by Faye Hall
Taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk, she couldn’t help but think her father didn’t look his usual self.
“Are you all right?” she enquired. “You seem kind of pale and very preoccupied.”
Reaching across to her, he patted her hand that rested on the edge of the desk. “It’s just business matters. Nothing you need worry your pretty, little head about.”
She wouldn’t be fobbed off though. “Is the business in trouble?” she asked. “Is it because we need money that you’re insisting I marry Bastian?”
The old man removed his hand from hers. Reaching for his glass of whiskey, he took a sip. “Your engagement to that man is canceled.”
“What?” she gasped, unable to believe what she was hearing.
Her father nodded. “He came to see me about an hour ago, and I told him that you just weren’t ready for marriage yet.”
“Oh my God, thank you, Father!” she exclaimed, so happy to finally be set free from her engagement.
“I’ve also hired an investigator to see if he can find out what really happened the night Jacob died,” he continued. “I thought about what you said about Tristen, and I can see your point. The boy had nothing to gain from that fire. From what I’ve heard, he’s suffered so much—people have pulled out of business deals, and his serving staff is practically ghostly thanks to the hideous scars he was left with that none of the maids can bear to look at. You would think if he planned that fire, he would have been smart enough not to get himself burnt in the process.”
It pained her as she listened to the description her father gave. Tristen had always been such a handsome man, with a great business mind. How badly could he have been hurt to jeopardize all that?
“Can I go see him?” she asked hesitantly.
Her father stared at her, and she began to fear he would say no. “If you can wait until I hear from this investigator…then yes, I guess you can.”
She reached across the desk, grabbing her father’s hand in hers. “Thank you, Father.”
He held her hand firmly. “Don’t thank me yet, child. Tristen is a changed man, consumed by his grief and apathy. Rumor has it that he has given up the will to live.”
“Maybe he just needs to be reminded what there is to live for,” she replied.
Her father smiled. “Maybe you’re right.”
Just then, the old man squeezed her hand so hard it hurt. “Father, you’re hurting me,” she squealed, struggling to free her hand.
Her father’s grip loosened for a moment before clenching around her hand again, harder this time. Amalie struggled against him, scared and confused by what was happening. When finally she managed to free herself, she took several steps back, her gaze glued to her father as he stiffened and bucked at the desk.
“What is happening?” she screamed.
But her father didn’t reply. He couldn’t. He began gasping for breath, his mouth moving as if struggling to talk. She rushed to the open door.
“Help!” she yelled, hoping one of the servants was able to hear her. “It’s my father!”
She rushed back to her father, who was now collapsed on the floor, bucking and writhing around, gasping for breath. She knelt beside him, trying to hold him still for fear he would hurt himself even more.
“What has happened, miss?” one of the servants asked from the door.
She glanced back over her shoulder. “I think my father has been poisoned. We need a doctor.”
As the servant stepped toward her, Amalie turned back to look down at her father, who was now laying very still, his eyes and mouth open.
“I don’t think a doctor can help him now,” the servant uttered.
“Just get one!” she yelled.
She grabbed hold of her father’s jacket, shaking him. Nothing. Pressing her head against his chest, she listened for a heartbeat. Nothing. Holding her hand beneath his nose, she felt for any sign he was breathing. Again nothing.
“No!” she screamed, collapsing against her father’s dead body, tears pouring from her eyes.
* * * *
The days following the death of her father were a whirlwind of emotions and tragedy for Amalie. Burying her father so soon after her brother tore at her heart as few things could.
She looked through the gatherers who attended the funeral, desperate to catch a glimpse of Tristen, but he was nowhere to be seen. As the mourners departed, she wanted nothing more than to retreat to her home and hide there always. She had lost everything—her family, her lover, her baby. She was so tired of the pain of living.
Turning toward the house, her steps felt heavy. She was all alone now. Tears flowed from her eyes as she neared the back door. She just wanted to go upstairs to her room, curl up on her bed, and close her eyes and never wake up.
“Miss Fergus!” she heard someone call from behind her. “Please wait. I need to talk to you.”
Her steps slowed to a halt, and she turned cautiously. “Do I know you?” she asked, her gaze settling on a scrawny man wearing glasses.
The man stopped a few feet from her, removing his hat. “My name is Matthew Porter. I’m your father’s accountant.”
She wiped at her tears. “I have just buried my father, sir. I am in no frame of mind to talk finances with you.”
“As I understand, miss. And I apologize for the timing, but I fear I must speak with you as soon as possible.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What has happened?” she asked, suddenly needing to know this man’s urgency. “Is there an issue with my inheritance?”
Matthew fidgeted with his hat. “Do you have any family you might be able to stay with for a while?”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand why you would ask such a thing. Why can’t I stay in my house?”
Matthew pursed his lips. “Because this isn’t your house,” he explained in a strained voice.
“What?” The word was barely more than a whisper.
“Your father has been penniless for months,” Matthew continued. “He sold the last of his properties a few days before he died.”
