by Abby Ayles
“That has nothing at all to do with this,” she said, but with much less conviction.
“I very much doubt that,” Francis said, feeling more than a bit smug at having Emma cornered at last.
“Please, you do not understand,” she whispered. Fear had overtaken her face, and Francis felt another guilty pang, which he promptly swallowed.
“Then make me understand,” Francis said. “Prove your innocence to me about this right now by being honest about your brother.”
“I must ask that you trust me when I say that—”
“Trust you? After what you have done?” Francis asked, truly incredulous. He had known Emma was a bold one, but to be so arrogant as to ask him to trust her after all of this.
Emma flinched at his words. She looked as though she wanted to crumple up on the floor and weep. Instead, though, she did her best to straighten her shoulders.
“Fine,” she said. “Then hear me when I say that Marcus has nothing to do with what has happened here, nor with my guilt or innocence in the matter.”
“Strange that you would even include the word guilt when you are insisting to know nothing of it.”
Emma shook her head.
“I never claimed to know nothing,” she said. “In fact, I said that I do know what is going on. I merely said that it is not my doing.”
Francis laughed once more, but it was more hollow than dry. She had, in fact, said just that, but that hardly proved her innocence.
“Then prove it to me,” he repeated. “Right here and right now. This is the last chance I will give you to do so.”
Emma shook her head once more, sadly this time. Francis noticed then that she was breathing heavily.
Francis was torn between gloating at her discomfort and fearing that she might be about to succumb to hysteria or a sudden fainting spell. He chose to remain firm, however. Why should he feel bad for a thief, after all?
“Tell me what is going on with Marcus,” he said. “Or go, and never return.”
Chapter 29
Emma listened to Francis’s cruel, terrible accusations with profound shock and hurt.
She had returned from Lucius’s office prepared to tell Francis everything she had learned and to warn him about Lucius’s theft threats. She had not expected to find out that things had already gone missing from Blackburn Manor, and she certainly had not expected Francis to truly believe her responsible for the crimes.
She had been confident that Francis would know that she was incapable of such a heinous act, just as, until that moment, she would have thought him incapable of saying and calling her such awful things.
Now, however, she was unsure of everything. She knew that proving her innocence would be nearly impossible, especially since Lucius had already enacted his plan.
Francis had made it quite clear that he did not wish to hear anything she had to say unless it was an outright confession. The more terrible things he called her, the less she wished to prove herself.
She was beginning to think that, even if he suddenly did believe her, she would want nothing more to do with a person who could speak in such a way to someone he allegedly cared about.
However, some part of her, the part that did care for Francis, knew that she could not blame him for the way he was acting. If she had believed what he believed, she supposed that she might react in much the same way.
She thought that she might be a bit more willing to hear the side of the supposed guilty party before jumping to such drastic conclusions, but she could not say for sure. What she did know was that her job was at stake.
She could straighten Francis out for his accusations later. For the time being, she needed to focus on getting Francis to listen to what she had to say, and she had to do it without putting Marcus’s illness all out in the open.
“Well?” Francis boomed. “What is it that you are hiding about your brother?”
Emma struggled, but she managed to find a small part of her composure. She straightened her shoulders and looked Francis in the eye.
“Considering that Marcus has absolutely nothing to do with the issue at hand, I do not see how it is any of your business,” she said.
Francis stared at her in apparent disbelief.
“Do you not?” Francis asked. “If you would lie to me about that, then you will lie to me about anything. And if you cannot tell me the truth about him, then how can I be expected to believe anything you say to me?”
Emma swallowed the urge to scream. She might have lied to him about Marcus, but that truly had nothing at all to do with the thefts. She desperately wished that he would at least believe her on that much, but she knew it was useless to try to convince him.
“I would tell you that I cannot tell you, but you would not believe that, either,” she said.
Francis laughed.
“Well, at least you are almost as smart as you are deceptive,” he said.
Emma flinched. That remark hurt her more than anything he had said thus far. However, she refused to allow any tears to fall.
“And if you were half as clever as you believe yourself to be, you might be capable of seeing reason,” she said.
Francis glowered at her, and she regretted her words. However, she did not let Francis see that she did. She maintained eye contact and continued to stand defiantly.
