Chapter 9
nine
Baz hurried off to the library, resolute on his plan of keeping Gretel safe from Rufus. And I couldn’t say anything because truthfully, I had never wanted her to go back anyway. Not the first time I found her bloody and bruised, and certainly not this time.
There would be further discussion, no doubt. Clinemell Manor was just down the road after all.
But I stuck to my plans for the day. I did the dishes, hurried to make a shepherd’s pie for Baz’s dinner, and mopped the kitchen floors.
Then I moved on to the one thing I’d promised Gretel. I needed to help her bathe.
If I had real mettle, I’d have forced her out of bed and made her use the bathtub. It wouldn’t be that arduous of a journey, and I thought she would be able to sit up in the bath.
I knew she would refuse, though, and Baz’s influence had softened me somewhat.
Hauling up the items I needed, I went back to Gretel’s room. The air was stagnant, so I left the door open.
The sheets rustled, Gretel turning her head. As far as I knew, she’d yet to flip over on her back. Baz had delivered another healing ointment which closed the wounds on her back, but didn’t heal the scars. He promised a delivery of that expensive type of tonic when he could get his hands on it.
Gretel had remained naked since her arrival, a sheet curved around her back so as not to aggravate her skin.
“You could get up and go to the bathing chamber, you know,” I told her, despite just mentally listing out why I wouldn’t make her do such a thing.
Gretel smiled sleepily. Her hair needed washing, but a few curls spiraled in front of her eyes. She lifted herself using her arms, but otherwise stayed in her exact same position on the bed.
Placing the tray with a bowl of warm water and towels on the bed, I sat on the edge.
“How are you feeling?” I asked. Outside of asking for sugar and seeing her at the market, our most significant time spent together was when she’d slept in the pantry the last time she’d incurred Rufus’s wrath. If I came across as awkward, she didn’t let on.
Gretel’s smile was back, and it loosened something in my chest. Her grin was a bit softer, a tiny bit sadder. But I took it as a good sign because, as annoyed as I’d been all those times I saw her giggling, I’d realized I’d rather see her laughing than lying in a puddle of blood.
“You’ve been very helpful.” Her voice was hoarse, her words almost shy. Maybe we both felt awkward.
I inspected her wounds and then dampened a cloth. I didn’t want to mess with the ointment I’d applied that morning, so I stamped the wet towel against the back of her neck and down her shoulders, avoiding her scars. She shuddered.
“Does it hurt?”
“Just tickles.” She shivered again, and I eased the pressure, but she laughed. “That just makes it worse.”
I’d washed her skin before, but never when she was awake.
“Can you sit up more?” I asked.
Gretel’s curls moved against the pillow as she debated.
I didn’t give her a choice. “Sit up.”
Sighing, she lifted upright.
Her legs slid under the sheet as she took her time, tucking them under herself. Finally, she turned to face me.
I averted my eyes, wringing out the towel. Water dripped into the bowl.
Gretel lifted her arms to her side, and I thought this a little too impertinent. She’d been my patient the last few days, but I wasn’t her chambermaid. This time, when I ran the cloth over her skin, I made sure it tickled her underarm.
She wiggled in her seat, but her words weren’t full of humor. “Has anyone come yet?”
“This morning,” I admitted. She deserved to know the truth. “The one with the mustache.”
I dipped the towel in the water bowl again, wringing it out. “Baz has decided you will stay here.”
“Baz,” she faintly repeated the name.
I began on her other arm. “That being if you choose to stay this time.”
I felt rather than saw Gretel’s eyes on me. I focused on my movements, running the towel across her skin.
“I. . .” The one word stood between us. Gretel closed and opened her mouth before she got her words out. “C-can I really stay here?”
The towel trailed up and over her collarbone. “Baz has said it’s all right.”
That was putting it lightly. Part of me worried he might try to go burn down Clinemell Manor.
“And is Baz. . .” She rolled the name around her mouth like she wasn’t quite sure if she said it right. “He’s. . .”
“He’s not like Clinemell.”
The words came out too sharp.
Gretel swallowed, turning her head to look out the window. For now, we could keep the curtains open, but she wouldn’t be allowed to look out them. Just in case any nosy neighbors decided to look in.
“He wasn’t always so bad,” Gretel said.
I couldn’t believe she’d ever say anything nice about that man. Let alone try to defend him.
“I know how it looks,” she said.
Like whipped skin. I kept my mouth shut, but my movements became rougher. Digging the now-cold towel harshly against her skin.
“Things changed when Mrs. Clinemell moved in,” she said, bracing herself with an arm as she swayed back as I washed her shoulder.
