Madeline went on to pick up a cup of tea, then blew at it importantly, obviously aware that all eyes were on her. Rosalie still had no idea what was to come. Even if she did, she wasn’t certain if she would do anything to prevent it from happening.
“Miss. Blake may be different. But, at the same time, she is by far the best governess we’ve ever had,” she acknowledged significantly, taking a little sip. “And also -”
But, before she continued, she seemed to trip over something, and the cup in her hand flew across the distance that separated her and Miss. Dodgson, spilling itself all over their guest’s dress, leaving an ugly dark stain.
“Ah!” Miss. Dodgson screamed. “You little monster! You did that on purpose!”
“I am so dreadfully sorry, Miss. Dodgson,” Madeline continued to speak with a dignified tone of a lady who despite having made a mistake, knew she could do no wrong.
Rosalie watched the scene with anticipation. It was obvious what Madeline had done. It was certainly on purpose. And, yet Rosalie could not be upset. How could she?
“Miss. Dodgson! I would appreciate it if you did not speak to my granddaughter in that manner. After all, it was just an accident.” The Countess tried to soften the situation, but the redness on their guest’s cheeks showed them that wasn’t possible.
“This is a mad house!” Miss. Dodgson hissed, holding the lower end of her gown, then turning to the door. “I shall not remain here a moment longer!”
“Miss. Dodgson, I apologize again,” Madeline voiced another insincere apology, smirking to Cecilia.
The door opened, then quickly closed, and the women of the house were left alone. Their guest had departed. Rosalie gazed at the Countess, who sat down on the couch. She seemed burdened by the events, and Rosalie wondered if this wasn’t the moment when she would be asked to leave the house.
The Countess then turned to her, with a puzzled look.
“Miss. Blake, what was she talking about?”
Chapter 20
Edmund burst into the parlor, having been brought there by the loud commotion that had just taken place. The sight before him was of his mother seated on the couch. Rosalie was standing in the middle of the room, holding Cecilia by the hand. Madeline was positioned by the table. They all bore the countenance of great distress and anxiety. Despite all of them being there, none of them spoke. That was what worried him the most. The silence.
“What just happened?” he inquired of anyone willing to reply.
He glanced at Rosalie first. Her willowy frame somehow seemed even more fragile. For a moment, he feared someone had done something to her, harmed her in some way. The thought made his blood boil. He would wade through the fiery pits of Hell to prevent any harm from coming to her.
“Honestly,” the Countess got up, not sounding very convincing, but she kept on talking nonetheless, “I’m not really certain what happened. Perhaps you and the girls can make some sense of it, while I go rest. I do believe it was probably just a mistake. Nothing else. However, that was too much turmoil for my taste, and it has given me quite a headache.”
With those words, the Countess walked past Madeline, resting her worn out hand on the child’s shoulder, then quickly pulled it away and left the room.
Edmund remained equally puzzled, if not more so. He ushered his mother out of the room with his eyes, then turned to the remaining audience once more.
“Is anyone going to explain themselves?” he urged, feeling increasingly anxious.
Madeline walked over to Rosalie and took her hand once more. Rosalie wasn’t smiling, as she usually was. Instead, there was that look on her face, that familiar look of distress, the one she always endeavored to hide, but never quite could. Now, she wasn’t even trying. It alarmed him.
“Grandma’s friend insulted Miss. Blake.” Madeline explained the events from a child’s perspective, her voice not giving the event the appropriate amount of significance.
“What do you mean insulted?” he asked, his voice growing more serious.
“They called her a…” Madeline started, but her lips couldn’t form the words she could never associate with the woman she had obviously grown to love and cherish.
“A freak,” Rosalie finished Madeline’s thought.
Her voice seemed even more delicate than she herself was. She resembled a fine porcelain cup, standing on the edge of the table, looking down. One wrong move, and she would fall, then break into a million little pieces, which no one would be able to put back together.
“This will not go unpunished,” Edmund growled, feeling his hand curling into a fist. “I promise you, Rosalie…”
“No,” Rosalie shook her head, interrupting him. A faint smile was already starting to form. “I don’t want to create any trouble.”
“That woman asked for trouble herself when she decided to insult the woman I…” He hesitated to say anything in front of the girls, but their little ears had already heard it and filled in the necessary gaps. What was left unsaid was still heard by those who needed to hear it. “That is no way to speak to another lady,” he quickly added, feeling an unusual hotness flow through his body.
“I assure you,” Rosalie smiled even more now, “it is quite all right.”