Her tears again began to threaten. “Where will I go? I have nothing and no one left.”
“Please, miss. The new owner has sent word and assured me you could stay on in the house for as long as you need,” Matthew said.
“At what cost?” she asked, suddenly very suspicious.
Matthew shrugged. “I don’t know, but from my experience such favors are rarely free.”
She had to think quickly. “Do you know who the new owner is?” she asked. “Maybe if I speak to them I can arrange something with him.”
Matthew shook his head. “The note came to my office without a name or signature. All that was on it was his offer and instructions that I was to come and tell you immediately.”
Fear began to fill Amalie as she thought of what payment this new owner would ask from her. What if he demanded her...in his bed? The mere thought made her shudder. She couldn’t live like this, trapped and controlled by some nameless face. She glanced back at the house. It would break her heart to leave the only home she had ever known, but right now, she could see no other choice.
“Do you know anyone who might hire me as a maid?” she asked Matthew, the words feeling dragged from her.
“I will go through my books and find someone,” Matthew offered. “Would you like me to send a carriage here in a few hours to pick you up and take you there?”
Though she nodded, it felt like a stab in her heart.
That afternoon, her suitcases packed, she started on a new life.
* * * *
Reining in his horse out front of the Heather’s estate, Bastian ran to the front door and rang the bell. He had come there the previous week, but Albert had been out of town. Now he was there because he was running out of money and ways to make it.
The butler answered a few moments later, looking down his nose at him.
“Yes?”
“I need to see Albert. Immediately,”
he demanded, trying to barge inside and past the butler.
The butler held his ground. “I will show you to Mr. Heather’s study.”
He wanted to hurry the butler along, but should Albert see his frantic state, the old man would want to know what happened. That wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have with him.
“A visitor, sir,” the butler said, stopping at the entrance of the open study door.
Albert was seated at his grand desk, looking through the papers in his hands. Slowly, he placed them down in front of him, and leaning back in his chair, he rested his hands against his stomach, looking at the two men standing in the doorway.
“Bastian,” Albert addressed him, waving his hand in the air to dismiss the butler. “I hadn’t thought to see you again so soon.”
“You told me I should come and visit you anytime I needed you,” he replied.
Albert nodded. “I did, but if that’s why you’re here, you shall be leaving here rather disappointed.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’ve been talking to some past business associates of yours,” Albert continued. “Michael Fergus, in particular, was extremely informative. He assured me I’m not the only bed partner you have chosen to also do business with. Unlike him and the other men from your past though, I’m not so desperate for sexual gratification that I will blindly do business with everyone I fuck.”
Bastian’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re trying to say.”
Albert’s fingers patted his stomach. “I went and had a look at this so-called sheep farm you told me would be a profitable investment. After what I saw there—the flyblown animals and dust-covered fields—I’ve decided I shan’t be joining you in business after all.” He slid the papers Bastian had given him to sign across the table. “You can take these back and try to trick the next vain, old fool you lure into your bed.”
He lunged toward Albert, hovering over the desk, his hands frantically reaching out for the older man.
“You bastard!” Bastian yelled at him. “You said you would sign it. I need that money!”
Albert rang the bell on his desk, not flinching from his attacker. “Maybe you should try working for this money you claim you so desperately need. From what I’ve been told, I’d say it would be a change for you.”
“And what if I let it be known about our meetings at the molly house?” Bastian threatened. “If word of our affair comes out, you will be ruined!”
The old man laughed in his face. “You are more foolish than I thought if you think such a rumor will ruin my enterprise. Most of the town already knows about my sexual antics, but they look the other way, because unlike you, they can be sure that a business deal with me will make them profits beyond their wildest dreams. So you see, threatening to blackmail me is futile.”
His desperation fed anger fueling him, and Bastian swung his arms at Albert, his fists clenched. Before he could connect with the old man, the butler and another man grabbed him by the shoulders, pulling him back away from Albert and across the floor to the door.
“Make sure he leaves,” Albert ordered. “I really don’t want a scum like him loitering around my estate.”
Bastian fought against the men holding him, but it was no use. Before he knew it, they were dragging him out of the estate and throwing him to the ground beside where his horse was tied up.
“You come anywhere near this house again, and you will be shot on sight,” the butler told him, shutting the door behind him loudly.
Bastian scampered to his feet, kicking the dusty ground. How could this have happened? More to the point, what was he going to do now? He had no fiancée to get his riches from, nor an old man which he could blackmail. He was left with only one option—he would have to go back to see Tristen. Seeing the pathetic man he had become since the fire, it shouldn’t be hard to overcome him and steal his father’s property papers right from under his very nose.
Pulling himself into the saddle of his horse, he kicked the beast sharply in the flanks and steered it toward the Brone estate. He would have to be careful how he handled the confrontation though. After all, with an investigator already looking into the fire and the deaths that occurred from it, he didn’t want to draw any extra attention to himself.
