Page 185 of Love at First Fright

“Rumours started. Women from the village. Girls, really. Their families came to the manor, begging for help, for justice.” Her hands clenched. “Reginald told me they were lying. That people resented our position, our wealth. That Cornelius would never…”

The rain hammered against the windows.

“But you knew,” I said quietly.

“I knew.” She flinched. “I told myself I didn’t. That good, Christian women wouldn’t speak such foul lies. That my son, my Cornelius, couldn’t possibly…” She laughed, a broken, bitter sound. “Margery Darke wasn’t a witch. She was a young woman who refused him. Who dared to say no to a Grimthorne.”

Charlie’s hand found mine. His fingers threaded through my translucent ones, and I solidified just enough to squeeze back.

“So he drowned her,” Charlie said.

“Him and two of his… companions.” Lady Grimthorne spat the word like poison. “They called her a whore. Said she’d bewitched good men, led them into sin. The village believed them. Or pretended to believe them. Who would contradict a rector?”

My empty chest ached. Margery’s fury when she’d manifested, the way she’d pinned Charlie against the apple tree… The centuries of rage and injustice burning in her eyes…

“He kept rising through the Church,” Lady Grimthorne continued. “Bishop, eventually. So proud of his position. So certain of his righteousness.” Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. “Then he began speaking out against the Methodist movement. Against abolition.”

“He spoke out against abolishing slavery?” Charlie asked gently.

One tiny nod.

“Your husband,” Charlie said. “Lord Reginald. What did he think?”

“After Margery, Reginald finally started listening to my concerns at last. He didn’t agree with him about the Methodists.” Lady Grimthorne’s form wavered. She was struggling to maintain her manifestation. “He and Cornelius argued. Terrible, vicious arguments that echoed through these halls. Reginald threatened to disinherit him. To use his influence to have Cornelius removed from his position.”

She fell silent.

The rain continued its relentless assault on the windows.

“A month later,” she whispered, “Reginald died.”

Charlie’s fingers tightened around mine. “Do you think Cornelius killed him?”

Lady Grimthorne nodded slowly. Met my eyes.

“Reginald went to London,” she said. “To speak with friends in Parliament about Cornelius’s activities. He was in perfect health when he left.” She paused. “Three days later, they sent his body home. Said it was his heart. That he’d simply collapsed in the street.”

“But you didn’t believe that,” I said.

“Reginald’s heart was strong. He rode daily. Walked the estate for hours.” She turned back to the window. “The physician who examined him was one of Cornelius’s closest associates. A man who owed the Grimthornes everything. His education. His position.”

“Bloody hell,” Charlie breathed.

“Cornelius stood over his father’s grave and wept.” Lady Grimthorne’s reflection in the glass looked ancient. Haunted. “Such convincing tears. The entire village spoke of what a devoted son he’d been. How Reginald’s death had broken his heart.” She paused. “I wanted to scream. To tell them all what he was. What he’d done.”

“Why didn’t you?” I snapped.

She looked at me then. Really looked at me. And I saw the answer in her eyes before she spoke it.

“Because I was a woman.” Her voice went flat. Cold. “A widow, yes. But still just a woman. Property, essentially. To be tolerated whilst I remained decorously silent.”

The bitterness in those words.

“A dog had more freedom than I did,” she continued. “At least a dog could bark. Could bite. Could fight if someone tried to hurt it.” Her form grew sharper, more solid with the force of her emotion. “I had to sit quietly in my drawing room, smile at visitors, and pretend my son wasn’t a monster wearing a bishop’s robes.”

The library felt smaller suddenly. Darker. The rain lashed against the windows with renewed fury.

“What happened next?” I asked.