Second Look - A Victorian Romance ch. 4A

Chapter Four
Contagion


The narrow walkway of the city was a complete slump to him. He didn’t want to remain in these streets any longer that were filled with pick pocketing kids and men who easily dictated weak, rich boys. He became disgusted at the sight of prostitutes who waited in the dark alley, inviting men as they exposed their slender legs and sliding their gown a little off to show their bare shoulders. It wasn’t something he wasn’t used to seeing. He was sick to see how poorly humans acted.

A goldilock lass pressed herself to him and hissed, “For a pound, I will be yours for the night.” She was heartily attractive with a small, visible mole beneath her left eye. The young lad felt her slender fingers massaging his shoulders and as she thought she achieved in seducing him, he returned a mocking snort. He pushed her away aggressively against the dark brick walls.

“For a pound, get yourself something suitable to wear.” He walked away hardheartedly as she cursed and threw fists at him. For hell does he care. He was already in a bad mood for days. The least he needed was to get touch by a street whore.

He made his way toward the bridge that arched toward the next parish, hoping to get away from all the nuisance. When he thought he was finally at peace, the young lad stopped at the middle of the bridge, and rested his outstretched arms on the slate, brick rails.

He gazed at the distant townhouses and down the stream of water. Suddenly, the night of the party invaded his thoughts. He was actually content that Mr. Richman addressed Darold as the next heir. However, what he was most unpleased with was how Mrs. Richman referred to that despicable fiend as their daughter. It wasn’t as if he meant to eavesdrop as he made his way out of the manor. Was it because he came to the ceremony uninvited by both the old master and his wife that she purposely said it out loud to hurt his ears?

He clenched his teeth as Rosema reappeared in his mind. He regretted not killing her. For years, he hated her. He wanted nothing more than to have her completely vanish. He could’ve finished her off that night when he choked her. But, if she had fought against him, he would have been more excited to watch her until her last breath. Yet, he knew very well that it wasn’t because of that reason.

He recalled watching her as tears seeped from the corners of her eyes and her powerless voice piecing the name Larick together. At that very moment, his strength left him completely.

It was as if it sent him back to fifteen years ago. A very vague memory when he crouched at the farthest corner of a moving carriage. He had watched them carried in a helpless child as she shivered from the winter frost. He thought having a family was never needed in the world, but as the carriage pulled away, she called in the smallest voice, begging for her father.



Since their visit to the market, Mrs. Abbot thought Rosema’s been acting strangely. Occasionally, she would do something and then forget what she was supposed to do. Sometimes, her long silence deafened her ears that she would not hear if one call her. She dropped things frequently and often sleep during her bath time.

She was just a maidservant, worrying about this young lass who always seemed discontented with the luxurious life that was miraculously given to her. But, after her failed attempts, she decided not to say more if Rosema was not willing to talk about it.

Instead, she busied herself with drying the laundries and when Rosema insisted on helping, they started a conversation like usual.

“Are you not excited for our special guest? Darold said starting tonight, he will be lodging here in Soave Maine.” Mrs. Abbot began. Rosema forced a chuckle.

“I am as excited as when you promised to tell me a great story,” Rosema glanced at Mrs. Abbot with a smile. She returned a laughable groan.

“Rosema, Rosema, Rosema. I’ve told you a million stories already. Why don’t you let it pass this time?”

“But you promise, Mrs. Abbot. I’ve been looking forward to it. No one can tell greater stories than you!” Rosema began pestering the old lady as she continued ignoring her request.

“Oh! We’re short on pins!” Mrs. Abbot exclaimed when Rosema tried to pin the thin sheet onto the clothesline. “Let me go get some more.“ Rosema chuckled and told her not to take too long.

Shortly after Mrs. Abbot disappeared into the house, Rosema sighed of relief as she dropped her hands from clutching the clothesline. The dripping water from the wet laundries thwacked loudly against the yellowing grass as she smelled the sweet, autumn air. She gaped closely at the fluttering, white sheets. Rosema fought hard against her tears as she hugged the wet sheet in her hands.

But, when a silhouette of a man appeared on the opposite side of the white sheet that hung from the clothesline, Rosema pretended to be occupy. She hoped he did not find out about her crying as she hurriedly glanced toward him. However, upon seeing his face briefly through the flapping sheets, her body became numb.

He watched her sternly as she too will not look away. She made her way toward him, wanting to touch him, and wanting to call him. But when she blinked her eyes once, he disappeared.

Rosema stopped midway. It was her mind playing tricks again. She slumped back. There was no way a man can ever come back alive twice. As she heard Mrs. Abbot approaching, Rosema made her way back to the basket of laundries.

The old lady laughed. “Dear, we may not have to prepare a big feast after all.” Rosema was confused by her statement. “Darold just told me that our special guest will be late for dinner. He may come the morning after.”


Two long hours after the lights in Soave Maine were shut, Rosema peered outside of her open window. For countless nights, she had stared outside, torn between her commitment for the Richmans or retrieving Larick’s body wherever it is. If she leave now, it all mean betraying her saviors who put in so much to give her a new life. But, leaving without a word seemed to be the only possible way to keep her promise to Larick alive. She sighed again, suddenly feeling the urge to visit the garden once more before it completely become bare.

Her urge brought back the memories of Syd choking her. She didn’t even know what happened to him after the wolves’ attack. She was so sure that if the wolves never attack, if Frey never show up, then she would have successfully die. She breathed hard once more before drifting to sleep upon the window sill.

Not long after she fell asleep, Rosema awoke to a sudden movement to her body. When she opened her eyes fully, she felt a body hovering over her. She let out a yelp, but was stopped by a hand slapping against her mouth. She tried to make out who it was, but was answered by the familiar smirk on his face. Her eyes shot wide open, realizing the figure was Syd. She was no longer on the window sill, but was pinned down on the floor. He had her already locked with his knees pressing against her arms and one hand clutching tightly on her neck. He snickered violently.

“You honestly thought that I let you off easily?” he droned lowly and drew himself closed to her terrified face. She struggled to get free as he tightened his grip. “Well, you thought wrong, you adulterous bitch!” She squirmed, confused by his accusation. She was afraid of him, always had ever since he first greeted her with his cold eyes and violent behavior. Perhaps, she was somewhat relieved that he confronted her in the dark with his hair falling all over his face. That way, it wouldn’t hurt her to see a man who resembled her first love.

Since his imprecise declaration of hatred toward her, she knew that he also blamed her for everything. But, she wasn’t ready to die yet. Not until she retrieve Larick’s body. As much as her desperation to die, she was desperate to escape just this once from Syd who was already capable of murdering her. However, she was never prepare to hear the next part of his sentence when he smirked and said, “Or should I let you see who I dug up before you die?”