Page 99 of An Unwilling Earl
He chuckled at that thought and made his way home.
…
His head was pounding, and she wouldn’t be quiet. She continued to talk, talk, talk with barely a breath between words. He wanted to clutch his head and yell for her to be silent, but that would only cause more problems. And more talking. And God knew he couldn’t take any more talking.
His head always hurt the day after he set a woman free. He liked to call it that—setting her free. Releasing her from this mortal life. This disgusting, horrible, mortal life.
And he hadn’t buried the head yet. It was sitting in his bag in his room. He knew from experience that if he didn’t do it soon it would start to stink. It probably already did, but he still smelled the coppery scent of blood in his nostrils, so he couldn’t tell.
“Sit up straight, Edmund. I taught you better than to slouch at the table. The good Lord knows I tried to teach you many things, but they all fell on deaf ears.”
He straightened and tried not to wince at the pain in his head. They were eating some sort of meat, but it was bland, like all of their food, and for some reason it put him in mind of a cat’s brain. He smiled at that.
“What are you smiling about?” she asked suspiciously. “I see nothing humorous in Charlotte leaving us the way she did. Ungrateful. That’s what she is. And here we took her in, and raised her, and this is the thanks we get.”
Mother didn’t so much raise Charlotte as she did harangue her and belittle her. It was no wonder the chit left. He didn’t blame her. But God almighty, the woman needed to shut up. He was tired of hearing about it.
Charlotte, Charlotte, Charlotte.
It was all the woman could talk about.
“Looking down on me that way,” she said as she speared her meat with a little more viciousness than it deserved. “And not even having a proper sitting room. Why, she didn’t even offer tea! Imagine.”
Yes, imagine. No tea. How horrid.
“And then that man. Coming in and acting all sanctimonious. If only you heard what they had to say about you.”
Edmund’s head came up, and he finally looked at his mother. “What did they say about me?”
She stopped chewing, and her eyes darted around furtively. “Just that… Well, you know, the same as what I always say. Just like his father. Hasn’t done anything worthwhile in his entire life.”
He’d done something worthwhile. He’d killed women. Lots of women. He considered that worthwhile. Dirty. All of them.
But he didn’t think that was what Charlotte and “that man,” as Mother referred to Charlotte’s husband, had said about him. He was fairly certain that they’d said something that Mother was too frightened to repeat.
Sometimes he wondered if his mother knew.
“That’s not what they said.” He rarely spoke to her, letting her chatter on and on and on. So she was surprised when he did say something, especially when he questioned her or talked back.
She waved her fork in the air, and a drop of grease fell off it and onto her plate. He watched it cling to the tine, quiver, and fall. It reminded him of blood.
“It’s of no consequence now,” she said. “The girl’s gone and is now someone else’s problem. I heard that Lady Armbruster is having a ball in their honor. Imagine that. Charlotte won’t know what to do.” She smirked. “Stupid girl. Never did know her right hand from her left. She’ll fall on her face. Mark my words.”
“What did they say about me?” he asked.
She hesitated, shooting a worried glance at him. “I told you.”
“I don’t think you did.”
“I don’t know why you’re concerned about what Charlotte says about you. She’s just a stupid girl. No better than her whore of a mother.”
Whore was Mother’s favorite word. Everyone was a whore. If you sinned, even slightly, you were a whore. The women he’d killed were whores.
Well, not strictly speaking. He didn’t know what they really were. Most likely, some were servants, seeing as he’d picked them out in the market where all the servants shopped. Some had been whores. Like the one last night.
He liked going to the market in the early morning, because that’s when the servants were there. And he was inconspicuous. People didn’t mind him, walked right past him as if he weren’t there.
Some days he fancied catching himself a blonde, some days a brunette.
