Page 85 of Her Majesty's Necromancer
"It seems that I can no longer work here," I said to our feet. "Things will never be right between us now, and I can't…" I closed my hands into fists and swallowed past the lump in my throat. "I have to go."
The long pause almost had me meeting his gaze, but then he finally spoke. "You can't," he said gruffly. "You have nowhere to go to." It was hardly a convincing argument to stay. It certainly didn't seem like he wanted me to stay.
Any hope I'd held that he would beg me not to go was dashed. It had been a foolish hope anyway. "I have some experience now and should be able to find work in another house as a maid."
"Don't be absurd."
"I'm quite good!" I said hotly.
He blew out a measured breath. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."
A bubble of laughter escaped my throat. It held no humor. "I know no such thing. I can't begin to fathom what you're thinking, Mr. Fitzroy." I stretched my fingers and willed my heart to stop its wild beating. "I will only get another position if you give me a good reference, however. Without it…"
"This is because of yesterday. Because I shouted at you."
"You didn't shout at me." Far from it. I wished he had. Shouting might have got the anger out of his system. "You have every right to feel betrayed, sir, and we both know that a gentleman cannot have his servants betraying him."
"You can't go," he said quietly.
"I have to," I murmured into my chest. "It's for the best, for both of us, and don't try to tell me otherwise. You can never forgive me for what I did."
"You don't know that."
I shook my head and swiped the tear that trickled down my cheek. "Perhaps not, but while I see you every day, I know I can never forgive myself." I swiped my other cheek. "Please place the reference under my door, if you can bring yourself to write a favorable one." I turned and walked quickly down the corridor to my room.
But the flat of his hand against the door prevented me from opening it. He was so close behind me I could hear his ragged breathing, feel the strength of his presence. I closed my eyes, but it didn't shut off the tears, or stop my heart from crashing into my ribs.
"You're right," he said in that maddeningly calm way of his. "We can't go on like this. And we won't. I promise you, all will be well again."
"It can't be. It's not just my summoning of Mr. Gurry…it's everything!" I dared to look at him, to see if he understood my meaning.
If he did, it wasn't clear. His face was closed, the muscles tense as he fought to keep the mask in place. "It's still daylight," he said. "Go outside and get some fresh air. You've been cooped up too long. You'll think more clearly after a walk."
"And if I don't change my mind? If I still want the reference…will you give it to me?"
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "We'll talk later. Not now. I'm…not in the right frame of mind." He slowly removed his hand from the door.
I didn't enter my room. He was right; I needed to feel the cool air on my face. Perhaps it would blow away the fog that was clouding my head.
I hurried down the stairs and out the front door to avoid the others. The sun shimmered through the trees, but the air had already cooled considerably since I'd opened the door to the Overtons. My hot cheeks needed it.
I walked along the drive and out through the gate, where I could no longer be seen from any of the windows. I needed true privacy from the Lichfield residents, if not from the public.
As I often did when I was troubled, I found myself wandering into the cemetery to my adopted mother's grave. I almost detoured to Gordon's, but I needed the comfort of my mother. I sat on the mat of leaves and leaned back against the headstone.
The twittering of the birds overhead as they settled into their nests chased away any eeriness I often felt when alone in the cemetery. I tried to empty my head and just listen to them, but thoughts of Lincoln and what I would be leaving behind kept returning.
He hadn't seemed like he'd wanted me to leave. Or had he, and I'd just missed the signs? I had hardly looked at him, so it was possible. Yet he hadn't asked me to stay either; not in so many words. He hadn't refused me a reference, hadn't said that Lichfield was my home as much as it was his and that I belonged there.
And when he said we would talk later, how much later? As soon as I got back? Tonight? Tomorrow?
My thoughts went around in circles and did nothing to steady my erratically beating heart. He'd thought a walk would clear my head, but I felt more confused than ever. Earlier, I'd been determined to get a reference and leave Lichfield. Now, I wasn't sure if it was the right decision. It might be…or it could be the biggest mistake of my life.
When the headstone at my back became too cold, I headed out of the cemetery and along Swain's Lane, toward Hampstead Heath. I'd decided to demand he tell me his thoughts on the matter of my staying or going, and leave my decision until after our discussion. I saw no other way.
The sun had sunk behind the horizon by the time I reached the iron gates of Lichfield Towers. They loomed out of the darkness like giant skeletons, but I found them welcoming. I quickened my pace and put my head down into the breeze.
I didn't see the two figures jump out of the shadows until they were upon me. Acting on impulse, I jabbed my elbow into one man's stomach and smashed my foot into his knee. He cried out as he fell to the ground.
