Murderer, my conscience screamed from the depths of my soul. Guilt choked me, a noose tightening around my neck, woven from the events of the past hour.
I could barely see what lay ahead, though the night was clear. The trees blocked the starlight, casting shadows over my path. It would have been easier to take one of the main trails through Ashwood Forest, but I couldn’t risk being seen wandering at midnight with my dress torn and stained with blood.
I killed a man. The guilt pounded in my head, almost as hard as the rock I had smashed against Mr. Rosler’s skull.
A dry branch snapped under the sole of my blue slipper. I froze, glancing around, terrified someone might have heard. It was a foolish precaution—if anyone was nearby, my ragged, desperate gasps would betray me long before my footsteps. Besides, my crime already had a witness. There was no point in hiding. Soon, I would pay for what I’d done.
How many miles had I walked? Not enough to stop my hands from trembling. I pressed on, exhausted. I had never felt so weary in my life, yet fear coursed through my veins, keeping me in a feverish state of alert. My heart pounded so fiercely I thought it might burst.
A few steps further, I emerged from the dense thicket into a wide, open clearing. My home stood just ahead, as beautiful and familiar as ever, except this time, I dreaded stepping inside. I couldn’t face my parents, couldn’t bear for my family to know what I had done. The terrible choices I made tonight would shatter their idyllic lives, and I couldn’t stand the thought of bringing such darkness upon the people I loved most.
With great caution, I approached the main house, skirting past the stables and the servants’ quarters. I tiptoed, doing my best to steady my frantic breathing, not wanting to disturb anyone’s sleep. I slipped into the house through the kitchen, knowing it would be empty at this hour, and took the back passages usually reserved for the staff to reach the upper floor where the family bedrooms were.
My parents’ room was at the end of the hallway, their door slightly ajar as it always was when I went out at night, waiting for me to stop by and let them know I was home.
This time, I didn’t. I couldn’t. I entered my room and closed the door carefully behind me. I approached the fireplace and knelt before the flames, holding out my hands to see if the warmth could stop their shaking. My feet were soaked with mud, the dampness of the forest clinging to my stockings and petticoats, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to undo the intricate dress until my hands steadied.
Under the better light, I let out a stifled gasp. My palms were stained red. I glanced down at my dress—the skirt was a mess of mud and bloodstains. I leapt up and rushed to the mirror. My reflection was unrecognizable: my hair was a tangled mess of twigs and leaves, and my eyes were swollen from crying.
I didn’t even remember crying. Maybe it had been during Mr. Rosler’s attack—I wasn’t sure. Thinking of him and what I had done made my stomach churn. I gripped the nearest piece of furniture to keep from collapsing and took a couple of deep breaths.
Once I felt slightly steadier, I went to the washbasin in the corner and scrubbed my face and hands. The water turned crimson. My stomach twisted. Rosler’s blood seemed to taint everything.
Murderer, my conscience accused again.
With frantic tugs, I began to tear off my dress. The fabric of the bodice ripped, but it was already ruined anyway. Rosler had torn off a sleeve during our struggle, and I was certain the stains on the skirt would never come out. Even if, by some miracle, the dress could be restored to its former glory, I would never wear it again. It was no longer a beautiful garment that highlighted my best features; now it was the wretched thing that vile man had tried to rip from me to violate me.
Once I was down to the thin chemise underneath, I threw the dress into the fire. I began to tremble—not just my hands, but my entire body shook violently as I watched the flames devour what had once been one of my favorite gowns.
What will become of me now? I wondered, horrified. I knew that in the kingdom, murderers were punished by hanging, but I had never heard of a woman being sentenced to such a fate. Would they show me mercy because of who my grandfather was? Perhaps if I explained to the judge that Rosler had attacked me first… but then I’d have to confess the recklessness that led me to meet a stranger alone in the dead of night. I would bring shame upon my family.
Theodore Schubert, the king’s right-hand man, with a wayward, murderous granddaughter… The impeccable reputation of the Schuberts would be shattered.
The smell of burning fabric became unbearable. I rushed to fling open my window before the smoke seeped into the hallway.
The night was cold, I was only just realizing.
