Rent? God no. He almost laughed at that, but caught himself before the sound escaped. Perhaps it was better to let him think that he just funneled money into a house he didn’t even live in, just for the sake of… what? Having it?

“Sleep is a strong word,” he said instead. The point he made was a valid one, whether said ‘prison cot’ was actually slept on all that much or not.

Malachi pivoted, swept his fingers to catch the stem of the expensive glass.

It was his hope that, with him out of the room, Nettie might feel more free to socialize with the other women in the meantime – but in all likelihood, he imagined he’d just worried her beyond that. And for what? He should have conducted himself better. Should have let the detective’s presence be as easy to ignore as, say, the vows he’d broken with him.

The poor mistreated vows that he desperately just wanted to break with him again.

Back turned, Malachi watched the water slowly fill the glass. It made him feel a little better about the smile that dared cross his face.

“Ah,” he gave a nod, though his eyes remained on the water. “Alright.”

Was it an agreement? An assurance that he’d try? Leave the priesthood? Hard to tell, faced away as he was, but it sure sounded like a better shot at… at anything, than this. And that was the problem.

He wasn’t supposed to want more. He’d promised his life to the Church, forsaken all desire for anything else – but, of course, he had not quelled everything. Hadn’t truly given up anything but honesty, in taking his vows.

“Or you could come with me,” Malachi ventured, voice lower still.

A portly man passed through the doorway and Malachi straightened up. Turned around, bringing the glass to his lips to sip at it. While the third party (intruder, he thought bitterly) went to fetch something from the pantry, offering but a glance to the other two, the priest finished his water and set the glass back down.

“I should check on Nettie,” he said, “show me back to the sitting room?”