Chapter 22
twenty-two
The next morning, a sharp rap at the door jerked me awake.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, and I found myself blinking at a surprisingly normal room.
The furnishings were beautiful and understated; the room belonged to someone of wealth.
But the sofa, large clock, and the easels set out with paint could have belonged to any woman, and not just Isabella Clinemell.
The knocking continued, but the crick in my neck delayed a response. The door swung open, and the stuffy, mustached man let out an aggrieved sigh.
“There is a carriage waiting for you downstairs,” he said, the drawl of his voice equal parts annoyed and bored. “The Council is convening early at the request of Master Clinemell.”
I shrugged off a blanket around my shoulders. I really hadn’t thought I’d fall asleep. It could have only been a few hours, but things seemed different. Yes, I’d known about the Council meeting, but something about the daylight threw me off.
An old lady, white haired and sagging with wrinkles, skittered around him. She deposited a large bowl of water and left without further comment.
The mustached man glanced at it and then glanced at me. Then he stepped out, closing the door firmly.
Forcing myself up, I did the best I could. I washed my face, scrubbing at my cheeks. Hoisting my dress up, I cleaned Baz’s dried cum from the night before off my thighs. I tried to fix my hair, the locks now messy and slept on.
I had no other dress besides the sleek ballgown I continued to wear.
Last night, it’d been a fever dream wearing something so decadent. Now, in the light of day, it was too much. But no one offered me anything other than the water to wash my face.
My stomach was empty and in a tangle of nerves. I didn’t have time to focus on it. I straightened my dress and tried to smooth out the wrinkles. I fixed my cloak, placed my slippers on my feet, and then opened the door.
I walked myself back to the servant’s stairwell. The white haired lady watched me walk down the stairs. I’ve no idea what she thought was going on, but her face showed nothing. I could have laughed at the way she acted like this was all par for the course.
The mustached man held the side door open for me. I found myself in the same courtyard where I had once seen Rufus spanking Gretel.
The horse and carriage were at the ready.
Of course, I wouldn’t be allowed to ride in the carriage. The older man helped me up, and I settled on the box beside the coachman. He offered a polite tip of the head, and then I hung on as the entire thing jerked to life.
I’d always walked into town. Just me and my basket. It occurred to me as people peered through their windows that I didn’t have on the black, pointed hat I’d long ago started to hide under.
“Easy,” the coachman told the horse as we neared. My knuckles were white by this point, and I sensed that’s why he kept repeating the word before we came to a complete stop.
I typically passed the Council building, made out of stone and with its steeple and stained-glass windows, without a further thought. It was a pretty building meant for men who made decisions because they thought they knew best.
And now that Council expected me to come in, nothing more than a ransom for another ill-behaved servant.
The carriage door swung open. Rufus didn’t bother to look at me as he got out of the coach and took the few steps up to the magnificent double doors that led inside.
He flung off his hat, his coat whipping with each motion he made.
I thanked the coachman for helping me down and then scurried in only to stop myself a second later.
With slower, measured movements, I followed, not making as much of a fuss.
I’d been made to come here, but no one needed to see me wringing my hands together.
The architecture would have taken my breath away had I spent time paying attention. I followed down a hallway, toward another pair of open double doors.
My chest swelled when I spotted Gretel and Baz standing together.
Gretel noticed me immediately, her face not able to hide her feelings. Blonde brows met her hairline, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed. She had changed into fresh clothes, her simple black dress and coat giving her a somber appearance.
Baz cast an eye over me, but his face remained blank. I nodded slightly to let them know no hardship had come to me. Baz’s jaw clenched in response, still unhappy about my kidnapping.
I crept on the periphery of the edges. Most men barely glanced at me.
Now that Rufus had confirmation that Gretel hadn’t absconded in the night, and Baz stood before the council, he had little use for me.
The man from the night before bowed his head in polite greeting, but his gaze kept swiveling between Rufus and Baz. His courtesy came from his relief that one argument had been avoided.
Twelve wealthy men made up the Council. They came from well-known families, and as such, their known surnames helped them get elected.
