The Flawed Mistress (The Summerville Journals) by Margaret Brazear

married me.  Not
only would it not work, but I could expect a savage beating on returning to his
house; then I would be of no use to this child or any future ones. 
       
Over the years I had dreamed of killing him and his friend, but now I hated him
more than ever.  If I had a knife, I would have plunged it into him with
no regrets.
       
I reached out my hand and pointed to a blonde child of about twelve years
old.  I chose a blonde child so that the Monster could better see the lice
running around her scalp and give me time to form another plan.
        “A little old, perhaps?”   He said with a frown,
knowing that I had deliberately chosen an older child.
       
“I think not.  A child of her age will be better company and more use
around the house,” I insisted.
       
He could do nothing without arousing suspicion and so I felt satisfied.  I
sat inside the coach with her while he drove the horses and when we arrived
back at the house the first thing to do was to wash her hair and bathe her.
       
“Very well,” he said impatiently.  “Though it is hardly
necessary.”
       
While Lucy boiled water and took the child to her own chamber to bathe her, I went to the kitchens and looked about for any sort of
potion that might put the Monster to sleep. I had little knowledge of herbs and
the like but I knew poison when I saw it but I could find nothing so I settled
at last on the poppy juice I had taken for myself.  That would at least
send him to sleep; given enough of it, he might even not wake up.
       
I mixed it with wine and took it to him.  Had our positions been reversed,
I would not have drunk anything prepared by me, but he was arrogant enough to
believe that I would obey him as the law demanded.  If the law were half
as concerned with the welfare of children as it was in making sure that wives
remained in their proper place, monsters like him would be put to death. 
I was only doing what the law should be doing.  Did thou shalt not kill apply when it came to a freak of nature such
as this one?  I only knew one thing:  I was not going to let him hurt
that little girl nor any other little girl in the future, even if I had to kill
him myself.
       
I had no qualms about the idea of murdering him.  It was something I had
longed to do for years after all, and here was the perfect opportunity and the
perfect motive.  He drank the wine and fell asleep in his chair, while I
wondered what I could do to stop him from waking up.
       
Lucy had finished with the child and brought her to my sitting room.
       
“There, My Lady,” she said.  “Her name’s Louisa, so she tells me. 
She seems to have little to say and she is scared stiff, but who could blame
her?  What now?”
       
“He is sleeping,” I told her.  “Perhaps Louisa would like something to
eat.  She does not look as though she has had much before this.”
       
She took the child down to the kitchen where she served cheese and bread and
the little girl fell upon it ravenously.  So I had been right; she was
half starved.  But I had to find a way to keep the Monster asleep,
preferably permanently, and I had to do it without Lucy finding out.  I
did not fear she would betray me, but I did not want her involved.
       
I need not have worried; when I returned to the Monster’s bedchamber, he was
dead.  I knew I had not given him enough poppy juice to kill him, so it
seemed that his heart had given out and the mixture was just enough to tip him
over the edge.  I knelt beside him and gave a silent prayer of thanks.
        But what to do with his body?   I could hardly
bury him all by myself and I could not trust the servants.  They would
want to report his death to the authorities and I would be left penniless once
more, as I doubted he would have made a will or even if he had, I doubted he
would have included me in it.  My only hope was to hide him, tell the
servants and neighbours he had gone away,