“Since before you arrived. Mr. Gurlain felt it was his duty to notify me.”
Of course he did. I have no doubt he also assumed it would kill my chances of working here—or anywhere, for that matter. What I don’t understand is why it didn’t work.
“If you knew, why did you let me come here?”
“Because I thought you and Miss Hope would be a good fit,” Mrs. Baker says. “And I was right. You understand her. In fact, you even like her.”
The comment throws me, mostly because I’m not certain I do. I like Lenora some of the time. Other times, she scares me. Or leaves me frustrated. Or fills me with pity, which then brings me back full circle into wanting to like her.
“It’s okay to admit it,” Mrs. Baker says. “Miss Hope can be very charming when it suits her needs. But let me make one thing clear—you’re nothing to her. I know you think you are. That you share a bond unique to her nurses. It’s not. She’s done this kind of thing before, going back decades. She’s smarter than she appears, as I’m sure you know. Some would even call her wily.”
I nod, for the description fits. Lenora uses silence and stillness to her advantage, concealing much, revealing little. As a result, every small detail you learn about her leaves you only wanting more.
i want to tell you everything
That’s what Lenora typed my first night here. And I’ve been starved for that information ever since, willing to break every rule. It doesn’t matter that a week has passed and I still know next to nothing.
“What would you call her?” I say.
“Manipulative.”
Although Mrs. Baker smacks her lips together, as if savoring the word like it’s the wine in her glass, her tone reveals a different emotion.
Distaste.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what caused poor Mary to do what she did,” Mrs. Baker continues. “Miss Hope made her feel needed. Made her feel special. When Mary realized that wasn’t the case, it drove her to do the unthinkable.”
Detective Vick’s voice echoes through my thoughts, reciting Mary’s alleged suicide note.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the person you thought I was.”
Did he also tell Mrs. Baker what it said? And does she genuinely believe Mary killed herself? I try to study her face, looking for signs she does. It’s unreadable, especially with the flames from the fireplace still dancing in the reflection of her glasses.
“Why do you stay here?” I say.
“That’s a rather bold question.”
“One I’d like you to answer. If you hate Lenora so much, why are you still here?”
“If I hated her, I would have left years ago. And this place would have fallen apart without me.”
I think of the tiles raining from the roof, the cracks in the walls of the service stairs, the swath of lawn that now rests at the bottom of the ocean. “In case you haven’t noticed, it is.”
Mrs. Baker tilts her wineglass back and empties it. “It would already be rubble if not for me. The things I’ve had to do to keep this place standing. Selling it off bit by bit to pay for one repair or another. Trust me, it would be all too easy to leave. But Miss Hope needs me. I stay here out of a sense of devotion.”
“But devotion only goes so far,” I say. “You still get something out of being here, don’t you?”
“I knew you were bright,” Mrs. Baker says, making it sound like a liability. “Yes, our arrangement provides me with certain benefits. Miss Hope and I came to an agreement years ago. If I somehow keep this place standing, she’ll pass it on to me when she dies.”
“All of it?” I say.
“The land. The house. Everything in it.”
The fire next to me is quickly dying, its glow finally fading from Mrs. Baker’s glasses. Behind the lenses, her blue eyes seem to catch what little light remains and take on a vibrant shine. I stare at them, unsettled, wondering if she’s aware of just how close she is to having that plan fall apart. All it would take is for someone to come along and contest the agreement. Lenora’s grandson, for example.
I consider mentioning that I know Lenora had a baby. I don’t because, just like Archie, I doubt Mrs. Baker will be honest about it. Also, I see no reason to make myself a target.
If I’m not one already.
Because her revelation that she’ll inherit Hope’s End makes me suspect there are secrets Mrs. Baker would do anything to keep.
And that she had every reason in the world to kill Mary.
Miss Baker made us tea and took me back to the sunroom for what she called “a nice chat.” As if nothing about our respective roles had changed. I was still the pupil and she the proper lady tasked with teaching me how to become the same. Only I seemed to see the ridiculousness of that. After all, I knew what she’d been doing with my father in that same sunroom minutes earlier.
“What do we do now?” she said, addressing the situation as if we both had a say in the matter. She didn’t.
“You can start by telling me why,” I said. “Why my father? Do you love him?”
Miss Baker could barely hold back her laughter. “No, child. What we have is strictly transactional. I give him what he wants, and he rewards me with small tokens of appreciation.”
Money, in other words. For all her talk of manners and propriety, Miss Baker was nothing but a high-class whore. My disgust with her must have shown in my expression, because she snapped, “Don’t you dare judge me, young lady. Someone like you, born into enormous wealth, has no idea what it’s like for the rest of us. The things we need to do to survive. Especially unmarried women like me. I’m simply looking out for my future.”
“At what price?” I said.
“The highest one I can get.” Miss Baker leaned back in her seat, daring me to say another critical word. “Is that what all this is about? You wanted to confront me? Try to shame me?”
“No,” I said. “I wanted to show you this.”
I stood, pulled the fabric of my dress tight against me, and turned so Miss Baker could see my growing stomach in profile.
“Dear me,” she said as she set her teacup on its saucer. Her hands shook so much the teacup rattled the whole way to the table at her side. “How far along are you?”
“Six months.”
“And the father?”
“I’m not going to tell you,” I said, unwilling to risk bringing Ricky into this. If Miss Baker knew, she might tell my father, who would surely fire him. Then there’d be no hope of Ricky and me scraping together enough money for the one thing I most desperately wanted to do--escape.
“Did he force himself on you?” Miss Baker said.
My face turned red as I shook my head and looked at the floor, too ashamed to face her.
“I see.” Miss Baker paused to clear her throat. “Does he know about your . . . predicament?”
“Yes.”
“And what does he intend to do?”
“Make an honest woman out of me,” I said, which prompted a rueful laugh from Miss Baker. Hearing it made me flinch.
“You’re still practically a child,” she said. “And a good man would have restrained himself. Or at least taken precautions.”
Still stinging from the way her laughter echoed through the sunroom, I gave her a hard stare and said, “Does my father?”
Miss Baker stiffened in her seat. “What exactly do you want from me?”
“Your help.”
I listed all the ways in which I needed assistance, from procuring maternity clothes to accessing the proper amount of food. This needed to occur long enough for Ricky and me to plan our escape. I finished by telling her that it all had to be done in secret.
“That’s a tall order,” Miss Baker said. “What makes you think I’ll be willing to help?”
“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell my mother everything.”
The corners of Miss Baker’s mouth lifted in a cruel smile. “Your mother already knows.”
“Then I’ll tell Berniece Mayhew,” I said, knowing full well she was the biggest gossip among the household staff. “About you and my father and what the two of you have been doing when you think no one is watching. Once that gets out, good luck finding another job teaching etiquette. Everyone will know exactly what kind of lady you are.”
Miss Baker stood in a huff, looking like she wanted to slap me across the face, storm out of the room, or both. I suspected the only reason she didn’t was because she knew she was trapped.
“I’ll help you,” she finally said.
We shook hands. She promised to see about buying me some new clothes in the morning, followed by arranging a visit from a doctor whose discretion was assured. I told her that Archie had agreed to set aside an extra plate of food at every meal and give it to her to bring up to my room.
“Who else knows about this?” Miss Baker said.
“Just Archie,” I said. “And now you.”