I grabbed the washbasin and tossed the blood-tinged water onto the rosebushes below my window. I didn’t want my maid to come in the morning and be alarmed. Then I sat on the edge of my bed and began pulling twigs and dried leaves from my hair. I had to erase every trace of what had happened.
My actions felt surreal. I was covering up a crime. Me, Jacqueline Schubert, the young woman everyone called dull and prudish, now turned murderer. One night, one bad decision, and my life would never be the same.
The cold began to seep into my bones. I tossed the debris from my hair out the window and climbed into bed. Even under the quilt, I kept trembling. Would my body ever stop shaking?
At that moment, the door to my room creaked open.
“Jackie?” my mother called, her voice laced with concern.
My heart leapt to my throat. They had found Mr. Rosler’s body. The royal guard was here to take me away.
I sat up in bed, pale and pitiful, staring at my mother with wide, terrified eyes. She looked back at me from the doorway, wrapped in her robe and nightcap.
“What happened to you? Your cousin Hans just arrived. He said you left the party without telling him, that he looked everywhere for you… He’s beside himself! How did you get home without him?” she demanded, hands on her hips.
I clutched the quilt between my fingers. I had completely forgotten about Hans. After Rosler’s attack, I hadn’t thought of anything but fleeing like the criminal I now was. It hadn’t even crossed my mind that my escort, distracted as he often was, would eventually notice I was no longer at the ball.
“Nancy offered to bring me home. Her place isn’t far from ours, and she had things to tell me,” I replied, my mouth dry, stunned at how easily the lie came to me. Me, who was always honest, honorable… Since when could I lie to my mother’s face so effortlessly? “Please apologize to Hans for me. It was unforgivable not to tell him. Or better yet, invite him to stay the night, and I’ll apologize in person first thing tomorrow.”
“Nancy Logan? I thought you didn’t care for her… Goodness, it’s freezing in here! Why is the window open?”
Mother hurried to shut the window, then turned, hugging herself for warmth, her eyes scanning the room with suspicion. Something was terribly wrong, and she knew it.
“Jackie, what’s going on?” she asked, her gaze piercing. “Did you drink at the Muller ball? Sweetheart, you know your grandfather disapproves of wine. He’s told you and your brother how it leads to vice, to unbecoming behavior…”
“No, Mother, not a drop,” I assured her quickly.
“Then what’s wrong? You seem so off. You’ve never left a ball without telling your escort, and you always let us know when you’re home. Are you feeling ill? Are you catching a cold? Your grandmother wrote this morning—Grandfather Theo has a terrible cold. Maybe you’ve caught it…”
I shrank into the mattress as Mother approached to check my temperature.
Mother, I killed a man. I smashed a rock against his head and left him lying among the bushes in the garden.
How could I confess something so horrific when, in my family, even the idea of sipping wine at a ball was scandalous?
My lips parted, but no words came. My tongue felt like sand.
Mother kept examining me, searching for any sign of a cold to explain my strange behavior.
“Sweetheart, you’ve got goosebumps. It must be a fever,” she observed, rubbing one of my arms.
“Probably… I should rest,” I lied, my voice breaking.
“Yes, of course. I’ll leave you. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to let me know,” she said, gesturing for me to lie back down.
I did, and Mother left the room shortly after.
A fleeting sense of relief washed over me as I found myself alone again. They hadn’t found Mr. Rosler’s body yet. The royal guard wasn’t at the door to arrest me.
How long would it take them to find him? The Muller estate was vast, and that area was neglected. That was precisely why Mr. Rosler had taken me there—he didn’t want anyone to interrupt us. It could be days before a stablehand passed by and noticed something amiss in the bushes… But that would only buy me time. Sooner or later, they’d find him. And even if they didn’t, there was her.
The woman in the green hood. She had seen everything. She saw me walk into the garden on Cedric Rosler’s arm, heard him whisper sweet nothings in my ear and my foolish giggle in response. She saw him try to kiss me and his anger when I resisted. The woman in the green hood watched as Rosler threw me to the ground, standing by impassively during his violent assault, ignoring my pleas for help. She also saw me defend myself, grabbing the first object my hands found and striking my attacker’s head with all my strength.
The woman in the green hood didn’t intervene in the worst moment of my life, for better or worse, but she saw it all. She was the only witness to what happened, and I hadn’t the faintest idea who she was.