Baz could have easily run for a council seat, but he had no wish for it.
Rufus had run several times and lost narrowly this past election.
I pulled my cloak tighter, ignoring Baz’s narrowed eyes on me. He nodded for me to come closer, and I walked carefully. He motioned for me and Gretel to sit. The room had a table on a dais facing rows of seating so everyone could watch the all-mighty group conduct business.
Baz and many of the other men who were there continued to stand and mingle until it was time.
“Are you okay?” Gretel clasped my hand.
I nodded, but her eyes wouldn’t leave me.
“Wystle?” she whispered.
I nodded again. I was okay. But also tired and overwhelmed and worried about the next few moments. Simply put, I couldn’t speak, and I think that concerned Gretel since I normally loved telling her what to do.
“It’s going to be okay,” she promised. Something in her voice made me look over. She nodded, but bit down on her lip like she wanted to stop herself from showing any further emotion.
A man with a hideous wig cleared his throat, signifying that not only was he in charge, but that the meeting would begin.
Baz looked over just once, nodding as if to say it would be all right.
And then the man from the night before, Mr. Rodman, spoke before the twelve gentlemen who sat on the dais.
There were boring introductions. Thanks for their willingness to meet early.
A few mentions of how amazing the ball at Blackwell Manor was, and then regret that it should have fallen to such disaster.
Upon mentioning that last part, more than a few heads swung toward Rufus. You couldn’t find a grumpier man in the room. Baz remained calm and impassive. He’d been the one forced down here, yet Rufus took the part of a disgruntled man.
“Rufus Clinemell,” Mr. Rodman said, “has accused Baz Coldwell of knowingly harboring a servant who skipped out on her contract. Furthermore he asserts that Coldwell hired her himself despite knowing she’d left her contract in dispute. And he also claims to have caught them in a. . .”
The man with the horrible wig coughed. “Yes, I believe the whole town has heard by this point about the situation Clinemell found them in.”
I blushed on behalf of Baz and Gretel. The men, of course, merely chuckled.
“You will find,” Mr. Rodman spoke, “that there has been a great misunderstanding.”
“Misunderstanding,” Rufus growled, interrupting.
The head councilman merely lifted a hand to silence him, not bothering to waste breath.
But another man on the Council was clearly of Rufus’s thinking. Hands clasped, he leaned forward, his beady eyes narrowed. “That would be quite a misunderstanding. Everyone in the neighborhood was aware that the Clinemell servant had run off. For him to employ her, and. . .”
He stared straight at Gretel, openly appraising her. Gretel stiffened beside me, and Baz’s jaw clenched.
“Well there’s no harm in that,” another old man reasoned, blinking behind a thick pair of spectacles.
Unless he had forced himself on her! I wanted to scream at the man. But of course, Baz’s close relations with Gretel weren’t the real issue here. It would only be distasteful if he’d stolen Gretel, a mere servant girl, away from her rightful employer.
“That is not the matter at hand, I believe,” Mr. Rodman said, sliding on a pair of spectacles. He met the eyes of Rufus’s ally on the Council. “And there has been a great mistake.”
A disgruntled expression clouded the man’s face, but the other gentlemen appeared curious.
Mr. Rodman produced a piece of paper. “You will see that Gretel, was in fact, discharged from her contract.”
“Lies!” Rufus yelled, losing all decorum.
Mr. Rodman calmly stepped toward the dais, waiting until prompted, and then handed over the piece of paper to the head councilman.
I looked between Gretel and Baz. The latter stood with his chin held high as he watched the other men inspect the document. Gretel squeezed my hand.
“That is a forgery if anything!” Rufus cried out, storming forward.
“I don’t think so,” a man with thick eyebrows hummed. He pointed something out. “Unless you dispute your wife’s signature.”
Rufus’s face went from red to purple, his cheeks puffing out.
He tried to snatch the paper from the man, only to receive a stern reproach. The man eventually passed it back to him, and Rufus stared, with his mouth hanging open, at the document.
I turned to Gretel, who lifted her brows. Yes, the document was correct. Baz and Gretel somehow convinced Isabella to sign discharge paperwork. Rufus now had no legal means to pursue.
