The Spells of Paradise

Chapter 6: A Mad Woman's Trusting Words

Chapter 6: A Mad Woman's Trusting Words

Bertha watched with a measure of frustration as recognition didn't seem to dawn on the young woman. It made sense why, but it was no less irritating. She had no idea, did she? Lucy Quincy was living in a bubble, one that needed to be popped. She had no clue who she really was.

Bertha did.

Arthur told her everything before he died. He left a note for her in his cell that was delivered to her when his body was found. He told her about his affair with Abigail, something Bertha had suspected for a while before, and that Lucy Quincy was, in fact, his child, not the Magistrate's. Bertha had to hold that secret within her for a great amount of time since, with no outlet. She had a mind to tell someone, but destiny apparently wanted that someone to be the person herself. 

This isn't right, her conscience was whispering into the farthest recesses of her mind. You can't ruin this poor girl's life. She is your niece! She is not her mother. She is the not the one who murdered your brother. Arthur murdered Arthur.

But Lucy was the spawn of Bertha's enemy: Abigail Quincy. Niece or not, she held no love for the young girl, and wanted her to suffer.

"Listen," Lucy stepped forward finally, a stony look on her face, clearly set to mask her confusion and fear. "I do not remember anything of what happened to your brother. I was so little then. Everyone involved is either dead or moved on," she stood to her full height. "I highly doubt my mother had anything to do with your brother's death."

Bertha wanted to laugh in her face. She was so oblivious, it was painful to watch. "In all your years, you never stopped to wonder about the murders, Ms. Quincy?"

"Why should I?" Lucy asked. "As I said, Ms. Denning, I was very, very young. It's none of my concern."

The expression of irritation that was now forming on Lucy's face reminded Bertha of her brother so much, it was like someone had knocked the wind out of her entirely. Lucy Quincy did look like her father, just not the one she thought of.

Don't do this, Bertha. She's your niece. She's family.

Any child of Abigail Quincy's was no family to her. Bertha forced herself to despise this girl. She looked more like Abigail than she did Arthur after all, so it was not difficult.

"Deputy Cromwell was murdered by my brother. You know this, right?"

"Of course, it shocked the entire town," Lucy replied swiftly.

"And you never wondered why Cromwell, one of Magistrate Quincy's best deputies, was murdered by my brother?"

Lucy scoffed. "Perhaps Cromwell was closing in on his crimes."

"Cromwell was closing in on more than just my brother's crimes, Ms. Quincy," Bertha said flatly. "He was closing in on your mother."

"Enough of this, already!" Lucy snapped, stepping forward. "Do not speak of my mother or my father, do you understand? How dare you—"

"Magistrate Quincy paid my brother a visit while he was in prison for murdering Cromwell. From what I know, there was a letter involved, one Arthur wrote to the Magistrate."

That statement gave Lucy pause. "What note? You're lying!"

"I most certainly am not. If I was, I would have concocted a less fascinating story. Such an outlandish claim is, after all, easy to disapprove, isn't that what your father used to say?"