When he pulled on the horse’s reins a short while later in front of Tristen’s house, Bastian swung out of the saddle, his shoes landing heavily on the ground. He would have to make sure he wasn’t seen sneaking into the house to steal the papers he was after. Given what he’d heard of the sparse amount of servants and Tristen’s continually drugged state, he didn’t foresee any real danger.
Running toward the front door, he was just about to turn the handle when he heard someone clearing their throat behind him. Startled, he spun around, his gaze settling on a man wearing dress trousers and a patterned vest over his plain white shirt.
“I’m here to see Tristen,” Bastian announced. “I’m an old school friend of his.”
The other man laughed. “What you are is a lying sack of shit. I know who you are, Mr. Tanner. Now, you will get back on that horse and remove yourself from this station immediately.”
“You don’t understand,” Bastian persisted as he stepped toward the other man. “It’s very important that I talk to Tristen.”
The man remained still, his stance strong. “You don’t want to talk to him, and I’m certain he doesn’t want to talk to you. So, if you are here now, trying to walk into his house unannounced, I would assume it’s to either rob him or kill him. Either way, you take one more step toward that house and I will shoot you myself.”
His gaze being drawn to the weapon holstered in the man’s belt, Bastian suddenly stopped. “And who the hell do you think you are that you can stop me?”
The man smiled. “I’m Tristen’s lawyer. Now, I suggest you get your arse back in that saddle and get the hell out of here.”
“Damn it!” Bastian cursed, his words barely more than a whisper. Turning quickly, he hurried back to his horse and swung himself up into the saddle. He stalled for a moment, his stare going to the lawyer, before kicking his animal in the flanks and speeding away from the station.
What was he going to do now?
Desperation consuming him, Bastian steered the animal toward the Fergus station. It was a long shot, but if he could see Amalie, he was sure he would be able to convince her that a marriage between them would financially benefit them both. Even if she wouldn’t listen to him, he could always use brute force to make Amalie bow to his will.
The station coming into sight, he slowed his horse to a slow canter as he gazed around at the bare surroundings. Where was everyone? The place looked deserted. Pulling on the reins, he stopped the animal and slid out of the saddle and to the ground.
“Hello?” he yelled.
Nothing.
He walked nearer to the house. “Is there anyone around?”
Still nothing.
He ran to the front door, and knocking loudly, he waited. When no one answered after a few minutes, he stepped over to the windows. Pressing his face up against the glass, he peered inside. All he could see was darkness and sheets covering the few items of furniture.
Confused as to what was going on, he ran over to the workers’ cottage and peered inside. It too was empty, no signs that anyone had been there for quite a while. Bastian stepped out of the cottage and looked out across the fields. No cows. No horses. The place was completely deserted.
* * * *
Amalie arrived at the Daniel’s station, her mind a whirl of what was to become of her life. To her relief, the man who took pity on her and agreed to employ her seemed as professional and fair as she could have hoped for.
As the days turned into weeks, she began to settle into her new lifestyle, and she decided, though the work was hard, at least it was better than being subjected to an unwanted marriage just to keep some money in her account.
Everything was going quite well until she
accidently spilled a cup of tea, the amber liquid dripping on Mr. Daniel’s trousers.
“Oh my God,” she gasped, hurriedly reaching for a napkin and dapping at the wet spot on his clothing. “I’m so very sorry, sir.”
Her apology was met with the back of his hand striking her sharply across the face.
“You clumsy bint!” he roared at her in front of the guests. “If you don’t learn some better service soon, you will suffer far more than just a mere pat.”
Crying and scared of what was to happen to her, Amalie fled from the room and ran out of the back of the house. She had barely taken a few steps when she ran straight into one of the guests that were visiting there that night.
“What has happened to you, child?” the gray-haired, slightly overweight man asked her, his hand coming up and stroking her face. “Your cheek looks bruised.”
“I spilled tea on Mr. Daniel,” she uttered, her words laced with tears. “He threatened that if I don’t improve my service, he will do far worse than just strike me.”
Her tears overcame her, her hands going to her face to try and hide her distressed state. When she felt the comforting arm of the man go around her, she glanced up immediately.
“It’s all right, child,” the old man tried to sooth her. “Old Daniel has always been an ill-tempered prick.”
Amalie wiped at her tears. “I need to work though. Both my parents are dead, and everything they own has been repossessed. If I can’t work, then…then…”
“Hush, my dear,” the old man said softly, holding her closely. “My name is Albert Heather, and if it’s work you need, I can give you a position immediately as my personal maid. You will be required to tend to my room only and bring me my meals when necessary. In return, I will give you all the clothing you need, as well as food and a warm place to sleep every night.”
She stepped away from him, again wiping the wet tracks from her cheeks. “Why do you want to help me?”
Albert laughed. “Because you need it,” he explained. “Now, what do you say? I can have my driver take you to my estate immediately and get you settled.”
Amalie nodded, a smile spreading across her lips. “Thank you, Mr. Heather. I don’t know how I will ever be able to repay you.”