The question struck him like a slap. He leaned in, his voice low and sharp. “Do you mean to say you want to buy that?” He nodded toward the stairs, toward where Cora was, toward the match he’d been planning for months, the social standing he’d been chasing. Mrs. Gracedew stared, her face paling, before she turned away with a quiet, unreadable sound. He pressed on, his voice sharper. “Is your proposal that I should transfer my investment to you for the mere net amount of it your conception of a fair bargain?”
She turned back slowly, meeting his eyes, no trace of fear left. “Pray, then, what is yours?”
“Mine would be, not that I should simply get my money back, but that I should get the effective value of the house.”
Mrs. Gracedew considered it for a second. “But isn’t the effective value of the house just what your money expresses?”
He winked, his hard left eye dipping just so, a cruel, calculating gesture. “No, madam. It’s just what yours does. It’s moreover just what your lips have already expressed so distinctly! You said it was charming, magnificent, unique, the perfect specimen of its class in England, when you were showing it off to those buyers this morning. Oh, you got in deep!” He was practically gloating, remembering the over-the-top sales pitch she’d put on, the way she’d banged the desk and raved about the house’s merits to drive the price up.
She flushed, but held her ground, refusing to back down. “Possibly. But taunting me with my absurd high spirits doesn’t in the least tell me how deep you’re in!”
“For you, Mrs. Gracedew?” He paused, looking at his shoes again, letting the silence stretch, enjoying her discomfort. “I’m in to the tune of fifty thousand pounds.”
The number hung in the air, huge and immovable, a sum that would buy a dozen houses like Covering End. Mrs. Gracedew was silent for so long he turned to face her again, and when she spoke, her voice was small, overwhelmed by the weight of it. “That’s a great deal of money, Mr. Prodmore.”
He liked the sound of that, the admission of his power, his leverage. “So I’ve often had occasion to say to myself!”
“If it’s a large sum for you, then, it’s a still larger one for me.” She sank into a high-backed chair, like a soldier surrendering before a besieged city, the weight of the number pressing down on her. “We women have more modest ideas, when it comes to sums like that.”
He sneered, not buying it for a second. “Is it as a ‘modest idea’ that you describe your extraordinary intrusion into my private affairs, your meddling in my daughter’s life?”
“I mean I think we measure things often rather more exactly, when it comes to what people really want,” she said, lost in thought for a second.
“Then you measured this thing exactly half an hour ago!” he snapped, referring to her over-the-top sales pitch for the house that morning, the way she’d fawned over every detail to try to sell it to the buyers he’d lined up.
She looked up, almost sheepish, a small, wobbly smile on her face. “Was I very grotesque? Banging the desk? Raving? Shrieking?”
“You overdid it,” he said, his tone sharp, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes, amusement maybe, or surprise. “You wanted to please me, didn’t you?”
She flushed, meeting his eyes, not denying it. “Yes—for you. And for those good people you brought round this morning.”
He scoffed, waving a hand. “Oh! Should I like me to call them back?”
“No.” She was still steady, very decided. “I took them in. I told them what they wanted to hear.”
“And now you want to take me?” He rounded on her, his voice rising, sharp with anger. “Why the devil do you want us, if we’re not what you said we were? Why the devil did you say you’d offer fifty, if that’s not what you meant?”
She was speechless for a second, stung by his harshness, her eyes glistening. Before she could answer, Chivers the old butler appeared in the doorway, and Mr. Prodmore rounded on him, his temper exploding. “Call my carriage, you ass! Have you seen Miss Prodmore? If you haven’t, find her!”
Mrs. Gracedew spoke gently to the confused butler, reassuring him he wouldn’t find her, before turning back to Mr. Prodmore, her voice steady, no trace of the hurt he’d caused. “Cora has gone for a walk. Not alone—with Mr. Pegg.”
It was like throwing a stone into a full basin, the news splashing all over him, shocking and infuriating. Mr. Prodmore went purple with rage. “Pegg has been here? That’s why she was so late getting home from the station?”
Mrs. Gracedew nodded, unrepentant, a brave, wobbly smile on her face. “He walked with her from the station. Why I got here first. I get everywhere first, you know!”
He demanded to know which direction they’d gone, his voice tight with fury, and when she refused to tell him, he shouted for his carriage again, grabbing his hat off the side table so hard the brim bent. “So you abetted and protected this wicked, low intrigue? You helped my daughter sneak around with a man I disapprove of?”
“You’re too disappointed to see your real interest,” she said, stepping into his path again, her voice urgent, pleading. “Oughtn’t I in common charity point it out? Drive after them if you like—but catch up with them only to forgive them. If you do that, I’ll pay your price, whatever it is.”
He stared at her, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, before asking, his voice tight with greed and anger: “What do you call my price?”
“Why, the sum you just mentioned—fifty thousand pounds!” she quavered, her throat tight.
He laughed, sharp and dry, like she’d made a fool of herself. “That’s not my price—and it never for a moment was! Besides, my price is up.”
She gasped, her face going white. “Up?”
“Seventy thousand.” He was already at the door, his hand on the latch, his ultimatum clear. “It’s to take or to leave!”
She was so shocked she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, until Captain Yule appeared at the top of the stairs, faltering at the scene below before marching down resolutely, his face set. Mrs. Gracedew leaned in, her voice a low, urgent hiss between them, no trace of the fear she’d felt a second before. “Seventy thousand, then!”
Mr. Prodmore didn’t even glance at the Captain, his eyes fixed on her. “Seventy thousand—done!” He slammed the front door behind him so hard the windows rattled, the echo of his ultimatum hanging in the hall long after he was gone.
(Word count: 1124)
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