The skiff guides us through the dense swamp until a solid white wall rises up in front of us. The driver shouts something towards a lone man standing on top of the wall that separates the plantation from the bayou. Almost immediately the iron gates open and the skiff navigates through a small, man made canal to a wooden jetty.

Immediately after descending the bayou boat, my eyes are glued to the scenery in front of us. A huge white plantation estate proudly stands, adorned by weeping willows and high grass. A pebble stone path guides the way towards the entrance. Several columns support a massive front. A servant, dressed in the same deep blue as the boy on the Distribute Dock, runs to meet us. The thin woman clasps her hands in front of her as she inquires about our information.

She offers us some tea while we are waiting for the owner of this grant domain in one of the many rooms inside the estate. Long windows give the impression we're sitting outside. A man walks past the door and returns in his tracks once he notices our presence. I expect him to welcome us in his home but instead he throws one surprised look at Farah and leaves almost immediately.

"That was the son of the Master." Farah explains to me, "Victor Blakemore. I believe he might've recognized me."

Before our conversation can continue, a door behind us opens causing the both of us to turn our heads in that direction. An old man, graying and stooping, enters the room, his walking stick echoing against the marble tiles.

"I was informed there were two young ladies waiting for my presence." He cackles. His hooked nose forms the perfect base for his big round glasses.

Before we have the chance to stand up and introduce ourselves, the old man sits down in front of us, his gray eyes lurking from behind his thick glasses, growing his eyes to a remarkable seize.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" He asks, leaning back in his couch.

I want to open my mouth but Farah starts before I even have the chance. "Sir Blakemore, I accompany Mrs. Whitacre. Her husband, Reed Whitacre, is missing." She says to the point and strict.

Mister Blakemore eyes her carefully. "Ah, and you are the maid Reed lured away from my household, I assume." He says with an amused smile causing his skin to wrinkle even deeper. The tiniest bit of shame paints Farah's cheeks a tint of red.

"I do not harbor any wrong feelings towards your departure, I assure you." Mister Blakemore continues before he demands his own cup of tea from a servant who's waiting near the door.

"Did I hear it right that Reed is missing?" He says as soon as he takes the first sip from his steaming hot porcelaine cup.

I nod my head, "Indeed, Mister Blakemore. He has been gone for over 24 hours with no one having any clue where he is. We have come to believe something terrible must have happened to him."

The pleasant stare of the old man freezes and his gray eyes become cold and calculated. He frowns and shakes his head, a forced laugh making its way through his old throat.

"Do not take this as an offense, Mrs. Whitacre, but could it not be that Reed needed to..." He hesitates, chewing his own lip before picking out the right way not to offend me "have some personal time, away from the household and marriage."

His cold words scatter off my stone expression. "If you believe that is something my husband would do, then I am afraid I could not inquire your help."

Unease lurks inside the room. Not even the servant preparing the next round of tea dares to move, her hand holding a spoon full of sugar in the air.

"It was merely a suggestion, Mrs. Whitacre. A lot of the New Paris men seek company elsewhere than their homes."

Anger boils underneath my skin "Thank god Reed isn't one of them, then." My voice shoots high, a drip of anger leaking through my armour.

The old man leans back, his walking stick leaning against his thigh. His tentative stare hoovers over me before it reaches for Farah. She straightens her back even more, the expression on her own face turning cold as well. If anything, her former employer could not count on her loyalty when he spoke bad about Reed. Her true loyalty lays with her current employer.

The tension is sensible in the way it curls around us, separating the three of us from the rest of the world as thoughts visibly turmoil through everyone's head, preparing the next attack of defense. What should have been an amiable inquiry has turned hostile really fast.

"I am afraid I cannot help you, ladies. Reed hasn't been on the plantation in four days. In fact, I need him myself since I am expecting a large supply of sugar coming over the Creek." Mister Blakemore interrupts the silence, wisely steering the conversation in another direction than accusing my husband of adultery.

"Do we have your permission to look into his office, Mister Blakemore? I assure you I won't stay longer than necessary."

"Of course, my son will guide you to Reed's office and escort you back out." Mister Blakemore says, a friendly smile hiding whatever feelings the old man is truly experiencing.

Not too much later, a maid comes to the room accompanied by the man that passed by earlier. Knowing it is the son of Sir Blakemore, Victor is the spotting image of his father. They have the same strange gray eyes and strong chin. 

