What Happened at Midnight(7)

Yet.

Sir Walter frowned and turned back to her. His gaze flicked from Mary to his wife, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“You are to have nothing to do with him,” he said to Mary after a moment. “You are to see that Lady Patsworth does not, as well.”

Normally, she resented his edicts. This one, she welcomed with open arms. “He seems a great brute of a man.”

“I dislike his staying at Oak Cottage. So close.” He glanced at his wife who sat, arms folded, head bowed over the paper, as if she could not hear the conversation. “Who knows what might happen?”

He spoke as if his wife might accidentally run into Mr. Mason, might just as accidentally have an affair with him—and all that, as easily as she might accidentally stumble and take a fall. If there had ever been any trust in Sir Walter, there was no evidence of it now.

“From what Beauregard says, he’ll be here for weeks. If I hear that either of you have spoken with him, have even looked at him in passing…”

“I won’t,” Mary promised. But deep inside, she wanted to shriek.

He was going to be here for weeks? She was going to have to leave. The only question was how she was to manage such a thing. She had few enough possessions, and Lady Patsworth could do very well without her. The bigger problem was more mundane: She had no money. Without enough to pay for transport and lodging until she could find more work, she’d end up even worse off than she was.

Don’t exaggerate, she scolded herself. You have funds aplenty. You just have to get at them.

Sir Walter looked murderous. “You stay away from him,” he repeated. “In fact, your afternoon walks…”

“I’ll walk toward Northword Hill,” Mary said swiftly, before he could take that privilege away, too. “Between the two hedges—he’ll have no reason to encounter me there.”

He considered this. “Very well,” he finally said. “For now. But we must think of your safety.”

She was beginning to hate that word. That was all she and Lady Patsworth ever heard—of his concern for their safety, their wellbeing, their dignity. It was on those grounds that he barred her from speaking to the other women in the neighborhood when church services were over. He spoke of his wife’s delicate health when he refused to allow her brother to visit. To hear him speak, it was always about his solicitude for the two of them—and never about his own twisted jealousies.

“One thing, Sir Walter.” Her heart kicked up a beat. “You recall that you’d agreed to hold last year’s wages for safekeeping.” She swallowed and looked down. “Would it be possible to request that I receive a portion of those funds?”

Sir Walter’s frown deepened. “Whatever for?”

“It’s so hot these days. I should like to make a summer gown.”

He contemplated this. “Peter will be happy to take any orders you have to the store. I’ll deduct the necessary funds from your account.”

A bolt of linen, obtained by their groom, wouldn’t do her any good. “Nonetheless,” Mary persisted. “I should like to purchase it myself.”

Going into the shops was not allowed. Having money was not allowed.

He sighed and shook his head. “Miss Chartley. When I said I would hold your wages for safekeeping, I took that charge quite seriously. You are in my employ, and you are therefore my responsibility. If I gave you your wages outright, you might squander it on all sorts of fripperies. Trust me, my dear, and allow me to refuse this request. You’ll thank me later, when the principal is still intact years from now.”

She needed to run. She was desperate to run. How could she do so, without a penny to her name? “But—”

“I think we’ve had enough of this discussion in front of Lady Patsworth,” Sir Walter said, reaching over and giving her a pat on her hand. “She is not well and certainly doesn’t need to be bombarded with conversation about such vulgar matters. We’ll continue this later, if you please.” He set his serviette on the table next to his fork and walked inside the house.

Etiquette. Safety. Responsibility. They sounded like such admirable virtues until Sir Walter got his hands on them.

He didn’t look like a monster. He didn’t act like one. Mary hadn’t even realized he was one for months. He’d taken away her money, her freedom, her friends, and it wasn’t until she was well and truly leashed, without a penny in her possession, that she’d realized what he’d done. He mouthed all the right words of concern. But the instant Mary’s wants diverged from his, he gently, politely quashed all her hopes.

The question of her salary was one of those things. He simply refused to pay her. He would advance funds on her account for gloves or other necessary purchases. He even occasionally gave her a few shillings when they traveled so she could handle the necessary vails. But he expected her to account for every halfpenny, and he always—gently, politely—took them back.

What he was doing was illegal. But what could she do about it when she didn’t even have the money to take a cart to the nearest solicitor, fifteen miles away? How could she prosecute him, when she herself might be brought up on charges?

When she’d left Southampton eighteen months ago, she’d known her life had changed. Sir Walter had taught her what that meant. She’d lost all control over her future. She was dependent on the goodwill of the men around her. And if she was to have any say at all over what happened to her…