Free The Baker's Tale by Thomas Hauser Page B

different order. There was richness and splendour at every turn. The house was filled with luxurious things. The most expensive furniture, the softest carpets, beautiful gilded mirrors, articles of dazzling ornament.
    The servant escorted Ruby to Murd’s study.
    Isabella Murd was sitting in a chair. She stared at Ruby with cruel eyes and a haughty smile. A man that Ruby presumed to be Isabella’s father sat behind an ornate desk. He gestured for Ruby to sit. There was a dark expression on his face.
    Ruby sat with her hands folded in her lap. She was aware of the contrast between her plain clothes and the fine attire that the man and Isabella wore.
    The man studied her at his leisure, not speaking for a time. Ruby’s face, he observed, was remarkably pleasant. She was prettier than he had thought she would be.
    Ruby grew a bit flush with the awareness that she was under inspection. But she looked steadily at the man’s hard eye.
    Finally, he spoke.
    â€œI believe that you have met my daughter, Isabella. I am Edwin’s employer, Alexander Murd.”
    His manner was cool, and he spoke with the tone of one who had assumed the high moral ground.
    â€œWe meet under troubling circumstances,” Murd said. “This is an awkward and delicate situation, and I request that you honour me with your full attention. I will be as plain with you as I can possibly be, so there is no misunderstanding.”
    Ruby waited.
    â€œEdwin has asked me to inform you that he will no longer be coming to the learning center. He was not there today because he does not wish to see you again. He requested that my daughter and I speak to you instead.”
    Murd turned toward his daughter.
    â€œWould you make certain that the door is tightly shut. Servants have a way of listening, and I would be uncomfortable if our conversation were overheard.”
    Isabella followed her father’s instruction. Murd returned his attention to Ruby.
    â€œI have heard that you harbour sentiments, fantasies—I do not know what to call them—for Edwin. You are a clever young woman for your station in life. But your attachment for this young man is more fantasy than real. You have been a plaything for Edwin, a trifle for the occupation of an idle hour. When I was a young man, I had a few such toys myself.
    â€œThe object of my bringing you here,” Murd continued, “is to assure you that there is no more hope for a future between you and Edwin than there would be had he died last night. You could change the colour of the sky from blue to green as easily as you could be with him. Edwin is far above you. You are not worthy of him.”
    â€œEdwin is the best judge of that,” Ruby said defiantly.
    â€œHold your tongue when I am speaking to you. The relations between us are unfortunate. But they are of your making, not mine.”
    â€œI am the best judge of my own affairs.”
    â€œBut not of Edwin’s.”
    It was a strange contrast, the two hearts beating opposite one another. The innocent heart of the guileless young woman, palpitating with anxiety and apprehension. And the villainous heart of the cunning man with his wily calculations and plots.
    â€œI will break your spirit,” Murd thought. Then he looked at Ruby. It seemed to her as though not a muscle in his face moved except for those he used in speaking.
    â€œI have done some investigation out of concern for Edwin. There is a mystery about your birth. Have you ever wondered about your mother and father? What fantasy were you told?”
    He knew not to play too fine a game. He held her now by a thread. If he drew the thread too tight, it might snap.
    â€œWere you ever told of your mother’s profession?”
    â€œI did not know that my mother had a profession,” Ruby answered.
    There was uncertainty now in her voice.
    â€œIt is in the police files. Your mother is your disgrace, and you were hers. She was a whore.”
    For the