I shook my head, dislodging his hold. “From what I’m beginning to learn of Mabel, the one condition would be their deaths.”
Hurry up.
I’d listened long enough. I didn’t want to become consumed with past rights and wrongs. I always ended up feeling hatred toward my own flesh and blood and unwillingly on the Hawk’s side.
Despite that, I needed to know. I would never have guessed the story was so tangled or full of deceit and double-cross. I ached to think of Bennett Hawk living such a sad existence only to die unhappy and tormented by his past.
Cut smiled, his goatee bristling. “You’re a fast study. Good girl.” Hecontinued his journey around the cave. “Exactly. Sonya would live a full life with a husband and children...if she agreed to kill her parents.”
My heart raced.A hard bargain but, dare I agree, a justified end?
“Sonya sullenly agreed, and Mabel found a woman in the ghetto selling potions and poisons. The same witchcraft that her daughter was killed for thanks to the Weaver Wife. With money from her earl, she purchased two vials of deadly poison and gave them to Sonya.”
Cut’s voice sped up, reaching the end and rushing toward other things. “Two weeks later, Sonya met Mabel in their agreed meeting place. There was a new wedding band on her finger, a growing baby in her stomach, and the news that both her parents—the very same ones who’d raped, mutilated, and killed the Hawks—were dead from fatal poisoning.”
“Did the police not investigate?”
Cut laughed. “No. The authorities didn’t get involved. Weary from the paperwork and previous nightmares caused by the Weavers, they stayed out of it. The Weavers’ standing within the community was tarnished and nobody really cared about a suspicious death when it solved so much propaganda and ill will.”
Cut clapped his hands. “So there you have it. Mabel Hawk single-handedly ensured the continuation of the Weavers by Sonya’s pregnancy, made it so her mentally broken son impregnated a whore, and the two people who’d been the crux of her pain were dead.
“Unfortunately, Bennett had died before her triumph. Her revenge came years after his brutal rape, but it didn’t dampen the pleasure in knowing she’d won the first battle.”
My voice replaced Cut’s deep one. “That doesn’t explain how she became so wealthy or how the Hawks crushed the Weavers. A scandal like that would fade in time. My ancestors had a skill. They worked for the crown. Even if Mabel married the earl, her title wouldn’t be enough to be highly influential in court—not to mention she was a commoner, regardless of marriage.”
Cut smiled, savouring the rest of his secrets. “Don’t rush the story, Nila. I never said she married the earl. In fact, quite the opposite. After a time, she faded from his affection, and he tossed her out on the street. He finally saw she’d used him and wanted nothing more to do with her. Over the years, he’d become a drunkard and a wife-beater, ripping apart what they could’ve shared.
“Mabel went from living in a nice abode to begging for scraps on the street. The only possession she took with her was her grandson, William. The boy had just turned twelve and was a troublesome child.”
Moving closer, Cut whispered in my ear, “And that leads to the next part of the tale. The part where the true rise to diamond power began.
“The part that destroyed your family, once and for all.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mabel
TOO MANY YEARS had passed since my family fell apart thanks to Percy Weaver and his hellish family. So many years since he’d raped me for the final time. Excruciating years since I secured our lineage and ensured my son’s heritage was passed to another.
My daughter was dead, drowned for lies of witchcraft. My son was dead, raped and mentally broken. And my husband was dead, leaving me to defend our legacy on my own.
The hate toward the family who’d taken my everything never ceased—bubbling, billowing, wanting so much to deliver revenge.
And now, I had a way to extract that revenge.
In the days before we worked for the Weavers, I’d been a hopeful girl looking for love. I’d met Frank young and fell pregnant within months. For years, I thought our troubles of living on the streets, of begging and stealing, would be the lowest point in our lives.
However, we hadn’t met the Weavers yet. We hadn’t entered into their employment. We didn’t know how bad things could get.
I wanted to rest. Ineededto rest. But I couldn’t.
For a time, things had been good with the Earl of Wavinghurst, but then I ran out of energy to perform and beguile. He had an issue with his fists, and although I willingly paid for my freedom from the Weavers with a little pain, I’d reached my threshold.
It was mutual—the day he asked me to leave.
I had nothing of my own, only my precious grandson, and traded the staff quarters of his manor for the slums of the London poor.
The Weavers were dead.
