Butler Locksley stood away from the loading train with the master of the house, Hugh.
Hugh's public appearance was striking compared to his private appearance, which left much to be desired.
Butler Locksley wrinkled his nose in distaste of the casual sloppiness Hugh displayed at the Manor.
Hugh directed his gaze at the shiny tan floor. "After receiving the letter, Matilda remained distraught for days. She only brightened up when Beatrice was safe. What am I to do, Locksley?" He turned his gaze to the older man.
The noise of the bustling people made it almost impossible for Butler Locksley to have a private conversation. "Sir, if I may be so bold as to ask, to what did the letter pertain?"
Hugh sighed and pressed his lips together. "The death of a friend. His unknown daughter is pleading for help."
Locksley frowned and asked, "Why is she unknown, Sir?"