“You would do well to hold your tongue, Miss Baker,” Francis said, teeth clenched. “I am willing to offer you a chance to explain yourself. All you must do is tell me the truth about your brother to buy yourself an unbiased audience from me.”
Emma was growing angrier with Francis’s every word.
“And how do I know that, if I did tell you, that you would believe me then?” she asked.
“You will just have to trust me, won’t you?”
Emma hated the emphasis Francis put on the word trust. She bit her lip to keep from chuckling bitterly.
“Well, whether you believe me or not, I cannot tell you anything about Marcus,” she said.
Francis studied her for a moment. He seemed to be considering something, and for a moment, Emma allowed herself to hope that he would drop the subject.
“I will only ask once more, Miss Baker,” he said, his voice suddenly low and brisk.
She shook her head firmly.
“And once more, I must decline,” she said.
Francis stared at her a moment longer, then nodded curtly.
“Then I will have no choice but to terminate your employment,” Francis said.
Instead of storming away right then, Emma put her hands on her hips.
“On what official grounds?” she asked.
She knew that it was a long shot, but perhaps if she could get Francis to think about the situation from even a slightly different perspective, he just might be willing to hear her out then.
Francis bellowed with laughter.
“Miss Baker, I know you are much cleverer than this,” he said. “You know what you have done, and you know that no respectable person would ever keep you in their employ.”
“What I know is that you have made wild, terrible accusations, and yet you have presented me with no proof,” she said.
Francis blinked, seemingly surprised by the revelation. Then, his scowl returned.
“Do not turn this back on me,” he said. “The only one of us who needs to prove herself is you.”
“Does my accuser not need to provide strong evidence against me?” she asked.
“You are in no position to expect anything from me,” Francis said, his voice rising again rapidly. “The only thing you will be getting from me is your termination.”
Emma saw that it would do no good to press any further. Francis was wholly convinced that she was guilty, and no one would ever expect him to prove his allegations.
In the end, it was her word against his, and he was a wealthy earl. But there was one thing she could take from him.
“Do not bother letting me go,” Emma said quietly. “After today,
and all of the terrible things you have said to me, there is no way that I would ever continue working for you. I quit.”
She looked at Francis just long enough to see a brief moment of genuine surprise cross his face before she turned abruptly and stormed up the stairs.
She expected him to continue shouting at her, or perhaps even to follow her, but he did neither. In fact, when she reached the top of the stairs and turned toward her room, she spared a glance from the corner of her eye.
Francis was still standing where she had left him, staring up at her. She could not read his expression, but she could tell that it was not the same cold, aggressive one he had worn as he berated her.
It was then that she felt more tears sting her eyes, but she had already given him enough of them. She rushed into her room before she could cry.
She slammed the door to her room, wincing immediately. She prayed that the children did not hear and come searching for her or their father.
She stood in the center of her room, trying to steady herself and begin packing her things. Her emotions were overwhelming, both mentally and physically. For a moment, she feared that she might faint, and she could not allow herself to show such weakness at such a time.
She closed her eyes to try to steady her breathing and cease the dizziness that was causing the room to seem to swirl around her. After a couple of moments, she slowly opened her eyes and began to pack.
By the time she was finished, she found herself once more battling tears. She tried to push away the saddening thoughts and hold on to her anger toward Francis, but the good memories kept pushing their way into her heart.
The estate had begun to feel like her home, and Francis and the children like family. It felt wrong for her to be leaving, and she did not want to go.
However, she could never tell Francis about Marcus’s illness. She had promised him her secrecy, and she would keep it no matter what. Her brother’s secret was not hers to tell, no matter how much she wished to stay.
She knew that she would have to say goodbye to the children, and that sent a fresh wave of intense emotion through her. She closed her trunk and walked over to the washbasin to splash her face with water before she took on the heartbreaking task.
Once she felt that she had herself mostly under control, she made her way to the children’s room, where they were playing a game with Margaret. At the sight of her friend, Emma’s eyes stung, once more threatening tears.
Margaret was the first to see her, and she stood quickly.
“Hello, Emma,” she said.
At the sound of her name, the children looked up, immediately abandoning the game. They rushed to Emma’s side and wrapped her in a tight hug.
“Miss Baker, we missed you,” Rowena said.
Emma patted the top of her head and forced a smile.
