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August felt more and more uneasy as Mr. May’s story continued. What was he going on about? Was he even aware of what he was saying, or had he lost all sense when August said he was no longer going to help?

“While there,” Mr. May said, “I came across somethin’ shockin’. Somethin’ most people on the Mount would be very keen to ’ear.”

August’s heart trilled uncomfortably against his chest, making it difficult to breathe.

He knew. Mr. May knew.

“I also assume,” Mr. May continued, “that what I saw—who I saw—would wish for their actions to remain secret.”

August bit the inside of his cheek, his head spinning. “I be sorry, sir,” he said, raising his chin and feigning ignorance, “but I don’t know what ye be talkin’ ’bout.”

“Don’t ye?”

August shook his head. It was mostly true. Honestly, August could be wrong about Mr. May knowing. The man could just be finding some way to coerce August into helping him.

“Then per’aps a little enlightenment might ’elp ye,” Mr. May said, taking a step closer and lowering his voice. “’Cause I do believe that I saw a woman who’s supposed to be engaged to ye wrapped up in the arms of a man ’er family would most certainly not approve of.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

“My soul abhors a falsehood.”

The Castle of Otranto, Horace Walpole

A slew of curse words flew through August’s mind. Blast. Blast and blast again. Blast Emma and Nicholas for not being more careful. Blast their secrets. Blast the Cuffs and Pengellys for being so childish as to allow their petty feud to last so many years.

And blast this man.

August tried to hide his concern, but the satisfaction curving Mr. May’s lips was palpable.

“I o’erheard the two of ’em speakin’ whilst together,” he continued. “Now, I don’t claim to know all ’em details. But I do know that ye be more involved than I be sure ye’d like to let on. And I be sure ye know that if their parents discover their dishonesty—what they really be doin’ in the dead o’ night—’twouldn’t be good for any of ye.”

There it was, the reason behind Mr. May’s story.

Extortion.

But surely August was wrong. Surely the man he grew up next to, the man who was the father of one of the sweetest women August had ever met, could not resort to something so disgusting, so base, so inherently evil as removing someone’s ability to choose for themselves what they could or could not do.

“I still be uncertain what this ’as to do with anythin’, sir,” he said, deciding to play ignorant. “And certainly, it be none o’ your business what those two do.”

“That is where ye be wrong, Moon.” Mr. May folded his arms. “I’ve noticed Mr. Cuff arrivin’ late to work the last few weeks. I’ve let it pass for now, but I believe these late nights for ’im do be affectin’ his productivity. That bein’ said, I might just ’ave to let the man go.”

So not only was Mr. May in possession of such facts that could ruin the happiness of Emma and Nicholas altogether, but he also had the grounds to remove Nicholas from his position as undergardener?

Bile rose in his throat. Nicholas had worked for that position for years—longer than August had. The two of them had dreams of working together as boys and had loved every minute of those dreams coming to fruition.

“Ye can’t do that, sir,” August said, frustration rising within him, as well as unexpected emotion. “It’d ruin ’is life.” Obviously, telling Mr. May such a thing was futile. The man was clearly beyond feeling anything.

“I can,” he said, putting pay to August’s words. “And I can do more ’an that beside. ’Specially when I see that your work be sufferin’, too.”

August’s jaw slackened. “Me work? I be doin’ fine work, sir, and ye can’t deny it.”

“No, I can’t,” Mr. May said, honesty shining in his eyes for the first time that morning.

August could hardly breathe. His place of work at the castle was now at risk? He couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t bear to leave the Mount again—leave his family again—after only now just returning. But then, if he didn’t have work at the castle, he would have to leave, for where else was a gardener to find work on the Mount when the only place to work was under the supervision of the deplorable man standing before him?

“Truly,” Mr. May continued, “it’d be a shame to lose two fine workers right after another. But as I said ’fore. I be desperate for me daugh’er to be ’appy. And I be willin’ to do whate’er it takes.”

“E’en ruinin’ the lives o’ three people who don’t deserve it?” August spat out. He was trapped, humiliated, like a wounded pup backed into a corner, hunted down and facing a rabid wolf.