Page 140 of Caging Darling

“My footman saidyou wished to meet with me,” says Lady Whittaker. “That it was urgent.”

Something about her tone makes it sound like she thinks I’m probably being dramatic. Overly anxious. I can see how I would have given her that impression.

But the Wendy who stands before Lady Whittaker is none of that.

Indeed, when Lady Whittaker glances up from the papers on her desk in her office, peering over her spectacles, I see in the way her brows lift, the corners of her wrinkled lips tighten, that my posture has her attention.

“The children in your care are in danger,” I say.

Lady Whittaker removes the spectacles from her face and allows them to rest on her chest, hanging from the beads around her now-taut neck.

“And what has led you to believe such a thing?”

“Because I’m not who I allowed you to believe.”

The only reaction from Lady Whittaker is the stiffening of her long fingers against the edge of her desk.

“And who, pray tell, are you?”

“It doesn’t matter who I am. Just who sent me.”

The lady purses her lips together. “Spit it out, girl. I’m growing impatient.”

My heart patters against my chest, but it’s imperative I get this right. So I steady myself. Make myself appear calm but urgent.

“Your son has grown suspicious in recent months regarding his father’s long illness.”

“He’s expressed no such concern to me.”

“That’s because you’re the one he’s suspicious of. You’re right in saying your son has no concern for his father. In fact, he’s been awaiting a letter announcing his death for the past two years. But no such letter has come. Your son has grown impatient for his inheritance. He cannot believe his father has hung onto life this long, and therefore, he believes you are hiding something from him.”

To Lady Whittaker’s credit, she doesn’t blanch. Doesn’t even swallow. “Continue.”

“He hired my master to infiltrate your manor.”

“To spy on me.”

“Yes.”

Lady Whittaker sighs, then wipes her eyes with a handkerchief. “And let me guess, now that you know the truth, you’d like me to bribe you to keep that information to yourself.”

“Not exactly.”

“Smart,” says Lady Whittaker. “Because I’d sooner have your corpse as fertilizer for my flower bed.”

I fight back the shiver tapping against my spine. “I’d expect nothing less. Not all that I told you was a lie, my lady. My brothers are quite real. When my master offered me this assignment, I was still under the impression you had simply continued your husband’s business. You can imagine my shock when I discovered what you’ve truly been doing with these resources.”

“Yes, I’m sure it pricked your hired heart,” says Lady Whittaker, folding her hands together.

“My master has every intention of handing the truth over to your son,” I say.

“Not if there’s no one to tell him the truth,” says Lady Whittaker, no hint of a smile on her face. She’s as grim as the grave.

“My partner, the man posing as my master, will inform our master that you conducted the business on your own. That there was no evidence of your husband in the house.”

“That’s no proof. My husband is known to be ill. Why would anyone expect him downstairs?” says Lady Whittaker.

“It doesn’t matter whether the evidence is compelling. The only thing that matters is what your son already wishes to believe.”

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