“Margaret, might I have a word with the children?” she asked. She kept her pained smile, but her tears fought to betray her. She cast her eyes downward and willed them away.
“Emma, is everything alright?” Margaret asked, her voice rising with concern.
“I just need to speak to the children for a moment, if you do not mind,” she said.
Margaret nodded and put her hand on Emma’s arm before exiting the room. Emma stepped inside and closed the door behind her. She decided that she would write Margaret a letter explaining what had happened when she returned home.
If, that was, Francis did not pass along his version of the events himself and turn Margaret against her.
As she looked down at the children’s expectant faces, the tears against which she had struggled began to flow. She collapsed in one of the chairs in which they sat for their lessons and began to cry.
Both children rushed to her side, and each of them took one of her hands.
“Miss Baker, what is it?” Winston asked.
“Are you alright?” Rowena asked. “Should I go get Father?”
Emma covered her mouth to stifle a sob and shook her head.
“No, sweetheart,” she said. She cleared her throat and took a deep, shaky breath. “Children, I have something I must tell you.”
Winston and Rowena exchanged worried glances and took one another’s hands, forming a circle with Emma.
“Are you sick?” Rowena asked, her lip quivering. “Is that why you went into town?”
Emma choked back another sob and shook her head.
“No, I am not sick,” she said. Would that it was that simple, she thought bitterly to herself.
“Did someone die?” Winston asked.
Once more, Emma shook her head.
“I must leave here,” she said bluntly. She could not bear keeping the children in suspense any longer.
“But you just got back,” Rowena said.
Her voice tilted with hope, but the tears in her eyes said that the little girl knew just what Emma meant. Winston stood silently, blinking back his own tears.
“No, children,” Emma whispered. “It is time for me to leave for good.”
“Why?” Winston cried. “Did we do something wrong?”
“Whatever it is, we promise we will do better,” Rowena said, beginning to sob.
Emma hugged the children to her tightly, sobbing quietly. Despite how hurt she had been by Francis’s words and accusations, it paled in comparison to the distress that her news was causing the children.
“Oh, darlings,” Emma said. “How could you think you had done something wrong? I cherish both of you.”
“Then why are you leaving us?” Winston said, burying his face in her shoulder and giving in to his own sobs.
In her mind, Emma cursed Francis over and over again. She wondered if the ice in his heart would melt even a fraction if he could see what this was doing to his children.
However, after what she now knew he was capable of thinking and feeling, she very much doubted it.
She held the children a moment longer, trying to decide what she should say. She had not considered what reason she would give them for her leaving, and she doubted that even Francis would wish for them to know what had transpired.
“Your father has decided that I am no longer needed,” she said.
It was as close to the truth as she dared to get and, in truth, all she could say. Her shoulders began to shake once more with hushed sobs and hot tears continued streaming down her cheeks.
The children hugged her more tightly, their sobs rising in volume.
“But we need you, Miss Baker,” Rowena said.
“Can we ask him to let you stay?” Winston asked, but his tone held little hope.
“Your father knows what is best,” Emma said, trying to reassure the children. Nothing was further from the truth in her mind at that moment, but she refused to say bad things about Francis to them.
“No, he does not,” Rowena cried and ran from the room.
“Rowena, darling, wait,” Emma called, rising to try to catch the little girl.
Winston looked at Emma, and the wounded expression on his face broke her heart even further. Without another word, he ran from the room after his sister.
Emma buried her face in her hands and continued to cry, not caring that the door had been left open. Fortunately, none of the staff members walked past, and after a few moments, Emma had regained a modicum of composure.
She did her best to wipe her face with her handkerchief, then went back to what had once been her room to begin carrying her belongings down the stairs.
When she walked outside to see to a carriage, she saw one already waiting for her. She knew it was foolish, but part of her had hoped that Francis had not already called for one.
Before she could begin to cry standing there in the doorway for the entire household to see, she loaded her things into the carriage, without asking or waiting for help from any of the servants. She risked one final glance around the entryway, thinking again about how much the manor had begun to feel like home.
With a heavy heart, she realized that she would hav
e to find work elsewhere because she still needed some way to care for Marcus. But she knew that no place would ever feel like home in the way that Blackburn Manor had.
As she closed the door, she thought she saw Francis peeking out from the doorway to the drawing room, but when she blinked, there was no one there.