“B-but—” Rufus vibrated, his confusion and anger mixing into one.
“You will find,” Baz said in a quiet, docile voice. It was the one he used on me when I caught him sneaking cookies out of the kitchen. “That I did not employ another man’s servant in my household.”
“You convinced my wife to sign this!” Rufus roared.
“Isabella Dove does not seem like the type to take orders,” Baz said, using her maiden name. Rufus went another shade darker, not liking this sense of familiarity between his wife and neighbor. “But as for the charge that I harbored a servant of yours that ran off, that’s simply not true.”
“This is dated several months ago,” a councilman stated.
“Yes,” Mr. Rodman said.
“Why wasn’t it produced last night?” the man with the beady eyes asked.
“I’d have liked to have grabbed it, but level heads didn’t prevail last night. Rufus stormed out with my other servant and Mr. Rodman thought best that I wait for the morning.”
“So we had to be woken early for this?” someone whispered down on the far end of the dais.
“I wish to see the registration number for this!” Rufus demanded. “Was it even filed with the clerk?”
The document was studied again.
“Yes.” A man pointed to a registration number. “Seems to be all in order.”
“Was this not discussed by the married couple?” someone asked.
“N-no.” Gretel stood and found herself the subject of everyone’s gaze. “T-the new Mrs. Clinemell came to me one night. She asked that I leave and gave no reason as to why. She gave me the discharge paperwork and told me to leave that night.”
Collectively, the Council brought their attention back to Rufus, who blinked.
“I, I. . .” For once, the great Rufus Clinemell found himself at a loss for words.
Gretel’s heels clicked together, the only sign of nerves. “I was very fortunate that Mr. Coldwell found me. It was late and dark and I was in need of new employment. He allowed me to stay the night and in the morning hired me.”
“And did he at any time tell you to stay hidden?” Mr. Rodman asked. “Did you avoid Clinemell because you believed you had done some wrong doing?”
“Only in the sense that I had been dismissed from my job,” Gretel said, appearing apologetic. “If I avoided them in the neighborhood it was simply out of embarrassment.”
Mr. Rodman thought it made sense. “I’m not one to pass judgment, Rufus, but your wife is young and beautiful.”
Rufus frowned, not understanding.
“Young brides get so jealous,” Mr. Rodman explained.
I could have snorted, if only I’d felt anything. I’d sat, stunned for most of the exchange. We were really going to pass all of this off as Isabella letting Gretel go because she’d wanted to ensure nobody but herself caught her husband’s eye.
I started to boil. I knew the truth. Isabella was too good for Rufus. He wasn’t fit for anyone, and Isabella knew it too.
Isabella hadn’t liked how her husband had treated Gretel. She knew the circumstances that led to Gretel’s disappearance, and this act of kindness was her way of trying to right a wrong.
And it worked. Of course, it worked. Rufus had no ground to stand on. No one cared if Baz fucked his own servants.
I sat in the room, still wearing my ballgown, blinking in a daze.
“I believe an apology is owed,” Baz said to Rufus.
Clinemell’s chest lifted with a breath, and he opened his mouth.
“No,” Baz interrupted. He nodded at me. “To Tangwystle, who you dragged away from her home for this silly charade.”
Rufus wasn’t used to getting dressed down, and he certainly didn’t like it because of his treatment of a servant.
The man, face somber, bowed. It wasn’t words, but it would do.
Rufus cleared his throat, addressing the Council next. “I apologize for taking up your time.”
And then he left. The man left like he hadn’t been the one to kick up a fuss.
The room broke into murmurs, men conversing with one another. Baz and Mr. Rodman shook hands.
“Isabella?” I asked, thinking of that petite woman facing her dragon of a husband.
“She’ll be fine,” Baz said. Now that I saw him up close, I could read the fury in his eyes.
“She showed up last night,” Gretel explained in a soft hush. “Oh, Wystle, was it very bad?”
I didn’t mean for it to happen, but I choked on a breath.
“Come on,” Baz said at once. “Let’s get you home.”