Page 24 of Tangwystle
“Do you want to try for a bath later?” I asked.
The one eyebrow I could see rose. I think the reason Gretel hadn’t gotten out of bed yet was because she was more afraid that it might hurt to move. It wouldn’t do in the long run, but I couldn’t push her then. Not when the fresh memory of her bloody back kept flashing through my mind.
“I’ll help you clean off after breakfast,” I offered instead.
The sheets rustled, and for just a moment Gretel’s fingers ran across my hand before I moved out of reach.
I stood by the bed, bright green eyes staring up at me. Unblinking in such a way that for a moment, I couldn’t turn away.
Stiffly, I did, though, forcing my feet to move, my heart pounding harder as I felt those green eyes watching me from the bed.
I found Baz in the kitchen with flour on his cheek.
“I told you I could do that.” I set the dirty bowl in the sink basin.
Baz glanced at it. “She didn’t eat much.”
“She did better than yesterday.” And that was really something.
I blinked at the kettle already boiling.
Baz smiled cheekily. “What’s that about me always being useless in the kitchen?”
I rubbed my thumb across his cheek, wiping away the flour. For a second, we leaned into one another. Our lips never met. We just stood in the middle of the kitchen, his hand on my hip and mine touching his face. He dipped his head, needing a moment too, the exhaustion bearing down on us.
A sharp rap at the side door interrupted.
It used to be that more often than not, the side door got used. But Baz’s guest used the front, and well, other than Gretel, not many people popped in to see me.
“Wait!” I hissed under my breath.
Baz didn’t. He opened the door.
Rufus Clinemell’s valet visibly startled. And then his brow darkened, his bushy gray eyebrows furrowing together. A deep frown accentuated his grumpiness.
With a voice like gravel, he said, “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t expect you.”
“I was under the impression that this was my manor.”
Behind Baz, I winced. I’d hoped he wouldn’t recognize the man. It was hardly like most gentlemen noticed the staff around the neighborhood. Leave it to Baz, though, to make everything around here his business.
Rufus’s valet cleared his throat. His shoes were shined, his dark suit immaculate. Had this man not seen Gretel get ripped to shreds just a few days earlier?
“I’m sorry to intrude, sir,” the man tried again. “We are looking for a missing maid.”
“A missing maid?” Baz asked sharply. I internally cringed, but the lips of the man twitched. He took Baz’s quick remark as a sarcastic jab.
He pressed his lips together, his white mustache twitching again. “Yes, sir. The young lady seems to have taken flight.”
“Taken flight.” Baz tucked his hands in his pockets, leaning forward as he repeated the words. I scooted closer, and the fellow servant’s gaze slipped to mine.
“You are referring to Gretel?” I asked. Rufus’s valet had often dealt with Boswell before his death, but he knew me by sight thanks to our time in the neighborhood. And I was grateful in the moment to have a reputation as a sturdy, no-nonsense housekeeper. “It’s been months since she’s come to Blackwell Manor.”
The man frowned. “And was that a frequent occurrence?”
Baz leaned to his left, his silhouette blocking me just the slightest. A reminder to this servant that he didn’t appreciate his household staff being questioned.
I ignored the feather ruffling. “No, and the past few months I’ve only seen Gretel at the market. But not last week. I went a bit later than usual.”
