Name: The flower of revenge
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Chapter 1 The beginning of the end

Five years earlier.

Amelie Harmond was the last of three children, after Eric and Nathaniel. Her family was part of the wealthy English middle class, in this case the progenitors of the Harmond dynasty had been among the first to throw themselves into the enterprise of the railroad system, and half of the rails on English soil bore the mark of their industries.

The idyll in which Amelie lived of comfort and riches had been abruptly interrupted one November day.

The whole family had been invited to the estate of her father's friends in Scotland for a hunting trip. Eric, Nathaniel, and their father, Richard, had left with the landlord that morning; Amelie and her mother had begun arguing over breakfast about which of the two would sport the animal's fur on for the rest of the winter, and by lunchtime they still had not come to a satisfactory agreement.

Amelie would turn 18 in December, had been groomed by the best guardians, and was preparing for her entrance into society. She knew she had a line of suitors waiting for her, all young men from good, indeed very good, families eager to merge their respective fortunes.

She had already attended a few receptions during the summer, but her mother and siblings had not given her a chance to accept even one dance, despite numerous invitations; therefore, she quivered at the thought of when she would become the object of all attention, a few weeks from now.

The seamstress had already submitted designs for the dresses she would wear for her birthday party and subsequent receptions, and a nice fox neck seemed absolutely necessary to complete her outfit.

She was just about to reiterate this to her mother when she was interrupted by a series of shouts.

One of the maids had rushed into the small sitting room where she and her mother were seated, approached Amelie's mother, and whispered something in her ear.

Valerie Harmond had widened her eyes and given Amelie a terrified look.

"Stay here and don't move," she had told her, then hurried out.

She had sat with her heart in her throat, while downstairs the sound of footsteps and voices continued to grow. When the screaming and crying had begun and she had recognized her mother's voice, she had screwed up her recommendations and left the room in which they had confined her. The door directly overlooked the balustrade of the main staircase, and Amelie had leaned out of the handrail and seen the two bodies that had been laid on the floor, the wounds tearing at their faces and the blood stain that was spreading beneath the corpses. She had recognized the father and the elder of the brothers only by their clothing, then a veil had fallen over her eyes and she had plunged into darkness.

She had awakened suddenly, finding herself lying on a small sofa. From an unspecified point in the same room came her mother's sobs; Amelie had tried to get up to join her but her head was spinning too much to allow her to stand. The hostess had hurried next to her and taken her hand, helping her to sit up, then began to explain what had happened.

Eric and his father were leading the expedition when the dogs had started barking like madmen. Thinking they had found the fox, they had thrown the horses into a gallop toward a spot in the woods where the trees were getting too thick to continue on horseback, so they had left the animals outside the bush and had gone ahead on foot. They had been alone when they had been attacked, and whatever the creature had been, it had not even left them time to cry out. The other participants had joined them and found only the bodies of Eric and Richard and the hunting dogs. Some had hazarded a guess that they had been attacked by a large boar, but around their bodies they had found not the slightest trace.

Amelie had looked around. Her brother Nathaniel sat on the ground, his hands clasped around his head, and kept repeating that he had seen nothing. Her mother had stopped crying and was lying half-unconscious on an ottoman across the room. The only clue that she had not yet died of a broken heart was her rising and falling chest.

She wanted to cry and despair too, but the anguished thoughts crowding her head were more pressing than the pain.

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The flower of revenge

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