Chapter 8
eight
Part of me expected Gretel to pop up the next morning. I wanted a bright, cheerful, annoying little thing to make all my nerves go away.
Of course, that’s not what happened.
The sleeping tonic effectively knocked Gretel out, but by dawn, there were little groans and slight movements. We kept her on her stomach, her wounds on display all night.
I’d catch Baz staring at them, the fire from the hearth reflecting in his dark sapphire eyes.
It amplified the smoldering heat curling around him. His hands remained clenched, but he managed to hold himself back. To not march down to Clinemell Manor and shake his fists at Rufus. Or worse—whip him as he had Gretel.
The poor girl moaned as dawn crested. She opened her eyes and then closed them. This went on for most of the morning until, at one point, I woke in my chair to find her staring at me.
“I’m in a bed.” The hoarse whisper barely made it to my ears.
Gretel’s eyes went from me to Baz. Her gaze roamed as much as it could, considering her cheek remained against the pillow.
I understood why her brow pinched together.
The high ceiling and fire going and the soft bedsheets confirmed she wasn’t in the pantry like last time. But there was more to inspect.
Blackwell Manor had never been called cozy or cheerful. Master Blackwell wanted tidiness and order.
But Baz had brought the sunlight to the place, and now it streamed all around the room.
My muscles protested, but I stood from my wingback chair. I cautiously brushed Gretel’s hair off her shoulder.
“Some water?” I asked.
“I don’t want to go home this time.”
The hushed words made me pause, my hand hovering for the cup of water on the bedside table.
I knew exactly what she meant.
Baz stirred in his chair, pushing himself forward. But Gretel only stared at me, a curl falling into her green eyes.
I pushed it back, my hand moving automatically.
“First things first,” I said. “You must recover.”
The first few days were full of stiff movements and sleeping.
And Baz hounded me every chance he could when I went to the kitchen for supplies.
“She doesn’t want to go back,” he said, rolling up his sleeves and pushing a hand through dark, messy hair.
“Who would?” I dryly asked.
His brows hitched together, wondering at my unusual use of sarcasm.
I might know a lot about rules and order, but I wouldn’t wish Rufus Clinemell on anyone.
“She should stay here,” he said, hovering as I gathered a tray of fresh water, towels, and broth.
“It’s more complicated than that,” I offered over my shoulder. The stairs groaned as I marched back to the guest room.
Baz remained on my heels. “I know you hate that man. Since my first day, you’ve wrinkled your nose every time he’s mentioned.”
“So do you,” I pointed out.
“Then tell me you agree she should stay here.” His hand squeezed the banister as he took the stairs two at a time.
“It’s risky,” I said.
Perhaps, I should clarify a few things.
I did hate Rufus. I couldn’t think about Gretel’s back torn to shreds without becoming a pale, shaking mess, my fingers curled into fists. I’d have done anything to show a man like Rufus what I thought of him.
But Tangwystle, the maid at Blackwell Manor, was a practical creature.
I didn’t know if Rufus had meant to throw Gretel out of his household.
His new wife might not miss Gretel, but that didn’t mean he would so willingly let the servant out of her contract.
If she ran, it gave him every right to go to the Council.
At best, they’d force Gretel back to Clinemell.
At worst, she could face further physical punishment or jail time.
And they’d probably let Rufus choose, seeing as he was awfully buddy-buddy with all the gentlemen on the Council.
And if Baz were to be found helping Gretel? The world insisted he had an obligation to take Rufus’s side. To help him and send Gretel off to face the law.
Baz had no intention of this. And while something like peace and pleasure curled in my belly at how his face creased with worry on Gretel’s behalf, it wasn’t pragmatic.
Rufus might take Baz to court for interfering with Gretel. They were friendly as neighbors, but no one had yet had the chance to test Baz’s mettle as a man. There’d be never-ending gossip if it came down to Clinemell versus Coldwell.
The ensuing scandal wouldn’t be about Baz saving Gretel from an abusive employer. Oh no. It wouldn’t be about virtue and morals at all. Rufus would paint Baz as a thief. Stealing a pretty little thing to sample himself as he pleased.
I knew Baz meant best. But like when he picked up a broom to help me sweep, I expected a blowback of dust. Only the dust wouldn’t just make my nose tickle and my eyes burn.
It’d become an all-out war. Newspaper headlines, uncomfortable talk, Council meetings, and court proceedings. And all the while, they’d do everything to punish both Baz and Gretel.
And that is what I really couldn’t have. Either of them in the line of fire.
So while I did shield Gretel from Rufus in those early days, knowing she needed at the very least more time to heal, I also shielded Baz. From his dangerously bright ideals.
When I wasn’t spoon feeding Gretel, I tried to come up with a plan of my own.
Could Baz buy out Gretel’s contract? Did she have family who could help? What if Baz, with his charming smiles, could get something on Rufus that would help our cause?
People loved Baz after all. He was that cheerful man they liked to visit with. And he could pretend, but I knew those watchful eyes were more calculating than not.
Two days passed by, and the pair of us rattled around the place. Gretel had yet to move out of her bed, though, every day her face grew rosier. Her green eyes were not so blank.
