Chapter Text
Lord Proteus Aster was not, as he would so dryly put it, in the business of micromanagement. It was an insult to his intelligence to suggest that Miss Nicholls—formerly recognised as one Doctor Nicholls—should be cared for and minded as some sort of pseudo-child.
Make no mistake about it: Proteus respected the hierarchy. He supported the new Omnes Government, and had even served as advisor to several high-ranking staffers. He agreed—had experienced first hand—that humans were too clever for their species’ collective good.
But he simply saw no good in treating the woman who once stood alongside him as an intellectual peer like a three-year old who needed constant supervision.
If asked, Proteus would reiterate plainly: he agreed with the Omnes Government. He agreed that humans needed to be minded, and educated, and given moral instruction, and assigned a caretaker to instil discipline and appropriate affection. His opinion, he’d assert, differed merely on the question of degree.
It was almost six in the evening when Proteus returned to the estate. He’d been reviewing drafting instructions on his way over, had still been reviewing them and making mental annotations when a valet took his coat in the foyer.
“And Aisha?” Proteus asked, not impatiently.
“Miss Nicholls is out, sir,” the valet answered.
“Out?”
“She requested use of one of the self-driving vehicles. She submitted a note to the estate’s administrative office, as advised in the household rules.” And, because he knew of his master’s inclinations, the valet added: “She has promised to return in time to share an evening meal, and swore to return no later than seven-thirty.”
“She has appointed a point of contact, as well?”
“Yes, sir. Miss Nicholls followed the house regulations exactly.”
“Name, position, proximity?”
The valet faltered for a millisecond. Proteus, whose optics were focused on nothing in front of him, slowly drew them to look at the servant’s face.
“Name, position and proximity?” he said again.
“Temperance Alley–”
“The name is unfamiliar.”
“She’s new, sir–”
“How new?”
“The Head Maid brought her on two weeks ago.” The butler was trying so desperately to avoid looking into Proteus’ eyes. Theirs was a simple conversation, but Lord Aster spoke with a calm intensity that made mere perception akin to daring to watch a God. “Temperance is assigned to bed duty, i-is my understanding, sir. She changes Miss Nicholls’ sheets each day, fluffs the pillows, beats the mats, and has recently been granted permission to choose Miss Nicholls’ morning clothes.”
Proteus withdrew his gaze. “That would explain why Aisha has seemingly stopped dressing in the dark.” He chuckled. His valet matched it, trying to mask the wobble of discomfort in his throat. He stopped when Lord Aster did.
“I will be in the study,” Proteus said. The valet bowed his helm, obedient.
Yes, Proteus often retreated to his study when he came home. He needed to decompress. He never wanted to be disturbed, and everyone knew he would not tolerate any disturbance without proper cause.
“Have Aisha’s point of contact sent to my study at seven-twenty.”
The valet quieted. “Miss Temperance Alley, sir?”
“Ah, so you heard me clearly the first time,” Proteus said it as though he’d already moved on from the entire matter. Yellow optics, polished and sharp, flicked to the valet. “Will there be a difficulty in finding her?”
“None at all, sir.”
Lord Aster gave a dip of his helm in polite disengagement. Then he was gone.
Temperance didn’t know what the Lord wanted of her.
She had heard rumours, of course—the same sort of rumours that always went around one’s social betters, and about the males especially. About the hands-y ones, the perpetual bachelors, the ones who hadn’t been allowed to serve as human caretakers and were rumoured to be on a ‘perpetual ban’ list that existed somewhere.
But Lord Aster never struck her as the type to seek advantage over a maid.
In her two weeks working at the estate, Temperance had glimpsed him only a handful of times. He was certainly handsome, well-built, but, to her, he always looked either deeply bored or deeply unamused.
Perhaps he takes the young maids to find the amusement he doesn’t have, she thought as she passed the grandfather clock in the corridor.
She checked the time. Ten minutes to the half hour.
Temperance stopped before the Lord’s study door. She brushed the front of her uniform with the flats of her palms, rolled her shoulders back, and inspected her face by scrutinising the reflection of the doorknob.
She knocked, and the double doors swung open on their own.
Lord Aster sat behind a great desk. He did not raise his helm from the papers laid out before him.
“Name, position, proximity?” he inquired.
Temperance lowered her head. “Temperance Alley. I am a maid assigned to Miss Nicholl’s quarters. I maintain her bedroom.”
A silence.
“You also choose her clothes on mornings,” Proteus said.
Temperance swallowed. “Miss Nicholls–”
“A ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is sufficient, this is not an interrogation.”
She wrung her hands. “Yes, sir, I do.”
“Yes to what, Miss Alley?”
“Yes, sir, I select Miss Nicholls’ morning dress every day.”
She wanted to look up, to see how this master of the land was studying and scrutinising her, but she did not dare. She did not know of anyone who ever would.
Lord Aster filled the waiting silence with a low hum. “You may sit.”
She lifted her helm, shaky. There were two large seats, a dark tawny colour. Regardless of which she picked, left or right, she would remain well within the Lord’s line of sight.
She selected the left, and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The grandfather clock outside sounded for a quarter-to-eight. Temperance fluttered her eyes closed, and tried to draw her lips into as neutral a line as she could muster.
Proteus still did not raise his head. “Has Miss Nicholls contacted you today?”
“No, sir.”
“When did she leave the estate?”
“Three o’clock, sir.”
“What time is it now?”
“Seven forty-five, sir.”
She saw his golden optics before she saw that he had lifted his head. “What is the difference between those times, Miss Alley?”
The line of her drawn-together lips fell. “She–”
“Are you no good with sums, Miss Alley? The answer would be,” said Lord Aster, “five hours and forty-five minutes. Yes?”
“Respectfully, sir, Miss Nicholls–”
“Respectfully,” he said plainly, “a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ is sufficient.”
“Yes, Miss Nicholls has been off the premises for that period of time. No,” she began to clarify, “she has not contacted me. It is my understanding that the … the rules require that Miss Nicholls reach out when either she decides to extend an outing, or when she is off-premises for over three hours consecutively. And when she reaches out, she must provide an update on when she will likely be home.”
“If she has not contacted you, how was the valet aware that she was scheduled to return at half-past seven?”
Temperance bit her tongue. “I cannot speak to that, sir.”
“Not even respectfully?”
Temperance almost shook her head. That would be rude. She forced herself to use her voice. “No, sir. If I were to do that … it would be speculation, sir.”
“It would be,” he agreed. “I would like to hear your speculation, anyway.”
She blinked. “M-me, sir? How could I … How could I dare to presume about the one I serve?”
Proteus’ optics dimmed. “You presume nothing about me.”
“I must clarify that Miss Nicholls did not call me. She texted at ten past five. She told me then that I should pass on the news that she would be delayed, but that she would be home in time to dine with Lord Aster.”
“What time is it now?”
“It is minutes to eight p.m., sir.”
“What time is dinner officially served?”
“Eight p.m. sir.”
“And what time is my ward’s curfew?”
“Half an hour past eight, sir.”
Proteus leaned back in his seat. His optics were affixed to the wall clock which hung above the study doors.
He watched the minute hand hit twelve. He said nothing more at that moment. It was not for a lack of direction, a lack of having anything further to add, or even just to say. No.
“Temperance?” he said, eyes still on the clock.
“Yes, sir?”
A tickle in the back of Temperance’s mind told her that Proteus had plenty more to say.
“Call her.”
Just not to her.