Four in the Attic, One in the Kitchen

A Weekend to Forget

 School had started on the first of the month and I dreaded going back. It was my senior year, and I should've been back in Pennsylvania and planning for prom and going to drive in movies with the cute boys at my school and thinking about a career or getting married. Now Camilla was dead. I was dead. The thought was a lot to wrap my head around. Of course, I could just go back home and prove I wasn't dead, find someone who remembered me, but I had no proof that I was me. No records, no property, nothing. Even my school pictures had been left behind.

Friday the eleventh, I was picked up from the train station more promptly than ever. I barely had time to visit the post office, and was questioned when the chauffeur found I wasn't at the normal pickup spot. I claimed, cooly, that I had been at the general store, and held up some recently purchased pencils from school to prove it. My lie seemed to have worked, and he questioned no further when I was driven back to the manor. Once we arrived, however, I was not free to do as I please, and in fact escorted to my grandfather's chambers.

Against what Grandmother had said last weekend, he wasn't getting better. In fact, he was getting worse. Perhaps the third time was the charm and he'd finally die, I thought. Standing in front of the large, wooden bed which was heavily covered in blankets despite the summer heat and surrounded by medical devices, I politely curtsied to my ailing Grandfather. "Good afternoon sir." I said politely.

"Good afternoon, Camilla. You've most certainly heard of the news regarding Sunday." He replied, looking me over. "Come, sit closer to the bed."

Despite me not wanting to whatsoever, I obeyed. "Yes, sir."

"Olivia told me you were apprehensive." He croaked.

"I... Yes." I admitted, keeping my cool. "Most people pick their own spouse from people they already know and fall in love with."

"And that's exactly the problem with Corinne." He responded firmly. "She made her choice, a sinful one to lie with family, to conceive a child out of wedlock, and to commit infanticide. Olivia and I don't want to see you make any choices like her, this is out of your best interest."

I didn't see it in any way my best interest, but I allowed him to continue.

"We've picked the finest four young men from the finest four business partners and colleagues I know. They're intelligent, confident, capable, and can help a young woman raise a household. You wouldn't need to worry about a thing."

At this point I still didn't see the point of being summoned here, but then he cleared his throat.

"I'm sure you remember about a year and a half ago, during the Christmas ball, a young man by the name of Nicholas Manning?" He asked.

My blood ran icy. I hoped, prayed, internally begged that the letters had not been found. "Yes." I answered flatly.

"That is not the kind of man to associate with. His father and I have had a falling out, and since then I have been informed he has become infatuated with you. He's been drafted into the armed forces, and his journals have been confiscated by his family under suspicion he'd desert, yet found paragraph upon paragraph about you."

"Oh?" I feigned innocence, hoping it would work, and it did.

He pressed his lips together. "I see you were unawares, and that is only another sign he's imperfect. He's antisocial, narcissistic, and self serving. A Foxworth relative, a young woman from every family, should not suffer this. We chose men to support you, Lucille. Not to hurt you. This is no punishment."

It felt like one.

After he had finished, he went into a long coughing fit and I was sent away. My heart felt like a pit in my chest, cold and deep and unyielding. I took the stairs two at a time to my room, closed the door quickly and pulled the newest letter from my bag. It felt lighter than most, and once I tore it open, I saw why. It was barely half a page long, on one sheet of lined paper in a messy scrawl. It was dated from Wednesday, it must have been express mailed or delivered from somewhere else.