He stared at her incredulously. Beth backed out of the room.
“BIKER?” His tone was more forceful than he meant it to be. “I thought you spoke with them already. You’re staying on.”
“You are misinformed.” She cleared her throat. Stood even taller. “Which is a blunder on my part. However, seeing as you were out of the house—”
“With a communion stone you failed to use,” he interjected.
She pressed on, “I have taken matters in hand. I am departing today, but a new housekeeper will be appointed to you within the fortnight, if you choose to hire a replacement.”
He gawked at her. Set down the bag, then kicked the door closed and whirled on her. “So you’re moving out, without so much as a note?” No letter. No word. No trace. Something sharp and hard formed in his chest. “You said you were staying.”
She huffed. “What I said is not relevant. I am BIKER’s employee, not yours—”
His heart bled acid. “This is because of that consarning Genealogical Society, isn’t it?”
She looked taken back. “What do you mean?”
Lies, lies, and more lies. Why did everyone lie to him?
“You know exactly what I mean.” He closed the distance between them, and Beth all but fled. “I know you’ve been meeting with them. Don’t lie to me. You’re leaving because this house is tamed, and I’m not some fancy wizard. There’s nothing fun in your boring life anymore, so you’re quitting.”
Hulda’s eyes widened. Cheeks tinted carmine. “How dare you make such asinine assumptions! And how dare you judge me, when you just spent the last thirty-six hours chasing some hussy across New England!”
“Hussy? Hussy?” The acid blazed into fire, melting his fingertips and choking out his air. “If she’s a hussy, then what does that make me?”
Hulda flushed darker. Pressed her lips into a hard line.
“Huh, Hulda?” he pushed. “Because I’m every bit as guilty as she is.”
Gripping the strap of her bag, Hulda pushed past him and scooped up the suitcase. “I don’t have to listen to this. I’ve no contract with you.”
“Contract!” he barked. “Why don’t I help you with your self-righteous tirade, eh? I’m a bastard, too! An unemployed, sex-mongering, unmagical bastard. Hardly good enough for the likes of a pretentious housekeeper, if I say so myself.”
She spun on her heel. “You insolent, horrible man! Don’t pin your shortcomings on me or anyone else in this house!” With that, she marched for the door.
“Leave, then!” he bellowed after her. “Leave, just like everyone else does!”
She slammed the door.
The pyre burned hot and cold. He felt like a loaded and cocked gun; he needed somewhere to fire. Spinning, he punched the wall hard enough to crack it . . . and to send white-hot pain racing up his arm.
The portrait behind him tsked, and the wall resealed itself.
Pinching his nose, Merritt dropped onto the first stair and sunk his elbows onto his knees. “Just like everyone else does,” he whispered, and squeezed his eyes closed so tightly no tears could escape.
Hulda could not remember the last time she’d been so angry.
It was embarrassing to have been caught in her escape by Merritt—Mr. Fernsby, that was—but why should she have to explain herself? It was no lie that BIKER wanted her return. Myra had pushed for it more than once. And what did he care? Heaven forbid something disrupt his comfortable life! I’ve just gotten used to you, he’d said once. A person wasn’t entitled to service merely because he was “used to” it.
And his assumptions about her and the Genealogical Society . . . how utterly crude. He knew she’d gone there to get information for him. His words had been vile and confusing. What had fueled him to act in such a savage way? Just his true colors, perhaps.
In an odd way, she was grateful for the argument. Anger was easier than dolefulness, humiliation, despondency. She clung to anger.
She managed to dial her mood down to simmering by the time she arrived at BIKER; the moving company would deposit her things in her temporary apartment, until Myra sent her to Nova Scotia. Lugging her empty bag up the stairs, Hulda was relieved to see her friend standing over Miss Steverus’s desk, looking through a file. The secretary herself was away at the moment.
Myra glanced up at her approach, then jumped from her chair, a grin splitting her face. Hulda couldn’t help but return the smile. Oh, to be appreciated. It was a cool balm to her wounded soul.