Chapter 232: Chapter Two Hundred And Thirty Two
The encounter with Fredrick Garrison had left a poisonous seed of doubt in Anne’s mind. His smug, knowing smile and his strange, unsettling words about her mother had haunted her through a long and sleepless night. She needed answers. She needed to hear a sensible explanation that would chase away the dark thoughts that had taken root. And there was only one person left who might tell her the truth.
The next day, she rode in a hired carriage to Baron Edgar’s new residence. She felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach as she walked up the clean stone steps. She raised her hand and knocked three times.
Knock...
Knock..
Knock.
After a moment, a familiar voice came from the other side of the door, clear and formal. "State your business."
It was Prescott. Baron Edgar’s butler.
"It is Lady Anne," she replied, her own voice sounding small and uncertain. "I came to see my grandfather."
She heard the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn back and the soft clink of a chain. The door opened. Prescott stood there, his expression polite but neutral.
"This way, my lady," he gestured, his voice coolly professional.
Anne entered the house, her eyes taking in the warm, clean interior. Prescott led her to a comfortable drawing room, the morning sun streaming in through the tall windows. "Please wait here," he said. "I will inform the Baron of your arrival." He gave a short, stiff bow and left, closing the doors behind him.
Anne was left alone. She walked to the window, looking out at the small, well-tended garden. She felt like a stranger here, an outsider petitioning for an audience. In a few minutes, the doors opened again, and Edgar entered. He looked older and more tired than the last time she saw him, but his eyes were clear and steady. He gestured for her to have a seat before sitting on the armchair next to hers.
"Anne," he began, his voice softer than she had expected. It held no anger, only a weary concern. "Where have you been this whole time? How have you been?"
"You don’t have to worry about me," she replied, cutting through the pleasantries. She couldn’t bear his pity. "I came here to see you because I have a question to ask."
Edgar’s expression turned serious. "A question?"
"Yes," Anne said, her heart beginning to beat a little faster. She had to know. "Who is Fredrick Garrison?"
The name landed in the quiet room with a heavy thud. Edgar was silent, but his reaction was immediate and telling. His eyes darted nervously to the side, and a muscle in his jaw twitched. He knew the name.
Anne noticed, her own anxiety spiking. "You do know him, don’t you, Grandfather?"
Edgar let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound of a man being forced to revisit a dark and painful past. "How do you know that man, Anne?" he asked, his voice low.
"He showed up at the Ellington establishment yesterday," she replied. "He was rude, and strange. He looked like he was up to no good."
Edgar nodded slowly, his gaze distant as he looked back through the years. "Fredrick Garrison," he said, the name tasting like poison in his mouth. "Your mother... Augusta... she was with him before she was arranged to marry my Henry." He paused, letting that first, simple truth settle. "Not only that," he continued, his voice growing sadder, "you know the story of your own birth. You know your mother had you because of Henry’s initial disapproval, and then used you to force the marriage, right?"
Anne was quiet. She knew that part of the story. It was a familiar, if painful, part of her history.
"Well," Edgar continued, his voice dropping even lower, "that was not the first time she used a man to get what she wanted. She hired that man, Fredrick. She hired him to do her bidding and she tried to kill Delia and her mother, Catherine."
The words struck Anne. Her eyes widened in shock. A cold, numbing disbelief washed over her. "Nonsense," she breathed, shaking her head. "That’s... that’s impossible. How could that..." The thought was too monstrous to complete. She looked at her grandfather, her mind scrambling for another explanation, a different villain. "Delia told you all this, right?" she accused, her voice rising. "That’s it, isn’t it? You believe everything she says! She is poisoning you against my mother!"
"It is all true, Anne," Edgar replied, his voice full of a deep sorrow, not anger. "This is who your mother really is."
Anne was trembling now, a violent, uncontrollable shudder that shook her entire body. There was a glass of water on the table in front of her, but when she reached for it, her hand was shaking so badly she couldn’t pick it up. She quickly clasped her trembling hands together in her lap to still them, her nails digging into her own skin.
"It’s not possible," she whispered to herself, her eyes wide with a horrified denial. "Mama can’t kill somebody. She can’t."
Edgar watched her, his heart aching with pity for the girl who was the final, innocent victim of Augusta’s ambition. "She will use and ruin anyone who gets in her way, Anne," he said gently. "Even family. Especially family. I am not saying you won’t be an exception to her cruelty, either. When she no longer has a use for you, she will discard you."
He looked at Anne, at her pale, terrified face, and saw that telling her was not enough. She had been under Augusta’s spell for too long. She needed to see the truth for herself.
"Go to the manor," he said, his voice a quiet suggestion. "Go to her room. You can go there now that she is gone. Search it. Check to see if you can find something that might help you understand."
Anne said nothing. She couldn’t speak. She simply sat there, trembling, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.