Seffargo

Chapter 14

'I found it!' Mother Georgie ran over to Barcley, a sheet of paper gripped tightly between her fingers. She handed it over. 'You're sure you'll find her there?'

Barcley shrugged. 'I honestly don't know, but Madeline's photos and the café staff's recount of events make me certain that Margaret is behind all of this—the poisoning of father, and myself, and taking Madeline ... She had the means to do all of it. At the very least, if she's not there, her mother should be—and she can tell us where Margaret's taken Madeline.'

Barcley looked at the sheet, running his fingers down the list of staff employed at the castle. There—Margaret Olivine. He begun reading her details: date of birth, gender, hired occupation, previous injuries, address ...

'But why would she do this?' Georgie said, her voice quivering. 'She was such a good girl.'

Barcley was only half paying attention. He had since swiped a pen and an unimportant sheet of paper and was currently writing down Margaret's address and mother's name along with both of their contact information. He would ring them soon—but he didn't expect an answer.

'I thought the same thing,' Barcley mumbled as he folded the sheet and stuffed it into a pocket. He turned and looked at Georgie, a sad smile on his face. 'The only thing connecting my father's poisoning to Margaret is the Queen. Before she was assassinated, she was drugged. The death report says she was weak and unsteady during the days before her assassination ... and that she appeared forgetful—as if she were suffering from amnesia.'

'The same symptoms as the King,' Georgie said.

Barcley nodded. 'The same poison, but in a different place. At the time, the Queen was visiting another continent, so it stood to reason that the assassin wasn't from Seffargo. I thought the assassin may have travelled here to dispose of the King, but why would they strike years later? It didn't make sense. I looked into it, and it turns out that Margaret had accompanied the Queen as part of her entourage.'

'I remember that,' Georgie said, nodding to herself. 'We sent a few young maids with the Queen—supervised by one of our more experienced members, of course. But didn't they all ...' She stopped abruptly and covered her mouth. She looked like she was going to vomit.

'They all died,' Barcley finished. 'Except Margaret—who somehow lived to tell the tale. It's because of her we even have a death report.'

'You don't think she killed them all, do you?'

'I don't. I think she's been nothing but wonderful until recently.' He paused, gathering his thoughts. 'It was when we went to her rooms to arrest her that I realized why she'd wish to kill the King. The photos ... The other maids in the Queen's entourage—the young ones. They were Margaret's closest friends, and they were killed alongside the Queen. But I can almost guarantee you when Margaret returned, no one asked about the maids who died, or gave them a proper ceremony, or even pretended to care.' He shook his head as rage bubbled within. 'Everyone would have been focused on the death of their Queen—too busy mourning her to even think about the maids or the guards who died in service to the crown. Margaret would have suffered alone, mourned alone, and buried her friends alone.'

Barcley clenched his fists, his arms shaking in anger by his side. He was just as guilty as his father for forgetting about the maids and guards. 'Though I can't begin to imagine the pain she went through—and continues to harbour—neither can I accept killing another to get even. My father may not have given the others a proper service—which I can agree is wrong—but he lost his wife that day ... and he has never been the same since. I can't condone Margaret's actions—even if I can understand her reasoning.'

There was silence after that, broken only as Barcley struggled to subdue his cries. How would he have felt, if on that day, it was his mother's burial which had gone unnoticed? How would he have felt if the entire population of Seffargo had mourned the guards and maids and neglected to even acknowledge his mother's life?

He'd have been distraught at the Royal's for covering up the truth; at the people for failing to recognize the lie; at himself for letting his mother down; at his father for failing to make it public.

And at the world for leaving him alone—for forcing him to find a sliver of solace amid a storm of pain.

Barcley turned on his heel and stormed for the door, opening it slowly as he struggled with the weight. Madeline was waiting—and with her, Margaret. He would not keep either of them any longer.

/ END /

If you liked this chapter, please consider giving it a vote!