“Tangwystle,” she’d said one morning, the word muffled as she’d pushed her cheek into the pillow. “Thank you.”
I’d sat on the edge of the bed, somehow struck by the words. Last time we’d found ourselves in similar circumstances, there hadn’t been much talking, and I knew that memory kept flitting between us.
“Do you want to try for a bath later?” I asked.
The one eyebrow I could see rose. I think the reason Gretel hadn’t gotten out of bed yet was because she was more afraid that it might hurt to move. It wouldn’t do in the long run, but I couldn’t push her then. Not when the fresh memory of her bloody back kept flashing through my mind.
“I’ll help you clean off after breakfast,” I offered instead.
The sheets rustled, and for just a moment Gretel’s fingers ran across my hand before I moved out of reach.
I stood by the bed, bright green eyes staring up at me. Unblinking in such a way that for a moment, I couldn’t turn away.
Stiffly, I did, though, forcing my feet to move, my heart pounding harder as I felt those green eyes watching me from the bed.
I found Baz in the kitchen with flour on his cheek.
“I told you I could do that.” I set the dirty bowl in the sink basin.
Baz glanced at it. “She didn’t eat much.”
“She did better than yesterday.” And that was really something.
I blinked at the kettle already boiling.
Baz smiled cheekily. “What’s that about me always being useless in the kitchen?”
I rubbed my thumb across his cheek, wiping away the flour. For a second, we leaned into one another. Our lips never met. We just stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hand on my hip and mine touching his face. He dipped his head, needing a moment too, the exhaustion bearing down on us.
A sharp rap at the side door interrupted.
It used to be that more often than not, the side door got used. But Baz’s guest used the front, and well, other than Gretel, not many people popped in to see me.
“Wait!” I hissed under my breath.
Baz didn’t. He opened the door.
Rufus Clinemell’s valet visibly startled. And then his brow darkened, his bushy gray eyebrows furrowing together. A deep frown accentuated his grumpiness.
With a voice like gravel, he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t expect you.”
“I was under the impression that this was my manor.”
Behind Baz, I winced. I’d hoped he wouldn’t recognize the man. It was hardly like most gentlemen noticed the staff around the neighborhood. Leave it to Baz, though, to make everything around here his business.
Rufus’s valet cleared his throat. His shoes were shined, his dark suit immaculate. Had this man not seen Gretel get ripped to shreds just a few days earlier?
“I’m sorry to intrude, sir,” the man tried again. “We are looking for a missing maid.”
“A missing maid?” Baz asked sharply. I internally cringed, but the lips of the man twitched. He took Baz’s quick remark as a sarcastic jab.
He pressed his lips together, his white mustache twitching again. “Yes, sir. The young lady seems to have taken flight.”
“Taken flight.” Baz tucked his hands in his pockets, leaning forward as he repeated the words. I scooted closer, and the fellow servant’s gaze slipped to mine.
“You are referring to Gretel?” I asked. Rufus’s valet had often dealt with Boswell before his death, but he knew me by sight thanks to our time in the neighborhood.
And I was grateful in the moment to have a reputation as a sturdy, no-nonsense housekeeper.
“It’s been months since she’s come to Blackwell Manor. ”
The man frowned. “And was that a frequent occurrence?”
Baz leaned to his left, his silhouette blocking me just the slightest. A reminder to this servant that he didn’t appreciate his household staff being questioned.
I ignored the feather ruffling. “No, and the past few months I’ve only seen Gretel at the market. But not last week. I went a bit later than usual.”
A truth. Baz had monopolized my time during breakfast, trying to make me laugh. I’d almost missed out on selecting some of the better items when I finally made it down the hill, my black cape flying behind me.
“I’m sorry I have no further information to add,” I said. Or at least that I wanted to offer.
The man made a noise under his breath before his beady eyes noticed Baz again. His frowned deepened, clearly not impressed with the master of the manor standing in his very own kitchen.
“Does she have any family?” Baz asked, leaning against a chair, looking relaxed.
“No,” the man said.
“If we come across anything we’ll be sure to direct you to it,” Baz said with the air of finality.
The man tipped his head, understanding the dismissal. “It’s a serious thing,” he said. “Skipping out on a contract. Master Clinemell would be grateful for any help in apprehending this wayward maid.”
Baz hardened into stone, though, I don’t think most would notice.
He did a wonderful job of always appearing bright and happy.
It was just the tiniest of movements that gave him away.
The way he stood tall, but unmoving. Not even a fidget.
His face lacked any sort of smile, and the servant took that to mean Baz understood how serious a matter it was.
“Yes, of course,” Baz clipped. “Well, hopefully it’ll be sorted soon.”
“Thank you for your help, sir.” The man extracted himself, taking his stuffy ways with him.
The side door shut firmly, and Baz remained standing with his hands in his pockets.
He turned to me after a few moments. “Gretel stays here, fairy. Because otherwise we’re just as monstrous if we send her back to someone like Rufus Clinemell.”
And he made it very clear how he felt about the man when he said the name.