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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’tbecause, 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.”