Chapter 37 "The Pantry Sin"
The autumn had turned bitter cold, and Rosanna Vale's life had become a living nightmare.
It had been two weeks since Thomas Ashcroft had cornered her in the pantry.
She'd been putting away supplies flour, sugar, preserves stacking them neatly on the shelves the way Mrs. Ashcroft demanded. She'd heard his footsteps behind her but had assumed he would pass by, as he usually did during the day.
But he hadn't passed by.
He'd stepped into the small, dark space and closed the door behind him.
"Master Ashcroft?" Rosanna had turned, confusion turning quickly to alarm when she saw the look in his eyes. The smell of whiskey was thick on his breath even though it was only mid-afternoon. "Sir, I'm working"
"I know what you're doing," Thomas had said, his words slightly slurred. "Always working. Always so proper. But I see how you look at me, girl."
"I don't I would never"
"Shh." He'd pressed a finger to her lips, and Rosanna had frozen, terror locking her muscles. "Don't lie. It's unbecoming."
What happened next was something Rosanna's mind tried desperately to block out, to push away, to pretend had never happened.
But it had happened.
Thomas Ashcroft had forced himself on her in that dark pantry, his hand clamped over her mouth to muffle her cries, his weight crushing her against the shelves. Jars had fallen and shattered. Flour had spilled across the floor. And Rosanna had been powerless to stop it.
When it was over, Thomas had straightened his clothes, given her a warning look that promised worse if she told anyone, and walked out as if nothing had occurred.
Rosanna had stayed on the floor of the pantry for nearly an hour, shaking, bleeding, trying to understand what had just been stolen from her.
After that day, everything changed.
Thomas began watching her with a predatory gleam that made Rosanna's skin crawl. He would find excuses to be alone with her, to brush past her in narrow hallways, to stand too close when giving her instructions.
Margaret noticed.
Oh, Margaret definitely noticed.
But instead of directing her anger at her husband at the man who was actually at fault Margaret turned her fury on Rosanna.
The work became harder. The punishments for minor infractions became harsher. Margaret would find fault with everything Rosanna did the floor wasn't clean enough, the laundry wasn't white enough, the bread wasn't fresh enough.
And worst of all, Margaret had forbidden Rosanna from leaving the property.
"You're confined to the estate until further notice," Margaret had announced one morning, her voice cold as winter. "I won't have you gallivanting around town, spreading your legs for every man who looks at you."
"Mrs. Ashcroft, I haven't"
"Don't lie to me, girl. I know what you are. What you've been doing with that Sabastain boy." Margaret's eyes were like ice. "You're fortunate I don't throw you out on the street. Now get back to work."
Rosanna hadn't seen Sebastian in weeks. Couldn't send him messages. Couldn't even step foot off the property to explain what had happened.
She was a prisoner in all but name.
It was a grey morning in late November when Rosanna first felt it the nausea that rose without warning, forcing her to drop the rake she'd been using to clean the barn and stumble to the corner.
She vomited into the hay, her stomach heaving even though she'd barely eaten breakfast. When the sickness passed, Rosanna stood on shaking legs, wiping her mouth, trying to understand what was wrong with her.
"Well, well."
Rosanna spun around to find Margaret Ashcroft standing in the barn doorway, her expression unreadable.
"Mrs. Ashcroft, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me"
Before Rosanna could react, Margaret strode forward and struck her across the back with something heavy the handle of a broom that had been leaning against the wall.
The blow sent Rosanna sprawling forward into the hay, pain exploding across her shoulders.
"You WHORE!" Margaret screamed, hitting her again. "You disgusting, filthy WHORE!"
"Please!" Rosanna curled into a ball, trying to protect herself. "Please, I don't understand"
"Don't you?" Another blow, this one across her legs. "Vomiting in the morning? After months of sneaking around with that farmer's boy? You're pregnant, you stupid girl! Pregnant!"
The word hit Rosanna harder than any physical blow.
Pregnant.
No.
No, that couldn't be
But even as Rosanna tried to deny it, she knew it was true. She'd missed her monthly courses. Her breasts had been tender. She'd been so tired lately, had blamed it on the increased workload, but
"Get up," Margaret snarled, grabbing Rosanna by the arm and hauling her to her feet. "Get up and get inside. We're going to settle this right now."
Margaret dragged Rosanna into the house and up to her private chamber, where she kept her medicines and herbs and other things. Things that Rosanna had only glimpsed in passing, things that had made her uneasy even before she'd understood what they were.
"Sit," Margaret commanded, shoving Rosanna into a chair.
"Mrs. Ashcroft, please, if you'll just let me explain"
"There's nothing to explain. You've been whoring yourself to that Whitmore boy, and now you're carrying his bastard." Margaret pulled out a small vial filled with dark liquid. "We're going to confirm it. And then we're going to decide what to do with you."
The test was medieval something Margaret had learned from her own grandmother, passed down through generations of Ashcroft women who practiced the old ways.
Rosanna was forced to drink a bitter concoction that made her stomach roil. Then Margaret made her urinate into a bowl and mixed it with various herbs and powders, chanting words in a language Rosanna didn't recognize.
When the mixture turned a milky white color, Margaret's face became stone.
"Pregnant," she said flatly. "Three months, if I'm reading this correctly."
Three months.
The timeline clicked into place in Rosanna's mind with horrible clarity.
Three months ago was when Thomas had when he'd
This wasn't Sebastian's child. It was Thomas Ashcroft's.
"It's not" Rosanna started, but Margaret cut her off.
"Don't even try to deny it. I know you've been seeing Sebastian Whitmore. The whole town knows. And now you're carrying his bastard." Margaret's voice was venomous. "You've committed adultery under my roof, used my charity to conduct your filthy affairs, and brought shame upon this household."
"But I didn't"
"SILENCE!"
Margaret struck her across the face, hard enough to split Rosanna's lip.
"You will not speak unless spoken to. Do you understand?"
Rosanna tasted blood and nodded, too terrified to do anything else.
"Good. Now get downstairs. We're taking you to the cellar."