❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
This journal now, and forever will belong to Cyril J. B. Monroe. If you haven't heard of that name, then that would be absolutely correct. Miss Cyril J. B. Monroe, who is of four and ten years, doesn't exist on paper, nor in anyone's memory. There is no evidence of a daughter coming from the direct bloodline of the Baron of Bingon. After Joseph Monroe, the only direct heir, died, there were no legitimate heirs left, and the title was to be passed on to a distant relative living past the Isles.
There was, however, a small news article about the young heir, who was barely two and twenty, caught up in a scandal with the belle of the town. There was no mention of the woman's name, but they did describe her in a way that you knew that it was her. Without substantial evidence, however, it was not set in stone, nor was there any way to prove these assumptions.
Well, as of today, on the seventeenth of the first month, I am naming myself in written records as Cyril J. B. Monroe. This is from the conclusion that came from months, nay, years of digging into private records only accessible by the house of lords. From there, I have traced an obscure paper trail that was covered with copious amounts of money, none of which was taken from the woman involved in the scandal. Whoever had buried it had the funds, and certainly the pride to go through such lengths to cover up the scandal.
Whoever did it, however, did not realise that everything seemed painfully transparent if you lived as one of the main characters of the hidden story, especially if you were basically nonexistent. As such, it was easier for me to track down the postman who delivered letters to the Baron's villa, nor was it hard to convince the town hall to allow me private access to the birth records in the village over the past twenty years.
Of course, with the persuasion and the presentation of the Basilwether crest embroidered on my coat conceivably helped a fair bit.
After a year of securing the records, reigniting the rumour mill once more under the guise of a distant relative, and visiting the asylum numerous times, I finally got answers.
One, the commoner woman involved in the scandal was named Catherine Bryne.
Two, the publicization of the scandal occured and concluded in the course of one year, from the summer of 1866 to the last days of winter trickling into 1867
Three, the Charitable Sisters of the Virgin Mary Asylum had conducted a successful birth for a certain Catherine Bryne a mere six months after the scandal went silent.
Four, Catherine Bryne had given birth; one was a baby girl who died of a common cold at four months, while the other was a healthy, severely underweight baby boy.
Five, the name of that boy was Ceryl John Monroe.
The sixth answer was something I wasn't looking for, yet was something I found in the process. Not long after I had left to give my services and life to the Marquess and his family, my mother had contracted a bout of pneumonia and died four days after the initial diagnosis. All that was left behind for me was a trunk full of floor length dresses, all of them dating back to the latest fashions of three decades past, a box filled with letters of empty promises and hollow love to a man named Joseph, and a picture of a youthful her with who I presume are my maternal grandparents in a cracked frame.
It seemed, that my mother also liked to carry around a journal.
My mother had named the female child once in her book, but that journal entry had been scratched out to the point of no comprehension, and not much else was said about the child. She loved the children equally, both were a ray of light in her apparently dull and dreary life. They both looked shockingly like their father, even in the first few weeks, although they both had their mother's eyes.
In the next few days following their birth, they both had caught the common cold, which affected their health drastically as they were both not very healthy to begin with being malnourished and underweight.
In the second week, it was recorded in the book thatthe girl's hair started to turn lighter, paling in comparison with her brother's. Ceryl started to develop rashes over his body, causing the two twins to be separated. Catherine's worry is clearly shown, visibly seen through the stain marks left bleeding into the dried ink.
There is silence in the third and fourth week after their sickness.
The last entry in the journal is one that is hastily scribbled down, as if the writer knew they didn't have much time.
'♪҉҉⊙҉҉∫҉҉€҉҉ρ҉҉♄҉҉♗҉҉♫҉҉€҉҉ has died. Ceryl is alive. He looks just like his father. Joseph is going to come back for me, I know it.'
And that is where the journal ends, left to collect dust under the pile of floor length dresses that haven't been used for 15 years.
I cannot say for sure what had happened, but a lot of the things I have written in this book is dangerous, and should not have been, or ever be brought to light. To my despair, I have chosen to stash this journal away to hide the truth, to keep it safe. I will not disclose my own thoughts on my peculiar existence, for if I decide to go down that rabbit hole, I shall be here for eternity. I won't even divulge my full name (whether it is legally my full name or my own interpretation) so that it may be difficult for me to be tracked back to this journal.
Even if this means the souls and spirits of Catherine Bryne and my late sibling are not brought to light.
I will not even disclose the true location to anyone that I know, nor in this book. The chances of this page being ripped out are quite large, seeing as this book has survived nearly 4 years of service to me and my travels.
So I bid this book farewell, and may it never see the light of day.
