since leaving the chapel. "But I still want to see it for myself."
He didn’t argue with her any further. "As you wish."
---
The neighbourhood lay a considerable distance from Caldor’s fashionable districts.
It was neither impoverished nor prosperous. Simply ordinary.
Rows of modest brick houses lined the quiet street, their weathered façades bearing the marks of years without proper upkeep. The homes were old, small, and only modestly maintained, their paint faded beneath the steady passage of time.
Their carriage came to a discreet halt some distance away from the target house, careful not to attract unnecessary attention.
"There," Sebastian said, pointing towards the house they had come to observe.
Cassandra followed his gaze, silently taking in the modest dwelling before her.
It was far humbler than she had anticipated for someone who might be John’s mistress.
John could certainly have afforded better accommodations, Cassandra mused.
The thought lingered for only a moment before another quickly replaced it.
Then again, perhaps this suited him perfectly.
It was just another one of his manipulative tricks.
John had never denied those who depended upon him everything. That would have invited rebellion.
Instead, he had mastered something far subtler.
He gave them just enough to survive and nothing more.
Enough comfort for them to be grateful. Enough deprivation to ensure their utter dependence on him.
He understood that people clung far more desperately to crumbs than to abundance. Every small kindness became something to cherish precisely because it was so rarely given, every fleeting act of generosity magnified by the long stretches of neglect that surrounded it.
He relished the feeling it evoked within him. It made him feel powerful, like a god.
It was how he had governed their marriage.
Constant cruelty was predictable.
John preferred uncertainty.
One day, he became attentive. The next, distant.
One day, he offered tenderness. The next, indifference.
Each rare display of affection convinced her that perhaps tomorrow would be different.
Tomorrow, she had believed, he would become the man she had once loved.
That tomorrow had never come.
Movement drew her attention back to the present.
A little boy burst laughing into the front of the house, chasing a wooden hoop across the worn stone path with carefree delight.
His laughter drifted across the street, loud enough for her ears.
Moments later, a woman emerged carrying a bucket filled with freshly laundered linen.
She paused only long enough to smile fondly at the child before beginning to hang shirts and bedsheets upon a clothesline. A light breeze caught the damp fabric, setting the white linen gently swaying.
"Have you ever seen the child’s father?" Cassandra asked, never taking her eyes off the scene unfolding before her.
While an illicit affair and a bastard child could easily ruin a woman’s reputation, a man seldom faced consequences of equal severity.
She would need far more than this if she intended to destroy a man like John.
"No," Sebastian replied.
"And the neighbours? Do they know anything useful?"
"I made discreet enquiries after my men first noticed Mr. Ravenshire’s visits." He paused. "They said the woman and her child moved into the house only a few months ago. None of the neighbours recalled ever seeing a husband. Nor had they ever heard the woman speak of one."
A woman living alone.
A young child.
John’s frequent visits.
The pieces seemed to fit together almost effortlessly.
Yet something still niggled at the back of her mind.
"Hm." The thoughtful sound scarcely rose above a whisper. "Interesting."