Page 30 of Heir of Uncertain Magic

So yes, the anxiety over Merritt was bothering her. And yet ... that didn’t explain the entirety of theweightcrushing her today. Certainly Merritt’s lack of response to the messages she’d left him via their linked communion stones added to her disquiet, but he wasn’t necessarily avoiding her. He may not have brought his stone with him to Cattlecorn. MissTaylor was gone, and Baptiste seldom had reason to go upstairs. More likely than not, her messages hadn’t been heard by anyone. Even so, the concern refused to be quelled.

Part of her unease had to do with the questions she had on MissTaylor’s unceremonious departure. There was that strange look of ravelment on her face, the memory of which formed an incessant itch between Hulda’s shoulder blades. And then, of course, Myra. She’d received only one reply to her search via telegram, only to discover a dead end.

Another portion of her disquiet related to the files LIKER’s foreign affairs department had started digging into—every case Myra had overseen and approved, as opposed to those redirected from London. If Myra had done anything untoward outside her dealings with Mr.Hogwood,it would be in those files. Hulda highly doubted Myra had mishandled her work ... but Whimbrel House was included in those accounts, and if LIKER discovered the house wasn’t enchanted anymore, Hulda would have to explain. She’d have a tough time doing so without implicating Myra, or herself. While Hulda had not been involved with Mr.Hogwood’s doings, she had withheld information, and that in itself was damning.

She wondered if she should come clean.

Not yet. Give Myra time.

How much time was up for debate. Perhaps Hulda should institute a deadline for herself. At the very least, a deadline for reporting the magic had faded at Whimbrel House ... not that it was presently receiving any services, with Beth’s transfer. And with herself occupied in Boston, she might not need to be conclusive about it. At worst, Merritt could formally refuse BIKER services and keep Owein’s secrets to himself.

Hulda sighed, thinking of Merritt.

Yet none of those thoughts and worries, even the ones about Merritt, could explain the utter despair winding through her body, so potent that she almost lost all equanimity and burst into tears while looking up a simple record.

And yet, she felt so much better the moment she stepped outside. That was the strangest thing of all, because this was thesecondtime today the pattern had repeated itself, and it was not yet noon.

Had work become so hardscrabble that simply shifting away from it relieved her gloom? She was still worried, of course, about all those things. Wondering when Merritt would come home and how she would explain herself. Curious as to why she couldn’t find MissTaylor’s new address. Sick over Myra and the difficulties she might be facing. But those things seemed manageable, standing outside the Bright Bay Hotel. Perhaps it was the sunshine, or the crisp autumn air. Either way, it was incredibly bizarre.

She mulled over it as she ventured toward the recorder’s office, which was close enough to BIKER that she needn’t hire a ride. If nothing else, she could use the exercise. She considered Merritt’s timeline.He may be home as early as tomorrow, if things were dicey. But if everything went well, he might stay the week, or longer.

God let it go well for him,she prayed in her heart.He needs this.Even if it meant she’d be left deliberating over her discomfort that much longer.

Their exchange bothered her, but there was nothing to be done for it at that moment, so she forced herself to focus on Myra. She could get things rolling for LIKER and then visit Myra’s abode this afternoon. See what she could find. Yes, she’d do that.

Since it was Saturday, Hulda couldn’t speak to any staff at the recorder’s office herself, so she slipped the record request through the slot in their locked door and turned back for BIKER. When she reached the building, that insubstantial dread built in her stomach again, like she’d eaten bad eggs. She steeled herself with a deep breath. The sooner she finished the work Mr.Walker had assigned to her, the better. She was just ... not herself today.

After slipping inside, she took the stairs up and nodded to MissRichards at the desk—MissSteverus was at home—and went down the hallway to the records room, where she’d set up her work on a spare table with a gimpy leg. So far, so good—her mind seemed to be under control. Just a couple more files to research before she handed her work over to Mr.Walker.

She’d been reading for only five minutes when a sinking feeling started in her middle and tugged on her shoulders. Hulda straightened her back as though she could relieve it physically and tried to focus, but the subtle sensation grew like a snowball rolling down a hill, collecting ice as it descended. Her thoughts turned heavy. Her heart hurt. It became increasingly hard to read, and shedidn’t know why—

“MissLarkin.”

She started and looked up at Mr.Baillie standing in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

Hulda blinked, ensuring her eyes remained dry, and tried to ignore the melancholy taking root in her bones. “Not at all. How can I help you?” She managed to keep her feelings from her voice, at least.

He stepped in, leaving the door ajar. “I was curious. What are you thinking of the position? Of director, I mean.”

Her eyes were starting to burn. “Oh, I ... I haven’t considered it too closely,” she lied. Baillie, after all, was a candidate for the same position. “Not with all this work going on. Who knows? Perhaps MissHaigh will return.”

Mr.Baillie sniffed—the closest thing to a laugh she’d witnessed from him. “I highly doubt that.” He studied her. “It’s just that ... you don’t seem happy here.”

A pang, like a slender dart, pierced her heart. Hulda suddenly wanted very much to be alone. She cleared a thickening throat. “I disagree, but thank you for your concerns.” She cleared it again. “I assure you I am most content in my position. Concerned, yes, but I have been with BIKER well over a decade, and with reason.”

He nodded, though his expression was slack. “Do you have children?”

The question took her aback. She expected to blush, but ... the growing heaviness within her put a lid on any heat. Her fingers were growing cold. “I ... No. Why do you ask?”

Why did she feel a sob forming in her chest?

“But don’t you want them?” he pressed. “Forgive my intrusion. It’s just ... the director position is a very time-consuming appointment. Far more than that of a mere housekeeper.”

Was that an insult? She was more than a housekeeper, after all. Her primary function was in diagnosing a house’s enchantments and overseeing staff assignments. Her muscles felt so tight, but she wasn’t angry. She was justmorose. And then Merritt came to mind, and another dart pierced right where the first had, and she shuddered.

“If you do decide to step down ...” Mr.Baillie shrugged. “That is, if Mr.Walker assigns me to the task, I assure you I will see your position elevated.”

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