Discovering the Devil

T h i r t y

The slap cracked across the countess' cheeks like a clap of thunder. Her mother slumped in her chair. A trail of blood dribbled down her lip.

It was the first time Penelope had ever seen her father touch her mother. Just a second before his lips had been skimming her mother's cheek, hands caressing her arms. Kind. Loving But then his hand, the cry, and the blood. A monster, still.

I know what you've endured. Sometimes, Penelope wished she could go back in time to change how cowardly she'd been. She had not protected or confronted her about the hell he was raining. Instead, she'd watched. She'd seen the bruises underneath her mother's powdered cheeks and turned away. The count had never thought to touch his daughter, maybe it was because she was too young or maybe it was because they shared blood, Penelope would never know. She could've used this to her advantage. Maybe, she could've stopped it. But she hadn't. Words cannot describe how terrible I feel. I should've done more.
Penelope tapped her quill against the page. A dot of ink bled a black hole into the page. You did not pass down a curse. I would never let anyone hurt me. But what did that mean? The countess had not permitted her husband to strike her, it was the casualty of an ill-begotten marriage. Penelope shuddered. The last thing Penelope wanted to be the victim of was that. She scratched out the previous line. He is not hurting me, she wrote instead. You did not pass down a curse.
But why would she believe it? What would possess her to take any of it seriously? Penelope crumpled the letter and held it over the flame. She would write another one tomorrow.

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The market—as usual—was abuzz with people and activity. It was the perfect place to trade gossip, not that Penelope would know. Besides the clerks at the stores, no one bothered to say anything to her. They were the expected stares and trailing eyes, but nothing beyond. Nevertheless, it was one of Penelope's favorite chores. It was one of the many places that she'd been barred from going as a lady, which had only encouraged her curiosity.

A woman inside the grocer held a crowing baby in her arms. She rocked it gently against her chest, but her eyes were glassy and unfocused. Penelope watched her pick up a jar of honey before shakingly dropping it. Penelope caught it before it dropped to the ground. The woman offered her a watery smile. "Thank you," she murmured.

"It's nothing."

When the woman went to pay, she whispered something to the clerk who shook their head. "No. You must have the money today." The baby, perhaps sensing the tension, began to cry louder.

"Please," the woman muttered. "Please."

"Your credit has not been paid in months."

"Just this once, ma'am. I promise." There was a tremor in her voice that touched Penelope's heart.

"No, I cannot. It had been several times too many."

"Put it on my credit, Mrs. Manville," Penelope chimed in. The clerk glared at Penelope while the woman just stared. There was a tear glimmering in the woman's eye.

"Are you sure?" Mrs. Manville barked.

"You do not have to," the woman whispered, or at least that's what Penelope thought she heard. The baby's cries had escalated to a thundering shrill, rendering any conversation nearly inaudible.

"I want to. I'm sure of it."

"Hmph." The clerk scratched something at her notepad and gestured for the poor woman to leave.

The woman went to Penelope's side and dipped in a modest curtsy. "Thank you so much."

"It was nothing."