She put the last of the supplies away and went to check on the evening meal.
The kitchen was warm. One of the servants, an older woman named Pris, was managing the pot without needing direction. Lena confirmed the portions, made a note about the flour being lower than she'd like, and left her to it. The routine of the estate moved on its own track and all she had to do was stay on it.
She was grateful for that right now.
She walked to the hallway and stood there for a moment with nothing immediately requiring her attention. That was the strange part about all of this.
The estate had its own rhythm and it didn't stop for anything. There were meals to serve, accounts to update, a dozen small tasks that existed whether or not the person doing them had just found out she was planted here to commit murder.
Everything just continued forward at the same pace it always had, and the only difference was the person moving through it.
