Also, what hurt him the most was the realization that she had been lying to him all long. She had been lying to them all. Looking straight into his eyes, telling him everything he wanted to hear, everything he was so desperate to hear. He couldn’t believe it. He simply couldn’t.
“You don’t understand,” he spoke, his voice down to a barely audible whisper, as if he had no strength left in him to speak, let alone do something. “You are just children. You might understand when you are a little bit older.”
Madeline gave him a puzzled look. Indeed, she couldn’t understand. How could she? She knew Rosalie only as a governess, a sweet woman who cared for them as if they had been her own children. He knew her as a frail, heart-broken woman who had been afraid to open up to anyone. He had seen the distress in her eyes, in her trembling hands. Now, he could see why. She was afraid she would be found out for the impostor that she was.
“I understand when I see someone is afraid,” Madeline spoke quietly, her voice almost silent.
“She was petrified of that man, Uncle,” Cecilia added, finally articulating herself, squeezing the doll in her hands.
“Everyone is scared of something,” he scoffed, shocked at his own lack of concern.
But it wasn’t his own mind speaking. It was hurt. It was heartache. It was the kind of pain he had never felt before, the pain he knew would never leave his being. It would continue to poison him for as long as he lived.
“You… don’t mean that!” Madeline shook her head, her little face as shocked as that of her sister’s.
“Her name is not to be spoken in this house again,” Edmund growled, his teeth bared. “Have I made myself clear?”
The girls had never been afraid of their uncle before. There had been a certain lack of closeness, that much Edmund himself was aware of, but never fear, never a lack of understanding or any miscommunication. However, now he could see that his pain had turned him into an emotionless wreck, one who didn’t care about anything else.
The thought frightened him. He didn’t wish to become that man.
“I…” he started, but he didn’t know how to finish his apology. Without Rosalie around, he saw no reason to think, no reason to speak, no reason to exist.
Madeline took Cecilia by the hand, and together, in complete silence, without as much as glancing at their uncle, the girls left the room, closing the door behind them.
Edmund’s grip around the glass intensified. His hand whitened with pressure. Suddenly, he lifted his arm and slammed the glass against the opposite wall. It shattered into a million little pieces, a thing never to be used again, just like his own heart.
* * *
When Rosalie opened her eyes, she had no idea how much time had passed. Her hands had been bound with rope, a precaution taken on the part of Loveless, who obviously didn’t want to risk her escaping a second time.
Escape was the last thing on Rosalie’s mind. She was too weak. Too frail. Too exhausted and forlorn to even consider that possibility. She would have remained in the carriage as ordered, all he needed to do was say so.
“Mr. Goosevelt.” She noticed another familiar face opposite her, as Loveless made sure to sit by her side.
A faint memory of his hand on her knee returned to her, but she bade it disappear from her mind. Loveless’ touch felt like the slithering cold skin of a snake.
“Yes, my dear?” Mr. Goosevelt replied, in a voice that brought back the warmth of their winter evenings spent reading all kinds of books and then discussing their meanings.
“Please, help me…” she pleaded, her eyes now full of tears, which were streaming down her pale face.
Mr. Goosevelt gazed at her, as if he couldn’t recognize her at first. Then, his eyes found Loveless, and his mouth widened into a most frightening grin. Suddenly, the carriage was filled with loud, boisterous laughter that chilled her to her very bones. She pulled back, but there was nowhere to hide. It was just the three of them in the carriage, which was headed back to where it all started.
“My dear, you still don’t get it, do you?” Mr. Goosevelt wondered, almost sympathetically, as his bloated face reddened with amusement. His hair had become even more grey with the passage of time, his hairline more thinning. He adjusted his glasses a little, then continued.
Loveless chuckled maliciously. “Ye better explain, Horace.”
“Ah, she was bound to find out eventually, anyhow.” Mr. Goosevelt shrugged his shoulders, as if they had been talking about the potential of rain tomorrow and not her own life. “It was I who arranged for you to be brought to the orphanage.”
Rosalie’s entire world kept being destroyed with every single sentence that came out of this man’s mouth. She kept shaking her head at him, hoping, praying that this was just a nightmare, and she would wake up any moment.
It’s just a dream… It’s just a dream… It’s just a dream…
She kept repeating to herself silently, rocking forward then backward, cracking her fingers in her lap. But no release arrived. The reality of this nightmare kept haunting her, taunting her.
“Arranged?” Loveless repeated, laughing.
“Well, in a way, yes,” Mr. Goosevelt joined in the laughter, enjoying his own joke. “Most of the time, parents of children like you gladly agree to sell them. I don’t even need to offer much. They’re just glad to have someone take them off their hands. But your parents… they gave me a bit of a trouble.”
