Discovering the Devil

T h i r t y

XXX

PENELOPE stared at the stationary in front of her, naked save for the "Dear Mother" at the top of the page. She'd agonized over that single line for hours. How did someone write a letter like this? How did you convince the one who loved you most that you were not being abused by the man you loved?

The man she loved.

Penelope was not sure when the realization had struck her. It might've been when the Stones had tried to give her a dressing down about her affair with Harry. Or, perhaps it had been when his lips touched hers for the first time on Berkeley's balcony. Or, maybe it had been when he dueled with Solomon and came back alive. She did not know when this emotion had crawled into her and taken root, such things were so tricky to pinpoint. But now, as she sat at her desk in the withering candlelight, Penelope knew she was in love with Harry, and it had been for longer than she'd cared to admit. It was why her heart bled so profoundly at the strife between the people she cared about the most.
She'd considered summoning Mildred and commanding her to go back to her mother with the correct version of events. The servant might merely explain that she had lied because of the promise of payment. I knew, Mildred might say, that you would only give me a handsome sum if I told you what you wanted to hear. But, Mildred would continue, I cannot have this on my conscience any longer. I did not see him touch your daughter.

Alternatively, Penelope had considered something more intricate. Maybe she sent Mildred to the market with another servant girl with instructions to gossip about the misunderstanding. Maybe she sent them during the time she knew her mother's maids frequented the market as well. And maybe, the gossip made it to her mother's ear.

At least one of these schemes might've worked.
Save for the countess' unbending position on her daughter's nuptials, Penelope knew her mother was a reasonable woman. And while she might not absolve Harry of his other supposed sins, she could be inclined to acknowledge a greedy servant lied for a few pounds. However, that was before the countess informed Penelope of Mildred's accusations. Now, her mother would rightly assume that any intervention was Penelope's doing. Diana was likely closing her eyes and ears to any insinuation opposite to what she thought she knew about Harry's character.

Penelope dipped her pen in the ink and slowly scratched it along her paper. He is not Papa. The sentence—just four words—seemed so cruel. Penelope knew the words would cut straight through her. And yet, they were necessary. He is his opposite, Penelope wrote on. Papa seemed kind and loving but turned out to be a monster. Harry seems to be a monster when he is really kind and loving.

Once, Penelope had been gifted a doll by one of her maternal uncles. The count had not liked that uncle, and once he was gone, he confiscated the doll. At her tender age, Penelope had known tears and tantrums would get her nowhere with him. Instead, she bade enough time until he'd forgotten about it and stole the doll back. She was stupid to know any better, but afterward, she learned.

The count never forgot about anything.

A fortnight later, she was dawdling about, avoiding her governess and cumbersome lessons. She came upon her mother's sitting room door, which was slightly ajar. Penelope stalled at the entrance once she saw her father was there. He would not appreciate her skipping lessons, and anyway, she avoided him as much as possible. He was whispering something into the countess' ear. He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. The countess giggled like a girl. Penelope remembered feeling sick at such an intimate moment and turned to go when the count asked, "What happened to that doll? The one your brother gave to Penelope?"

"I don't know. Didn't you take it?"

"I did, but now it's gone." A pause. "Did you take it back?"

"Of course not, David."