12
James
When Mary came and knocked on the study door, James hadn't been working for the better part of an hour. He couldn't focus. His thoughts were disjointed, with the glue that should have held them together replaced by images of a young woman, her cheeks flushed, and both of them breathing hard. He shook his head to dislodge the thought, but it just rattled around.
So when the object of his affections came to the door and asked him if he needed any help with anything—of course he did. What he needed help with wasn't something that he was going to let her help with. But the words didn't sound like an offer for help, whether with his work or with... other things.
It sounded like an invitation.
He'd felt his resolve crumbling, and he'd had to refuse quickly, or not at all. When the door was closed, he knew that he'd been rude. Perhaps even hurtful. None of it mattered, because he'd done the right thing and she'd thank him in the end.
He didn't sleep that night; couldn't sleep. Even when he closed his eyes and turned over, it seemed like when he closed his eyes, she was there waiting for him. Their bedrooms were on opposite sides of the building, but he was acutely conscious of hers. He could have pointed to it, like a hound.
He couldn't bear it. The strain of trying to resist was too much. He needed to speak to Mr. Stump, as well. He'd assumed that Mary would know something about the situation, and she had known a bit. But now he needed ideas for who might know more.
It seemed as if Oliver was the only other person who would know it all, but he would be... indisposed to explaining. If anyone else could be put on the list, it was the man who had overseen his hiring, after all.
A few hundred kilometers between them would help to cool both of them off. Mary was grieving for her father, and he was going mad from their proximity. If they had a few days apart, then things would be back to normal.
He had his bags packed already. It made things easy for him in the morning. He would have to walk into town, which would be a hassle, but then he'd be able to get a cab back out when he returned in a couple days' time.
He didn't know why he had assumed it would be that easy, though. When Mary stormed into the room, he thought he could see a hurt look on her face that must have been his imagination. If it weren't his imagination... that worried him more. Couldn't she understand that he was doing all of this for her?
"Mr. Poole! What is going on here?"
"Mary," he began. He could already hear a hundred different retorts, each one more convincing than the last, but he continued anyways. "I have to go into London for a couple of days. I need to speak to your father's solicitor, and I should check on my flat, as well. I'll only be a few days."
She looked at him, her jaw clenching and unclenching. He watched her, trying to keep his distance. The first few days, he had been unnerved and frustrated by her temper, but now he saw that she could be quite pretty when she was angry. He blinked and tried not to be attracted to her, but he knew it was useless.
Then something in her face changed. For a moment he nearly felt relieved, but he knew better than that now. She was not a woman for whom things didn't work out, and if she wanted something then she was going to get it. It was only a matter of time. If she had decided to accept his decision, it wasn't because he was getting what he wanted. She'd figured out a way around him.
"Very well," she said, making a show of giving in. That sealed it, he thought. "I suppose I'll just have to go to London as well."
There it was. "No."
"I don't think you'll be able to stop me, Mr. Poole."
She made it sound almost apologetic, but he knew better than to believe that. He could see the triumph on her face, in the smile that she tried to turn down at her cheeks. He turned the problem over in his mind, trying to see it from all angles. What he saw was that she was going to get her way in the end, like it or not.
She was right, he wouldn't be able to stop her, short of bodily tying her to a chair for the next three days. If she decided to follow, she would follow. Her family was not as well-off as they had been only twelve months ago, but she could easily afford a train ticket. She had won, he decided. With a sigh, he looked into her eyes.
"You're right. I can't stop you, Mary. I still think you should stay."
"You're entitled to think whatever you like, James, but I'm coming."
His name sounded strange when she said it, and he couldn't put his finger on why. He wanted to hear it again to make sure.
When she came back with a small bag packed and wearing a dress that would be decidedly uncomfortable for a several-kilometer walk down the road, he asked her about it.
Apparently, he'd been wrong. They had a horseless carriage after all. It kicked and sputtered beneath him, but it ran first try.
The train ride itself was agony. They had been put into the same sitting room, and James hadn't been able to bring himself to protest it. It was getting harder and harder to resist his desire to be with her, and he could tell that it was chafing for Mary as well.
It was the right thing to do, to leave her alone. He tried to take some confidence in that. What did his feelings matter in that?
Her perfume, which seemed to fill the seats and created an intoxicating haze, begged to differ, and he struggled to think clearly. More than anything, he wanted to have her, and have her right there. He had to grip the seat of the bench so hard that it seemed as if his fingers might snap themselves in half.
But somehow, he managed to make it through.
They came out of the train, having spoken no more than a dozen words between themselves. James would be in London for a couple of days. Until then, he would do what he could to put as much distance between himself and Mary Geis as possible.
Still, they were a team in this. It was a struggle to balance that against his better senses, his knowledge that through her very presence he was seduced by her. It was time for him to start trying to shift the balance the other way.
"Mary—Miss Geis," he said. She stopped without turning to face him. "I should know where you'll be staying. So that I can keep you appraised of the situation."
When she turned to face him, he couldn't understand her expression.
"I'll be staying at Hyde Park, of course. My family always stays there. We have a regular room, so it should be no trouble at all. Just ask for me."
"Of course," he said. "You've seen my address, of course, but let me write it down for you. In case there are any emergencies."
He took a notebook from his jacket pocket and jotted down his address before tearing it off.
"There. I'll come and speak with you tonight, after I've had time to speak with Mr. Stump. Once he's told me what I need to know, we'll be able to make plans for what to do next."
"Very good," Mary said, and then turned and left.
James didn't have time to worry about why she was acting strangely. Before he had left, he'd sent off a letter to the hospital asking for only a couple of weeks' extension on his father's bills. With some luck, he would have an answer from them. With a little more, they would have agreed.
There was an envelope, stuck into the mail slot of his front door. He yanked it loose when he closed the door. It was marked as having been sent by the hospital. He tore it open.
It began professionally. They always did, particularly when there was bad news. They had considered his petition for an extension. Then they'd decided against it. When would be convenient for them to come and pick up the money he owed?
He let the paper drop onto the bedside table and laid down in his own bed. It was strange; he'd been gone less than a week, and it seemed like his bed was an exotic luxury. Familiar, pleasant, and at the same time, distant. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he closed his eyes and drifted off.