“And before?” I vigorously rubbed.
Gretel opened and closed her mouth again. Her pink lips weren’t even chapped. “Y-you’re angry at me. Because I went back.”
“No.” That’d be silly. I knew her options were limited and she’d never make a complaint about her employer.
Gretel sighed, and I didn’t like how she seemed to know what was on my mind. “You’re angry because I slept with him.”
“No.” It hit me full force then. I couldn’t judge. Not since kissing Baz’s shoe. I hadn’t worn panties under my dress in days. “But have you no shame for going around saying that?”
Gretel rolled her eyes, sitting back further.
I ran the cloth over her collarbone again. Water dripped between her breasts, and I moved to catch it. Gretel stilled.
The cloth moved up and down. Then over her right breast. Her chest lifted with a breath, her rosy nipples hard thanks to the cold air. I swirled the towel over one.
Her hips moved slightly, but she remained in her seat. I took it as a good sign that she’d stopped with her childish, fussy ways.
“E-everyone sleeps with their household staff,” Gretel said, her cheeks reddening.
I scoffed, moving my caresses to her other nipple. “I beg to differ. I never slept with Blackwell.”
He’d been over seventy when I started here. Some wouldn’t be deterred, but I had multiple reasons to keep my distance.
“B-Blackwell?” Gretel’s back arched just the slightest as I rubbed.
I swatted her with the towel. “Stay still.” The cloth circled her breast, getting every inch of skin clean. “Yes, I never slept with Blackwell. So no, not everyone sleeps with their household staff.”
I ran the cloth back and forth, across her stomach.
“S-so you haven’t slept with Baz?”
I shot off the bed. “How dare you say that.”
And how in the stars was I to respond?
Well, Gretel, if it weren’t for you, Baz and I probably wouldn’t have made it out of bed the past few days.
Despite her red cheeks, Gretel had the audacity to defend her position. “I just got a feeling, is all.”
“A feeling?”
“He looks at you,” she mumbled.
“Of course he does, Gretel. He has eyes. That’s how people see.”
Though just two months ago, I’d been nothing but furniture against the wall. Nothing to see, nothing to hear. Baz hadn’t stopped staring at me since he’d arrived.
But it was all ridiculous, the more she spoke, and it reminded me why I often found myself frustrated in her presence. She was nothing but annoying.
“We should really wash your hair,” I said.
She rocked back and forth on the bed, grumbling. “I don’t want to.”
“Well, tomorrow you’re going to,” I said for the mere fact that I’d decided to stop letting her get away with things. I launched the wet rag at her. “Here, finish cleaning yourself.”
Gretel sighed, petulantly, despite the fact that I’d spoon-fed her just hours ago. She took the rag, wiping her stomach.
I should’ve left. Turned and gone back to the kitchen.
Instead, I watched Gretel lazily scrub her skin, her hand going lower and lower. She half-way lifted on her knees, the one sheet that always covered her modesty, falling to the wayside.
“What will I do?” Gretel asked in that same soft voice she’d used most of the day. The one that wasn’t as bubbly as normal, but it wasn’t downright sad. It was a softer, more frank tone than I’d ever heard from her.
She widened her stance, the towel coming between her thighs. My mouth dried. I think my entire being froze. At least until I realized she waited for an answer.
“For now you’ll heal.”
“At least until you put me to work,” she replied.
Her hand moved in circles, the towel inching up. She rubbed it against her pussy.
Holy stars.
Gretel dropped back onto her heels, finished.
“Get your legs,” I reminded.
She pouted, but sat back. She was more delicate, not leaning as far over her limbs as she cleaned, careful of how her back stretched.
“So I’ll help you?” Gretel asked. “With the cleaning?”
“Yes,” I decided. She could hardly stay as a houseguest. Baz would be more than all right with that. He’d told me several times I didn’t need to stay quite so busy cleaning. But we had our place, and I found it hard to part from the role hammered into me from a young age.
“Okay,” Gretel agreed. She focused on her knee as she asked, “And. . .”
“I’ll be doing all the market runs.” No need for anyone to know where she was.
Gretel nodded, and we let the fear of Rufus Clinemell pass.
“You really should try to use the bathroom,” I said.
It was the first time I ever saw a stony face from her, her cheeks more purple than pink as she looked away. “Thank you, but there are some things I can do on my own.”
I saw her need for privacy and respected it. Though I did raise a brow, letting her know I was on to her. She was a lot stronger than she looked.
“Baz has promised to find some ointment for your back. For the scars. I’ll bring it up as soon as possible.”
Gretel took a moment to reply. “I suppose that’s what I’ll be working for?”