Page 107 of The Maid's Secret

“Congrats, Bax. That’s a very healthy commission you just scored us,” says Beagle as he squeezes his husband’s hand.

“Goodbye, Molly. Goodbye, egg,” says Brown. “Shall we order a bottle of Veuve to celebrate?”

“Not yet,” Beagle says, as he smooths his dark curls, then turns to face his partner. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

“Can’t it wait?” says Brown as he reaches a long arm around Beagle’s shoulders.

“Please, Bax. I have to tell you something,” Beagle pleads.

Both men are silent for a moment as Brown waits for his husband to speak.

“This is about me,” says Beagle as he crosses his slender legs. “I was the one who—”

Beagle’s lips are moving, but the sound has suddenly cut out.

“We can’t hear him!” says Angela. “Turn it up!”

“Speedy, what’s going on?” Stark asks.

“The little dude’s leg wigged out! He crossed it and popped the plug.” Speedy points on the screen to a cord on the floor.

“Cripes on a crutch, now what?” Angela asks.

I don’t know how it comes to me or why, but a lightbulb goes off. “Angela!” I say. “Follow me. Now!” I grab her by the arm and head to the penthouse door.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“To the tearoom,” I say.

“But we won’t see a thing from there,” she replies.

“Irrelevant!” I say. “We’ll have our ears to the ground. And for the record, Angela, I mean that literally.”

—

Chapter 32

Dear Molly,

I hatched a plan—to escape the farmhouse. One day, when the laundry van came to take the bags of clean clothes to town and drop off dirty ones, I waited for Mrs.Lynch to approach the driver for payment, and as she counted the bills, I jumped in the back of the van and hid behind the mountain of clean clothes. Fortunately, no one saw me, and when Mrs.Lynch closed the van doors, I knew I had a chance.

As we bumped along the country road, I fumbled in the dark, holding on to my suitcase, which I’d slipped under one of the bags. When the van stopped, I was ready. The doors opened, and the driver grabbed two big bags, bringing them out to a lovely house on a pleasant street in town. I waited for my eyes to adjust to the light, and as the driver chatted with the woman who answered the front door, I made a run for it, suitcase in hand. At seven months pregnant, I was slow and clumsy, but I was determined to make my escape.

Soon enough, I was in the center of the bustling town, asking for the bus station and being eyed suspiciously by the locals, who clearlywondered why a pregnant young girl with a fancy suitcase was traveling by herself. With the little bit of money I still had hidden inside my case, I purchased a ticket that got me all the way to the town closest to home. The return trip took hours, and I gazed out the window, imagining what I would say to Mama and Papa when they opened the manor door.

After more than a half day of travel and a long, lonely walk from the bus station to where Gray Manor was situated on the outskirts of town, I arrived at the familiar front door, exhausted and hungry.

I rang the bell and waited, my speech prepared—Mama, Papa, the farmhouse was a dangerous place. I know you’d never want harm to come my way. That’s why I’ve returned. Please, take pity on me. I’ll do whatever you ask, just let me come home and have this baby.

But when the door swung open, a woman appeared who was most definitely not my mother. Smartly dressed, with a strand of pearls around her neck and her auburn hair in a neat chignon at her nape, she looked familiar and yet I couldn’t quite place her.

“Flora?” she said. “Flora Gray?”

It was then that I realized. “Mrs.Peterson,” I replied. “You’re Percival’s mother. I went to school with your son…for a few months, anyhow.”

“Yes, of course. He told me all about you. He was quite besotted.”

Her eyes traveled to my belly, taking in my condition. My gaze went past her. I fully expected my mother to appear and explain that Mrs.Peterson was there for a ladies’ tea. But that didn’t happen.