06
Gawain, ever the critic, watched me quiver with anger. His eyes gleamed with a subtle hint of triumph.
He had always found fault in me, claiming I was inept at managing the household and petty, which he used to justify every incident.
Even after admitting the bandit’s role in my miscarriage, he deftly spun the story, now protecting Rosamund with outright lies. There was no hint of regret for our lost child in his eyes; instead, he was pushing me to forgive her.
This was the man I had once believed to be my soulmate, the one with whom I dreamt of aging with grace.
Elena couldn’t hold back any longer, yelling in anger, “You’re the real troublemakers! You and your brother are rotten to the core! We lost our children because of that venomous woman, and you dare to twist the truth. Are you blind to the marks on Madeline’s face and hands? If not for a knight passing by, she’d be dead. Sorry, I forgot you brothers are blind, unable to see or comprehend the truth.”
Feeling a surge of sympathy for Elena, I stepped in to comfort her despite the quiver running through me. “Elena, remember, even a tiger, fierce as it is, does not devour its own cubs. Why then should we waste our breath on those less than beasts?”
Hearing this, Elena suddenly calmed down. “True. What’s the point in arguing with those less than animals?”
The Spencer brothers, incensed, were about to retort when the constable’s arrival to arrest Rosamund shifted their focus. They turned their efforts to defend Rosamund, leaving the heat of their dispute with us fading into the background.
They stood squared off against the constable, and the air between them was thick with tension.
Seizing the moment, Elena and I made our escape. Each additional moment in Spencer Manor felt like it would choke the very life from us.
We found refuge in an inn. From the window, I watched as Rosamund was led into the gaol.
The Spencer brothers, for whom reputation was paramount, fell in step behind Rosamund on her path to the gaol, leaving me with the same old sting of disappointment.
Thirty minutes later, the constable tracked us down at the inn, guiding us back to the courtroom.
Inside the courtroom, the bandit, once fierce and untamed, now subdued and subjected to harsh judgment, awaited the sentence that would seal his destiny.
As the magistrate made his announcement, the bandit commenced his tale, the truth spilling forth like beans from a burst sack.
“Rosamund and I are neighbors. She knew I was strong, capable of slaughtering pigs, and that I was smitten with her. She vowed to wed me if I
fulfilled bee desires
11:43 AM
ending both her and the life she carried. But upon my arrival, Mrs. Elena Spencer had already departed, taking Mrs. Madeline with her. I pursued them, lurking for that secluded corner where I could strike at Mrs. Madeline unseen. Then, Rosamund sent a beggar with new orders: to ensure Mrs. Elena Spencer met their end. The entire scheme to harm the two women was conceived by Rosamund; I’m not the architect of that plot. I simply followed the script she provided, acting out my part as directed.”
After the so–called bandit confessed, the Spencer brothers gaped at him, struggling to digest the revelations laid bare before them.
Rosamund, desperate, shook her head. “No, it wasn’t like that. I only meant to scare them. Madeline, Elena, even if you despise me, you can’t corrupt
the truth with these lies!”
With a chilling strike of his gavel, the magistrate declared icily, “The beggar has been found. Your protests are pointless at this juncture.”
The beggar was brought forth, confirming Rosamund’s deadly instructions. “She directed me to convey to him that both Mrs. Elena Spencer and Mrs. Madeline must end up dead.”
With her lies unraveling, Rosamund slumped to the ground. Her facade crumbled.
The Spencer brothers stood frozen.
They never imagined that the woman they perceived as beautiful and benevolent could, in reality, be so venomous that she would not spare even an
unborn child.
If not for the intervention of the passing knight, Elena and I would not only have lost our children but our lives.
The grotesque reality now lay bare, rooting the Spencer brothers to the spot as if electrified by a bolt from the blue. The viciousness of Rosamund had shattered the pristine image they once held of her.
The delicate woman they cherished was revealed to be a predatory plant.
Their belief in her innocence collapsed.
They had indeed indirectly caused the death of their own children, all for a mirage of kindness they so naively believed in.
