Anne nodded. "They'll fire me and then everyone will find out," she said. "I don't know what to do."

"Oh Anne, I don't think they'll fire ye. He's probably embrassed by it all. Imagine carryin' on like that with.. I've half a mind to talk ta him sternly, Earl or not."

Anne looked mortified. "Oh no. Please don't. Please, don't tell anyone."

"Alright, Anne, I wont. But they had better not do anythin' te ye over it." She shook her head. "And that's what set yet father off?"

Anne shook her head. "It was the corset." With trembling hands, she brought her cup up to her mouth and took a sip. "He was angry because I had accepted the new one from you, rather than telling him I needed one..." Her shoulders shrunk. "He was in such a rage... I don't know how I can go home and face 'im. I ran away..." She bit her lip and folded her hands tighter around the cup.

Lottiess shoulders sagged and she sighed heavily.

"Anne, dear I'm afeared yer father was angry because I said somethin' to him about how he was treatin' you and yer family. Somethin' very wicked."

Lottie couldn't lie to her.

"He must of spent his rage on ye. I'm truly sorry. I didnae want to see ye hurt." If the young girl didn't want to speak to her again, she would understand.

Anne looked up at Mrs. Black and then back down at her tea. "What did ye say?" she said quietly. She probably didn't want to hear it. Mrs. Blacke wasn't the first to talk to her father about the same issue. And it hurt to think there was some truth in it.

Lottie sighed heavily "If 'e'd taken better care of yer brood, yer brother, Simon, among others would still be 'ere." she said grimly. The exact wording wasn't important. "May God forgive me and my wicked tongue."

Anne cringed under those words. She stared blankly at her tea while fresh tears burned in her eyes, though they did not fall. Simon was hardly ever mentioned at home. So little that there were times when Anne felt a yearning to about what had happened - to open this cesspit. And yet whenever something brought back the memories of violence and fear, the horror at what Simon had done, thoughts of how afraid and lonely he must have felt while awaiting the end, Anne was perfectly happy to keep it tightly sealed. If a broken cup could seem intact when left alone, so could a broken heart.

But Mrs. Blacke's words did not hurt her for the recollection of Simon's suffering or ill deeds, nor for the spitefulness of their intent, but rather because some silent, painful, disloyal part of Anne had already thought them before, and out in the open they created a tension that made it hard to breathe.

She bit her lip and nodded quietly, not looking at Mrs. Blacke. Her fingers wrapped around the cup yet more firmly. Suddenly, the delicate china snapped in her grip. Anne pulled her hands back in fright. She looked down at the broken china and spilled contents and gasped: "Oh Mrs. Blacke! I am so sorry!"

"Anne, are ye hurt?" Lottie was more concerned about the girl than the spilt tea and the broken cup, a cup could be replaced after all. "It's alright. It's an accident. Let me sweep this up."