Chapter 18 #2
Something shifts in the practiced smile, but he continues making his cup of tea. “Sir,” he says.
“I’m sorry?” I ask.
“You’ll refer to me as Sir. I’m sure Ms. Harrington already briefed you?”
Here comes the shift. Exactly what I’ve been waiting for. Harsh words, or even violence.
“Yes, she did. I’m sorry,” I say. He pauses, teacup halfway to his lips so I add, “Sir. I’m sorry, Sir.”
He laughs again, as if I’d just told him a silly joke. “Excellent. Now, Bailey, please help yourself.” He gestures to the decadent spread on the table. “My cook, Mr. Turner, really outdid himself today. I told him it was a special occasion.”
I stare at the pastries and fresh fruit, my stomach growling despite my nerves. When was the last time I saw food this beautiful? This... normal?
My hand shakes as I reach for a croissant in front of me.
Sir sucks air through his teeth and I jerk my hand back to my side.
“I’m not one to give nutrition advice, but do you think a croissant is appropriate for maintaining your figure?
It’s your choice, of course.” His eyes stray to the fruit bowl.
“Yes, you’re right.” I quickly add, “Sir.”
I reach for a small cluster of grapes instead, keeping my movements slow and careful. He makes a pleased humming sound and picks up the very croissant I’d been reaching for, tearing off a buttery, flaky piece with a satisfied grin.
“Wise choice,” he says, chewing slowly. “Though I must say, you’re missing out.
Mr. Turner’s croissants are truly exceptional.
” He takes another bite, and I watch the golden crumbs fall onto his pristine white plate.
My stomach clenches with hunger, but also something darker.
A simmering rage threatening to bubble to the surface.
I push it down deep, and pop a grape into my mouth. Slowly chewing while looking down at my empty plate.
“Tell me,” he continues while spreading softened butter on another piece of croissant, “what do you think of your accommodations? The cottage has been used by my family for generations. Whenever we needed to shut out the world, a sanctuary of sorts. I haven’t found a place in the world more quiet.”
His knife clinks as he rests it on the edge of his plate, and he stares at me, waiting for a response.
“It’s very nice, Sir.”
“I’m pleased you approve. Comfort is quite important for what I hope to accomplish.” He takes a small bite and studies me again. “You see, Bailey, you’re going to find that things operate quite differently under my care than what you’ve previously experienced.”
The grape in my mouth turns sour. What does he know? It must be everything, or at least enough.
“There are rules here, naturally. But they’re civilized rules.
Reasonable ones. Nothing like what you’re accustomed to.
” He sounds like he’s discussing the weather with a friend.
It’s unnerving. “Ms. Harrington has mentioned a few already, I believe? No arguing, no questions without permission, no foul language.”
I nod, unsure of what to say.
“Good. To those I would add, punctuality, as she mentioned, is essential. You will speak when spoken to. You will maintain your appearance to my standards at all times.” He pauses to sip his tea while my vision tinges red.
“And most importantly, you will be grateful for the opportunities I provide you.”
Opportunities? This man is absolutely batshit crazy.
“In return,” he continues, “you’ll find life here quite pleasant. Regular meals, comfortable lodging, books to read, even television in the evenings if you’ve been particularly well-behaved. Quite a step up from your previous accommodations.”
The casual way he references what I’ve endured has me clenching my jaw. I can’t let my temper out though. I have to be careful. This man may seem civilized, but I know a monster when I see one.
“Do you have any questions?” he asks, then holds up a hand before I can respond. “Actually, let me rephrase that. Do you have any appropriate questions about your daily routine here?”
I swallow down the lump in my throat. If there’s any time to ask, now is it. “What is it that you want from me, Sir?”
His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Patience, my dear. All will become clear in time. For now, simply focus on settling in and learning our ways.” He dabs his mouth with his napkin.
“Ms. Harrington will show you to the library after breakfast. You may select three books to take back to your cottage. Consider it your first reward for good behavior.”
I open my mouth to ask another question. Where are we? But he cuts me off.
“And Bailey?” His tone lowers. It’s a voice I can picture speaking in front of a crowd, or holding boardroom meetings. “I do hope you understand that the freedoms I’m offering you are contingent on your cooperation. I would hate for you to lose them due to poor judgment.”
A threat wrapped in niceties. I still hear it for what it is though. Do as I say, or you won’t like the consequences.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Wonderful.” His smile returns, friendly and full of teeth. “I believe you and I are going to get along perfectly well.”
Ms. Harrington appears in the doorway. “Sir? Shall I escort Miss Bailey to the library now?”
“Yes, thank you, Greta. And do show her the gardens afterward. Fresh air is so important for one’s well-being.” He turns back to me. “Enjoy your morning, my dear. We’ll speak again soon.”
As Ms. Harrington leads me from the room, I catch one last glimpse of him calmly returning to his lavish breakfast, as if our conversation was nothing more than pleasant small talk.
My situation may be different from where I was before, but I know better.
King threw me into boiling water—brutal, immediate, impossible to ignore the skin peeling, soul-cracking death.
This man? He’s placed me in a pot of cool, comfortable water, and turned the heat on low, letting me simmer so gradually that I won’t know I’m cooked until it’s too late.
A pretty cage with plenty of room is still a cage.
As I step into the library, I force myself to remember that.