Sins of the Daughters

Lady Bell steered the girls to a group which would be of the greatest benefit to her nieces. She eyed Admiral Robert Willsbury as a match for Constance. While Grace is an innocent young girl, which any man would fancy, Constance had the countenance of an established lady. No young lad whet behind the ears could handle her. Admiral Willsbury fits the order. He was a man in his late thirties with stable money and a prestigious lineage. An arranged marriage between him and Constance would solidify the Bell's name in upper society. The admiral had lost his wife to influenza five years ago. It was time for him to find a new wife.

"Margaret," Lady Elizabeth cried out. "So very glad to see you. Let me introduce to my nieces, Constance and Grace Talcott."

The two demurely lowered their heads and gave graceful curtsies as instructed by their aunt.

Lady Elizabeth took Constance's hand in hers, turned to them and said, "Admiral Willsbury, this is the young woman I was telling you about."

The tall man in his uniform stepped forward to kiss her hand. "Enchanted."

Constance blushed and gave him a demure smile hardly ever seen on her face.

And so the Talcott sister became a novelty to Lady Elizabeth's circle of friends. Before the night was through, a young Master Lawrence of the Lawrence banking family had enquired about Grace and made arrangements to meet her for tea at the Bell's country estate. The ball continued on well into the wee hours and when the Bell family left, they were pleased with their girls' acceptance into their glittering society.

Lady Constance Willsbury sat on her chair, embroidering a pattern of roses by the light of a crackling fire in the large hearth in the library. Though her husband, the Admiral, was out at sea on a diplomatic mission, she was not alone as her two sons, fifteen year old Philip and twelve year old Edward, were sleeping upstairs in the comfort of their beds. Constance pulled the needle through the linen once more and stopped to look out the window. A big yellow Hallows Eve moon hung in the southern sky. She was reminded of the harvest home festivals and how she and Grace enjoyed eating Mistress Gilby's sticky molasses nut rolls. She thought about her husband, Robert and how she missed him. Once she showed him the secret place to touch her, she found a love with him she never dreamed of having. She sewed another stitch and smiled at her good fortune.

Her ears pricked up to the creak of a floor board. Funny. All the servants had returned to their homes or were upstairs for the night. She turned and gasped at the sight of a young, black haired man in beggarly clothes standing inside her door. She quickly stood, scared but indignant, poised to run.

She cried out, "Who are you?! Get out of here!"

She grabbed her scissors from her crafting basket as he stepped out of the shadows. "What do you want?!"

His voice was low and measured. "I am the babe you left in Portsmouth, nineteen years ago."

She bolted to the door but he blocked her exit. His hand shot out to grab her neck. She gagged as he slammed her against the wall. She'd experienced this kind of violent strength once in a New England forest. Her eyes widened. She looked into his deep brown eyes which shined as though they were lit from behind by internal flames.

He said, "I remember your conversations with the captain; how you lied and said you were newly widowed from a man who your family hates and would never accept his child. I remember being born and handed to a man with greying whiskers. But he died on the road home and I was delivered to his wife who believed I was the son of his whore. I was beaten and burned and utterly mistreated before I stole her money and ran away. And one night, as I was drunkenly returning to my London room, I pressed into servitude on a merchant ship bound for Charleston. On a cold, full moon night, in the new land, I met my father. He revealed my true nature and told me where you could be found. And now, here I am...mother."

The air was knocked her lungs when he threw her to the floor and pounced upon her like a fiend. She struggled beneath him and the flesh between his legs stiffened from the writhing of this earthly whore.

He said, "You have given me body and form. I walk this earth because of you."

Her hands flailed at his monstrous hand choking the life from her body.

"My father's seed was stronger than your father's."

He pushed up her skirt and clawed at her petticoats.

"What do you have betwixt your legs that bewitched your father and mine?"

His hand shoved through her ripped petticoats.

"No!" she screamed. "No! No!"

Constance's heart thudded against her chest, threatening to burst until her worn heart beat one more last time. Constance's blue eye remained fixed upon the ceiling, her life ebbed away and her soul rose from her body to disappear from this realm.

The fog lingered that December day when Mistress Grace Lawrence visited her sister's grave. Her coach waited in the depths of the mist and she walked through the long fallen leaves to her sister's lonely grave. A crow sat perched upon it as Grace arrived and it cawed to her before flying off. Constance. Tears sprung from Grace's eyes. She stood beside her gravestone, dabbing her tears with a handkerchief before placing a small clutch of posies upon her sister's grave. So grateful to her sister was she for helping her find true love and comfort within the Lawrence family. Her sister, who pleased her more than her husband ever could, she missed her best friend. Though the air was still and she heard not a sound, she felt another's presence. She turned to see a man lurking near a tree.

He removed his hat from his head and said, "My father wanted me to tell you that he misses watching you collect mushrooms and berries in your mulberry dress."

Grace's eyes widened. "Who are you?"

"Your nephew, Master Jack."

Grace backed away. She knew he spoke the truth. He had her sister's mischievous grin and black as night hair.

"I actually remember being on the ship with you and mother. The rocking as she slept. Your lovely lullabies. They are my most pleasant memories."

Grace's heart raced in her chest. She raised her hands as defense as he stepped up to her. He was so close that his coats buttons brushed her trembling fingers.

He murmured, "I have no grievance with you, Aunt Grace. No quarrel at all."

And with that, the man tipped his hat, turned and walked into the mist. Grace knew it was the devil's son, and not her father's child as Constance had proclaimed when he was born. On the path back to the coach, Grace noticed two sets of footprints in the mud; hers and the prints of four legged beast. And when she returned to the safety of her coach, and the coachman urged the horses to go, she looked out the window to see a black cross fox watching the carriage depart before it turned and ambled away.