Read Online Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1) by Grace Callaway - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Callaway
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Have you taken leave of your senses, Abigail Jones?"
I could do nothing but nod. She was correct, likely on both counts.
"Oh, Abigail, what would dear Agnes say, God love her soul?" Mrs. Beecher's words emerged in a moan. "She is weeping, I tell you, weeping from where she watches above. The shame of it, her only niece become a fallen woman."
"No, Mrs. Beecher," I protested, finding my voice. "It isn't true. I am to be his secretary, that is all. I shall merely be organizing his personal affairs—"
"His personal affairs! What do you know of those? I have kept much from you, silly girl, for your own protection."
Squaring my shoulders, I said, "I have read the papers. I understand the nature of his lordship's reputation, and it matters not to me. He is my employer. Wasn't it you, Mrs. Beecher, who told me to do my work as God intended and not judge my betters?"
"Do not throw those words back at me, Abigail Jones," Mrs. Beecher snapped. "Back then, I could keep an eye on you and see that you stayed out of trouble. But now—you will be exposed. God's mercy, you will be alone with his lordship. With his wealth and power, he need have no regard for decency, but what of you? Who will want you when he tires of this nonsense? You, an unmarried miss, who has had intimate relations with Lord Hellfire? You will be ruined the moment this begins. And I will have had a hand in it. Oh, how I regret ever taking you on!"
The words hit me like a slap. First Jack, and now this. Since Aunt Agnes' death, Mrs. Beecher had been my most stalwart ally. The one I had turned to and who had supported me in my darkest hour of need. I trusted her. I owed much to her. Yet now she felt I had betrayed her.
Mrs. Beecher took my shoulders and gave me firm shake. "You trust me, don't you, Abby?"
"Yes." I wiped a tear that slid down my nose. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Beecher, I do. You have been kindness itself."
"There's only one thing to do, then. You must leave immediately and never turn back."
"L-leave?" I looked at her blankly. "But where would I go? How would I live? Mrs. Beecher, you can't—"
"I have twenty pounds saved. You will take it, and you will never return."
"I cannot take your money, Mrs. Beecher. It is your livelihood. And besides, I have nowhere else to go." Anguish bloomed in my chest. "I do not want to leave again. I do not want to leave you."
Her sharp eyes dug into me. "Is it me you'd miss, or the master? Foolish, foolish girl! I thought you sensible, but instead you fall into the devil's arms at the first opportunity."
"He is not the devil," I protested, "and I am not falling into ... anything but a chance to better myself."
" Not the devil . You think you know him, do you? You know nothing of what has gone on before."
Her pallor and the vehemence of her words finally permeated my denial. Chills crossed my nape. Was this about more than propriety and reputation? "Wh-what do you know, Mrs. Beecher? Why are you so concerned for me?"
Behind her lenses, I saw the housekeeper's eyes take on a distant sheen. They flickered with anxiety. With palpable fear. Her pale lips quivered.
"Mrs. Beecher?" I asked again.
"I—I cannot say." The words seemed torn from her. "I owe him my loyalty. Though I did not know it at the time, he purchased my soul the day he hired me on. All I will say is this, Abigail: if you have any respect for my judgment, you must leave. Straight away, before it is too late."
I felt my pulse quickening, my fear mounting. The earl's requirement of allegiance echoed darkly in my head; what mysterious hold had he upon the upright housekeeper? But with trepidation came a flooding sense of exhaustion. Where would I go? What place would welcome one such as me? At least at Hope End, I had a place to stay. A chance to build my own future.
"With the wages he promised, I could have a savings, Mrs. Beecher," I said. "I could one day make something of myself. Mayhap we—you and I—could leave here one day." In my eagerness to
I could do nothing but nod. She was correct, likely on both counts.
"Oh, Abigail, what would dear Agnes say, God love her soul?" Mrs. Beecher's words emerged in a moan. "She is weeping, I tell you, weeping from where she watches above. The shame of it, her only niece become a fallen woman."
"No, Mrs. Beecher," I protested, finding my voice. "It isn't true. I am to be his secretary, that is all. I shall merely be organizing his personal affairs—"
"His personal affairs! What do you know of those? I have kept much from you, silly girl, for your own protection."
Squaring my shoulders, I said, "I have read the papers. I understand the nature of his lordship's reputation, and it matters not to me. He is my employer. Wasn't it you, Mrs. Beecher, who told me to do my work as God intended and not judge my betters?"
"Do not throw those words back at me, Abigail Jones," Mrs. Beecher snapped. "Back then, I could keep an eye on you and see that you stayed out of trouble. But now—you will be exposed. God's mercy, you will be alone with his lordship. With his wealth and power, he need have no regard for decency, but what of you? Who will want you when he tires of this nonsense? You, an unmarried miss, who has had intimate relations with Lord Hellfire? You will be ruined the moment this begins. And I will have had a hand in it. Oh, how I regret ever taking you on!"
The words hit me like a slap. First Jack, and now this. Since Aunt Agnes' death, Mrs. Beecher had been my most stalwart ally. The one I had turned to and who had supported me in my darkest hour of need. I trusted her. I owed much to her. Yet now she felt I had betrayed her.
Mrs. Beecher took my shoulders and gave me firm shake. "You trust me, don't you, Abby?"
"Yes." I wiped a tear that slid down my nose. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Beecher, I do. You have been kindness itself."
"There's only one thing to do, then. You must leave immediately and never turn back."
"L-leave?" I looked at her blankly. "But where would I go? How would I live? Mrs. Beecher, you can't—"
"I have twenty pounds saved. You will take it, and you will never return."
"I cannot take your money, Mrs. Beecher. It is your livelihood. And besides, I have nowhere else to go." Anguish bloomed in my chest. "I do not want to leave again. I do not want to leave you."
Her sharp eyes dug into me. "Is it me you'd miss, or the master? Foolish, foolish girl! I thought you sensible, but instead you fall into the devil's arms at the first opportunity."
"He is not the devil," I protested, "and I am not falling into ... anything but a chance to better myself."
" Not the devil . You think you know him, do you? You know nothing of what has gone on before."
Her pallor and the vehemence of her words finally permeated my denial. Chills crossed my nape. Was this about more than propriety and reputation? "Wh-what do you know, Mrs. Beecher? Why are you so concerned for me?"
Behind her lenses, I saw the housekeeper's eyes take on a distant sheen. They flickered with anxiety. With palpable fear. Her pale lips quivered.
"Mrs. Beecher?" I asked again.
"I—I cannot say." The words seemed torn from her. "I owe him my loyalty. Though I did not know it at the time, he purchased my soul the day he hired me on. All I will say is this, Abigail: if you have any respect for my judgment, you must leave. Straight away, before it is too late."
I felt my pulse quickening, my fear mounting. The earl's requirement of allegiance echoed darkly in my head; what mysterious hold had he upon the upright housekeeper? But with trepidation came a flooding sense of exhaustion. Where would I go? What place would welcome one such as me? At least at Hope End, I had a place to stay. A chance to build my own future.
"With the wages he promised, I could have a savings, Mrs. Beecher," I said. "I could one day make something of myself. Mayhap we—you and I—could leave here one day." In my eagerness to
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