Without saying a word and visibly bothered, the man shows us the way through hallways decorated with ceiling high paintings of landscapes and family members.

Farah loyally remains by my side as we near the office of Reed. Victor Blakemore opens the door and reveals to us a small office, almost half of the seize of Reed's office back at home. Two thin long windows send stripes of sunlight across the light wood and over the vacant desk. Except for two pens, the surface is empty.

Frowning upon the image, I step closer. My fingers linger over the blank surface, needing some evidence that this room is Reed's and not just another unused room in the estate. I sit down on the simple wooden chair and hook my fingers onto one of the handles. In the corner of my eyes I catch Victor uneasily stiffen.

Feeling daring, I can't help but cast my gaze in his direction as I pull the handle. He rises one eyebrow, clearly not certain what to expect. Disappointment spreads on my face as my eyes latch onto the dull white papers with coordinates and transport information in the drawer.

What had I expected? The name of his kidnappers scribbled hastily on some paper hidden in his desk?

A tired sigh escapes my throat as I pull out the papers and start skimming through them. Half an hour later, with Farah by my side inspecting a similar pile of paperwork, it is clear the documents hold no clue on Reed's sudden disappearance.

Victor stands bored in the doorway, leaning heavily on the wood. My hands quickly run over my face.

As I stand up, the chair creaks as it shoves over the bare floor. "Thank you for your hospitality."

As silent as we were introduced to each other, as silent does Victor Blakemore leave us behind at the grant gates that offer the sole escape from the plantation. Seeing my disappointment, Farah carefully takes my hand.

"Ma'am, I am sure we will find him." She tries to reassure me.

A small smile manages to grace my lips. "I can't ask of you to join me, Farah. You were a true help in my household but right now I need to find my husband. I will insist that Mister Blakemore offers you a job back here at the Plantation for I am afraid I can no longer guarantee your job security."

Already turning around to meet up with Mister Blakemore, Farah's hand curls around my wrist. "I respect your decision, Ma'am, but if I may..." for the first time I notice that Farah looks uncertain about her case.

"My loyalty lays with you, the Whitacres. If I can be of service in any way in your search for the Master, please let me be of assistance." Her dark eyes linger to a point behind me before they focus back. "Even should you be able to assure me an employment back at the Plantation, I am afraid I will have to decline it for I won't be able to serve a new master knowing my former one is in danger."

Silence surrounds us as we both let those words sink in. "Farah, I don't know where I have earned your loyalty, but I will make certain that after all of this, I will pay off my debt to you."

To this answer, Farah shakes her head. "My loyalty lays with Mister Reed, Ma'am. Although I am starting to warm up to you." A joking shimmer, I never knew she possessed, covers her eyes.

"In that case, we might ask Mister Boudrot for more clarity about why my husband might be interested in him." I say, remembering the note that started this search in the plantations at the first place.

When we come back to the Distribution Dock a flock of reporters scurries around, waiting by a single pole with a raised flag. A golden swan stands out on a vibrant green background. Farah guides me towards it, explaining that it is the berth for the Cavanagh Plantation, property of Ernest Boudrot.

The reporters are huddled in hushed whispers, preparing notebooks, testing pens and checking  their cameras. When we approach them, they watch us curiously. The men keep a close eye on us. Finally one of them dares to come up to us as we could easily make up some of them are talking about us.

The young man nervously holds up his notebook and fiddles with his press card before he looks up to meet my gaze. "Excuse me, Ma'am. Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

Confused, I nod my head, looking at Farah for answers. She gives a shrug in response, indicating she has no clue about the weird situation as well.

"Who are you?" the man starts, his pen ready to scribble down my answer.

"Annabelle Mcgoldnick."

The man frowns and bites his lip as his left hand hovers over the notebook.

"What are your plans on the Cavanagh estate?" he continues.

"I plan on meeting Sir Boudrot." I reply in all honesty.

The reporter's pen freezes in the air. Confusion spreads across his face. He looks back at the small group of reporters huddled together behind him and then back at me.

"You want to speak to Mister Ernest Boudrot, Ma'am?"

"That's what I said, didn't I?"

Losing his dedication, the man tucks away his notebook and pen inside his vest.

"No one informed you?"

Upon my silence, the reporter shakes his head. 

"This morning, our editorial office received a message from the Cavanagh Plantation. Mister Boudrot was found dead in his library yesterday evening."