Free Charlotte House Affair 01 - My Particular Friend by Jennifer Petkus

collar bone. Her hand continued around the edge of the bodice and we could see that scar continued diagonally across her upper chest. Her hand stopped.
    ‘It continues,’ she said softly.
    ‘Margaret,’ Charlotte said, dropping her raised finger. Mrs Fitzhugh rose and attended Miss Winslowe, returning the poor woman’s hand to her lap and wrapping the blanket tight against her body.
    After a minute, Charlotte continued her questioning. ‘This was last year, when there was an understanding between yourself and Mr Hickham?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Why did he … assault you in this way?’ Charlotte asked.
    ‘He demanded things of me that I could not give him.’
    ‘Was he very demanding?’
    ‘You must understand that at first … at first he was all charm. He could be funny and kind and warm, but one day, in the country, it was as if he tired of the game. I had seen it before, when he struck a servant with whom only minutes before he had been joking. And it was the same with me, he said he’d “paid his dues” and wanted his reward.’
    ‘And he … took it?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And left you with that reminder.’ She nodded.
    ‘And then shortly thereafter your father died and you removed from Bath.’
    ‘Yes. My mother and I returned this season with my uncle and aunt.’
    ‘And then you read of Mr Hickham’s betrothal to Miss Ashby.’
    ‘Yes. I could not let another …’
    ‘Quite.’
    ‘But why …’ I stopped and looked at Charlotte to see if I might continue. She nodded and I added, ‘Why defame Miss Ashby?’
    ‘Because no one would believe me when Mr Hickham … defiled me.’ She spoke the last with an understandable bitterness at odds with her previous calm demeanour. ‘I am sure my father died from shame of it. I could not say anything that would make the world believe the truth of it. All I could hope is that Mr Hickham would not hurt another.’
    ‘But you could not bring yourself to irreparably harm Miss Ashby. Is that why you sent the letters only to her and those closest to her—that the harm might be contained?’ I asked.
    Miss Winslowe nodded. ‘I have no wish to harm Miss Ashby. I hoped that the Ashbys would end the engagement rather than risk scandal.’
    Charlotte sighed. ‘You should have considered Mrs Ashby’s prospect of ten thousand a year. She would risk much.’
    ‘But why did you not send letters to Mr Hickham?’ I asked.
    ‘But I did.’
    ‘What!’ Charlotte said. ‘When was this?’
    ‘When he returned to Bath two … three days ago now. I could not deliver it personally, so I sent it by post.’
    ‘This is very grave. Mr Hickham we now know is a very dangerous man. Why did you take such a risk?’
    ‘The Ashbys would not act. I knew that I could not impugn that man’s honour, but that he might shrink from marrying someone whose own honour was in doubt.’
    ‘I cannot fault your logic, but your action may have put you in great danger.’
    ‘Surely Miss Winslowe did not sign her name to the letter,’ I said.
    ‘It is anonymous,’ she confirmed.
    ‘Mr Hickham is a man of cunning. What one person has surmised, so may another, but this may play in our favour, if you will accept my help.’
    ‘You will not … you will help me?’
    ‘My dear, a great injury has been done you and a great injustice goes unpunished. I … we … must help you and see that Mr Hickham never harms another.’

Wheels in Motion
    Once she had recovered, we escorted Miss Winslowe home after securing a promise that she would deliver no further letters and would not venture from her home and would at all times be attended. We also retrieved the new letter she had delivered to the Ashbys. ‘There’s no need to continue stirring the pot,’ Charlotte said.
    We returned as the clock struck five and Mrs Fitzhugh retired claiming she was fagged by the night’s events, but Charlotte and I remained awake, the result of the copious amounts of coffee that followed our brandy. We sat quietly in