Episode 6
1225 Words
It had been three days since Edger left for France.
Three long days.
Hyacinth sat by the window of David’s pastry shop, chin resting on her hand, watching townspeople drift by like clouds. She hadn’t realized how used to Edger’s presence she’d become—the sharp glances, the quiet power, the strange comfort.
Now, all she had was silence... and suspicion.
Why did Adelaide come? Why now? And why did she speak like she still had a claim to him?
“Sweetheart, you’ll scare the pastries away with that expression,” David teased, sliding a fresh tart in front of her.
She smiled faintly.
“Sorry. Thinking.”
“Thinking or plotting?”
“Both,” she muttered.
David pulled up a chair. Since Edger left, they had walked the town together nearly every day—chatting about books, people-watching, sometimes sitting by the river. He never pried, never pushed. And she appreciated that. But she also knew he was curious.
“I need to understand something,” she said finally, breaking the silence. “About my husband.”
David leaned back. “That’s a very dangerous sentence.”
“I’ve never known someone so guarded. He shuts doors with his silence. And then... he kisses you like you’re oxygen.”
David raised a brow but said nothing.
Two days later, the estate gates opened to familiar faces.
Harold stepped down from the carriage with his wife, Prisca—elegant, thoughtful, with a smile that always looked half-curious. Hyacinth met them at the entrance, feigning brightness.
“You look tired, dear,” Prisca said gently, embracing her.
Hyacinth led them into the garden for tea, hoping the breeze might cool her restless thoughts.
“You’ve been quiet,” Harold noted after a few minutes. “That’s not like you.”
“Do I seem... distant?” she asked, wrapping her hands around her teacup.
Prisca nodded. “You’ve barely touched your scone.”
Hyacinth took a breath.
“I had a visitor. A woman. Her name is Adelaide.”
The air shifted. Harold’s jaw tightened.
“She came to the estate,” Hyacinth continued. “Uninvited. Said she knew Edger. Said she was with him the day I arrived.”
“She what?” Harold said sharply, standing up. Prisca touched his arm, trying to calm him.
“I didn’t know if I should tell you,” Hyacinth said. “But I need to understand. I deserve that much.”
Harold looked down, exhaled slowly, then sat again.
“She was... everything once,” he said. “They were going to marry.”
Prisca lowered her eyes.
“But Adelaide’s family ran a major textile business,” Harold continued. “She was the only heir. Her father gave her a choice—Edger, or the business. She promised to return after sorting things in the Americas. But she stayed. No letters. No word. For two years.”
Hyacinth blinked. “Two years...?”
“He waited. Until he couldn’t. He shut himself off from everyone. He didn’t trust anyone after that. Refused to speak about her.”
“And now she’s back,” Hyacinth whispered.
Harold looked at her carefully. “You care about him.”
Hyacinth didn’t answer right away. Her mind drifted—to Edger helping her down from the fence. His smirk at the ball. The way he whispered my darling duchess against her skin. How he said you own this home now.
“I think... I think he cares too,” she murmured. “But he’s locked behind too many memories.”
Harold leaned forward.
“Then maybe you’re the key.”
Hyacinth swallowed hard. “There’s a room. A locked one. His old study. Your mother said something painful happened there. Do you know what it is?”
Harold frowned. “That room?”
He sat back, eyes scanning the horizon.
“I was a child. Eight, maybe. I remember Edger stopped using it after our father died. He was sixteen. Something changed in him. He grew... cold. Angry.”
Hyacinth waited.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t remember much. But I’ll ask around. If there’s anything to find, I’ll find it for you.”
Hyacinth looked down at her hands, twisting her ring.
“I don’t just want answers, Harold. I want to help him heal.”
Harold reached across the table and gently placed his hand over hers.
“Then start with the truth. And don’t stop until you find it.”
After tea and lingering conversation, Hyacinth walked Harold and Prisca to their carriage.
“Thank you for your honesty,” she said softly.
Harold touched the brim of his hat. “Be careful, Hyacinth. Sometimes, truth stings more than lies.”
As their carriage vanished into the sunset, Patricia appeared by her side, arms crossed.
“It’s late,” Patricia said.
“Perfect time for truth, then,” Hyacinth replied.
Patricia narrowed her eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“The bar. That’s where gossip turns honest after dark,” Hyacinth said with a smirk. “I’ll visit the hair salon tomorrow and maybe talk to the older servants. But tonight—I’m going where the stories live.”
Dressed in a loose coat and breeches, her hair tied back under a cap, Hyacinth slipped into the back entrance of David’s bar. The room was full of low laughter, ale sloshing, and tobacco smoke curling in the air.
David blinked twice when he saw her.
“Well, well. That disguise... I barely recognized you.”
Hyacinth grinned. “Used to wear this back home. It’s how I ran away the first time.”
David laughed, handing her a mug of warm cider. “You’re mad.”
“Possibly.”
She listened quietly as the barflies told stories—fishermen, field hands, aging drunkards. She caught bits about the Thompsons. About Edger’s father.
“He was a hard man,” one of them said. “Hand like stone. Ruled that house like a general.”
“Never smiled, that one. Made the older boy—Edger—grow up too fast. Always shouting. Broke a mirror once ‘cause Edger talked back.”
“Heard the boy never got over it.”
She sat still, absorbing everything.
The air outside was chilled as she crept toward the estate.
The clock struck midnight.
She pushed the gate open quietly, stepping through the garden. She had barely reached the hallway when a deep voice cut through the silence.
“Where have you been?”
Hyacinth froze.
Edger stepped from the shadows, his expression unreadable but his voice cold.
“I’ve been home for two hours,” he said, crossing his arms. “I searched the whole estate. Not a single shop stays open this late, except ones that cater to... vulgar company.”
She blinked, then forced calm into her voice.
“I went to my family house. I lost track of time.”
Edger’s eyes narrowed.
“Did you.”
He didn’t believe her. Not fully.
Still, he stepped aside and nodded toward the stairs.
“Go to bed.”
And with that, he turned and disappeared into the den behind him.
Hyacinth slowly climbed the stairs, heart pounding—not from fear, but from the growing weight of everything she still didn’t know.
- Writer
