Page 23 of Tangwystle
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.
