Splintered Heart (The Bentons and Northcutts 2) ✅

Chapter Ten

May 2nd, 1667

"Have the sick all left the clinic?" Weaver asked.

"Aye, sir," the footman said, fidgeting a little. "Some are...still weakened, but they have been able to leave of their own accord and go back to their homes."

"And what of the...poisoned well?"

"Lord Northcutt ordered it to be sealed. The little Lord Northcutt went out and personally oversaw the sealing of the well."

Weaver choked on a hollow laugh. "A child oversaw the work of adults?!"

"B-Beggin' your pardon sir, but he is the lord of the land," the footman spoke up. Weaver gave him a dark look and the other man seemed to wither under his gaze. "But his cousin, Lord Rafe, h-has been ensuring that everything has been returning to normal in the village."

"And what of Lady Benton? She is still here, aye?"

"Aye, sir. L-Lady Benton has taken to house visits now for those who were sick."

Weaver waved a dismissive hand at the footman. "That will be all."

The footman hurried from the room. Weaver waited a few moments to ensure that he was alone before his hand formed a fist and slammed onto the surface of the desk. "Damn...!"

How could his plan had fallen through so spectacularly all because of a meddling woman?! He had taken this community to be full of ignorant, superstitious plebs. For the most part the people had thought that it was a curse afflicting them. The death of Leonard Northcutt, the deaths of Lord Humphrey Abram and his kin, and the lack of answers from the physicians who had come to help had facilitated this ideology.

But Miss Phoebe Benton...the lovely, overly intelligent sister of a Countess had proved to be too intelligent for her own good. Despite the death of her own cousin she did not flee, nor fall to pieces with mourning. Instead her resolve had been so strong and she found the truth of the plague. A truth that Weaver had hoped to remain hidden.

It had felt like a foolproof plan; poisoning one of the town's wells. The town had three wells to draw water from, and not everyone in town drank water. It would ensure that people at varying stages of the "plague" would become infected, even within a household. And with Lord Northcutt gone and only his spinster sister, widow, and young son to oversee the town it had seemed like the surest bet for Weaver to move in and assume control.

But it was not to be, and it was because of Miss Phoebe Benton. Her, and Lord Northcutt's meddlesome cousin who had arrived from the south to help his family.

"Damn...damn...!" he cursed again. It had taken Weaver a considerable amount of time to gather the materials to poison just one well. And with the poisoning exposed he could not risk poisoning one of the two remaining wells. The populace was getting better, and Leonard Northcutt's son—instead of cowering and crying as children were wont to do—was trying to step into the lordship role his father had held. A lordship role that Weaver had wanted for himself.

Weaver knocked his papers off his desk and onto the floor. He scrubbed both hands through his graying hair and uttered several more curse words. He had hoped to take advantage of the chaos and establish himself as lord, but that was now impossible. He was no longer needed. It would not be long before the citizens questioned the necessity of a Magister when House Northcutt was seeing to everything once again. It would not be long before he would be expected to leave. His hard work amounted to nothing...and it was one person's fault.

"Phoebe Benton." He said her name with the same tone as his cursed, his jaw locked with rage. "Damn your cleverness!"

He hated the young woman for finding a solution to the problem of the plague...but he also could not deny his desire for her. She was beautiful and spirited. Very spirited. He could not help but find enjoyment from imagining breaking her spirit, breaking her defiance. Mounting her body on various surfaces. A bed, a table, even his own desk. Dominating her in every conceivable way as a man would dominate his wife. Her lack of interest in him only fanned the flames. He wanted her so desperately. But he despised her with the same strength.