Henry Hargrave glanced at his wife beside him and said blandly, "Stop crying, let's eat first. Tomorrow let Hannah arrange for her to take on more assignments so she won't have time to come back."
...
Upstairs, Beatrice Hargrave curled up on her bed, resting her chin on her knees, her eyes still red.
She knew that Josephine Hawthorne had always disliked her, treating her worse than the maids in the house. She really didn't want to live in this home, but given her current situation, where else could she go?
With a drawn face, Beatrice gazed ahead, troubled.
Once, she resented Nicholas Croft for ignoring her when she needed help the most. But now, she was a bit remorseful. If she hadn't gone to the nightclub to drown her sorrows back then, perhaps she wouldn't be dependent on others now.
Feeling wronged, a murmur unknowingly escaped, "Uncle..."
With pursed lips, tears fell uncontrollably.
