Discovering the Devil

F i f t e e n

XV

Mildred nervously fiddled with the hem of her skirt. She took a sip of tea and then quickly put it down. She'd never drank out of fine china before. "Seventy pounds?"

"Just like we agreed," Diana said patiently. She and one of the Earl's servants were in the drawing room of Fleurs Castle. She gestured to satchel on the table. "It's all there, dear."

Mildred's eyes flicked to the purse before looking away. "I normally wouldn't," she began. "It's just that my mother is so sick..."

"Of course." Diana didn't believe her, but it didn't matter.

Mildred bit her lip for a few seconds. "Might it...might it be eighty, ma'am? It's just that if the Earl ever found out..."

"Eighty then." Diana said. "But I can't give you a shilling more." The girl was getting selfish.

"Yes, sorry," Mildred said flusteredly. They sat for another few seconds in silence.

"It's alright to begin," Diana said, with the faintest sliver of impatience.

"Right, sorry ma'am. Er...I was...um I was talking to Miss Redwood a couple days ago."

"And?"

Mildred's lip quivered before continuing. "I noticed that her wrist was bruised."

Diana was silent. She could not speak. Finally, she croaked—"What happened to her wrist?"

"Miss Redwood said that..Lord Hawthorne was responsible."

Diana felt like she'd been hit by a stampede. Angry, heartbroken hooves clattered in her ears. She pictured her daughter bruised and beaten at Hawthorne's hands. For a split second, Diana seriously believed she would shatter. She must've looked a fright, because the maid visibly recoiled.

"I'm so sorry, my lady," Mildred whispered.

Diana stared directly into that poor maid's eye. And then, in a very unhuman voice said–"I'm going to kill him."

***

PENELOPE had a very perplexing conversation with the butler one Saturday evening. At noon, a large portrait from the Duke of Fordham arrived. Anything that arrived from the Duke was to be burnt, Lord Hawthorne had expressly said this for the past couple weeks. Letters were one thing, but were they really going to burn a huge painting?

She, the valet, and the butler stared at the painting as it lay in the vestibule. The Earl had business in the village, and he wasn't due back for another couple hours.

"We should hide it," the butler said finally.

Penelope laughed, but then the valet nodded gravely in agreement. "Hide it? Why?"

"So, we can burn it once we have the resources. It'll take a lot of manpower to burn this without the master noticing, but it must be done," the butler said.

"It's a painting. It's not as if it's paper."

"If that painting is what I think it is, it's better our master never sees it," said the valet.

"Why?" Penelope asked. "What's on the painting?"

"You mean you don't know?" asked the butler.

"Know what?" Both men pursed their lips. "Know what?" Penelope repeated.

"If you don't have an inkling, then it should stay that way," said the butler.

"Reginald, please." They'd taken to calling each other by their first names. There was a degree of comfort between the three.