Page 134 of Caging Darling

She stares at him for a moment, then sighs and beckons me forward.

“Come here, girl. Let me look at you.”

I step forward, out of Peter’s grasp and toward Lady Whittaker. She paces around, encircling me. “Small hips, butI’ve seen women do well in spite of that. Otherwise healthy looking. And what about you, girl?” Lady Whittaker snaps. “Are you going to get second thoughts, run off and tell people your child has been ripped out of your arms when you’ve been granted a favor, given your life back and kept off the streets?”

I swallow, trying to force tears to my eyes.

“No, missus,” I whisper.

“Mm.” The lady ticks her tongue, and an immense hatred swells up in me at this woman, so eager to profit from the misfortunes of others. She snaps her neck up toward Peter. “Very well, then,” she says, extending an open palm.

Peter firmly places the pouch of money in her hand, and the lady searches through it, estimating the coins with discerning eyes. “This will be sufficient,” she says, drawing the pouch closed. “But the girl had better be as far along as you claim she is. This is only enough to make six months worth our while.”

“I think you’ll find us honest,” says Peter.

The lady sweeps him with her gaze once more. When he doesn’t move, she says, “I’ll have my footman see you out.”

Peter says, “I’d like a moment to say my goodbyes.”

“One would have thought you’d have had plenty of time for that on the trip here,” says the lady.

“Please,” says Peter, taking my arm in his. I have to fight not to flinch at his touch.

“I don’t make a practice of leaving strangers unattended in my home. It’s my place of business more than anything. I’m sure you understand.”

Peter grits his teeth, but when it’s clear Lady Whittaker will not back down, he offers her a stiff bow and follows the footman out of the parlor, taking a single glance behind him.

Anxiety wells up within me as the monster I know leaves me alone with the monster I don’t.

Lady Whittaker silently beckons me to follow her as, in the opposite direction, the footsteps disappear down the hallway. I feel as if my entire form is being raked over for the second time with her stern gaze. She says nothing as she leads me through the dark corridors, the wallpaper made of a dark mahogany leather that appears smooth to the touch, though I can’t help but notice there are sections where the leather has been peeled away—cut evenly—poorly disguised behind the frames of paintings.

Once we’re deep in the belly of the manor, Lady Whittaker, without looking at me, says, “Don’t fear, girl. You’ll be taken care of here.”

Now why do I not believe that?

“That being said,” continues Lady Whittaker, “I intend to put you to work. But I believe with time you’ll come to find the work rewarding.”

Irritation prickles underneath my skin, and I distract myself by searching the hallways for a window. Ideally, Peter would have been allowed to stay in the house a little longer, warp into his shadow form and search out the house for Tink. As it was unlikely he would have been allowed to be left alone with me, we’d known from the beginning the most likely way for Peter to get into the house would be through a window I’d have to crack ajar. If the lady gives me a private room, this shouldn’t be a problem. If not, my fake pregnancy will be my excuse for opening the window in the frigid cold and dreary rainy night, claiming the need for fresh air to carry away my nausea.

I keep my ears peeled for tiny footsteps, for a sing-song voice and the sound of my brother playing by himself.

I hear no evidence of children in this manor. My heart threatens to panic, but I tell myself the manor is large enough that there’s no reason for me to hear Michael if he’s on the other end of the estate.

Because he has to be here.

He has to be.

“Will you have me working as a maid?” I ask timidly, hoping I can segue into asking about the other staff here.

“Depends. What are your assets?” asks Lady Whittaker. “Are you literate?”

“Yes, my lady,” I say, and then to explain, add, “My mother worked on staff for my father. He wanted nothing to do with me, but he sent a governess twice a week to teach me to read.”

“How generous of him,” says Lady Whittaker. “Are you any good with children?”

I have to restrain my voice to keep from sounding too eager. “Yes, my lady. I have two brothers of my own.”

“Hm,” says Lady Whittaker, though to my disappointment, she doesn’t explain my potential job responsibilities further. “Tell me about them.”

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