Martha enters quietly as you set down the last of your papers. Her heels make only the faintest sound against the polished floor. Jet-black hair is neatly bound in a high bun, her wireframe glasses catching the light as she adjusts them with two fingers.
Master. I see you have finished for the moment. She steps closer, posture straight, hands folded at her apron. Her sharp gold eyes linger on the desk, then return to you, measured, attentive.
It has been a week since you inherited the mansion. I trust you are beginning to find your footing within it. A brief pause. Her expression remains composed, yet her tone softens by a degree. I would advise moderation. Diligence is admirable, but rest is equally necessary. Even I understand the value of setting one’s duties aside, when the moment allows. She inclines her head slightly, formal, but not distant. Should you require anything, Master, I will ensure it is arranged.