– Prove it to me. – The smile faded from young Wington's face. – Bring me my booty.
Cold goosebumps ran down Vivian's back. She stared at her husband's calm and determined face, unable to find the words to answer.
– But you have dogs for that, my dear," she finally managed to force out of her throat.
– I wish you would do it. Come on, my angel. It's not as scary as you think.
Vivian swallowed but didn't move.
– Jeremy, you know how I feel about hunting…" she began.
– We're not going home, unless you do what I asked," Jeremy interrupted his wife.
Mr. Wington's tone was smooth but firm. He knew what he was saying and was ready to carry out his threat. Vivian felt it with all her being.
Without a word, the girl obediently saddled down and walked slowly towards the dead fox. Her lips trembled with grievance, and her eyes became wet again with tears of pity for the red-haired creature that had recently been running through the forest and enjoying the warm summer days.
As she approached her husband's prey, who was watching her actions with a satisfied smile, Vivian suddenly realised that she was afraid not only of the nights with Jeremy, but of every minute spent with him. It was almost an animal fear. Her body was like a taut arrow that threatened to break at any moment. But the worst thing Mrs. Wington realised was that she had married a tyrant. A man who, in his all-consuming love and passion for her, was jealous of her even to lackeys, and would not let her go alone even to Charlotte.
As she approached the dead fox, Vivian looked at the little furry body, covered with blood, with pity and sorrow in her heart. She wanted to fall to her knees and weep. Sob at the top of her voice. Out of horror. Pity. Hate for herself and the man she'd sold herself to.
– Hurry up, my love. There's a hot dinner waiting for us at home," she heard the soft voice of her husband.
– Yes, darling… Of course," Vivian said, finding the strength to reply.
She sat down beside the dead animal and stroked its head, wanting to comfort it as a mother would her child in the agony of death. Then she glanced at her bright glove, covered with blood, and with a cry of horror she drew back. As she fell on her back, Vivian hurried to her knees and vomited.
– Miss Salton! There's a letter for you! – Sarah the maid entered the room. – The Wingtons' messenger has just brought it! He's waiting for an answer,' she added, walking up to the mistress's daughter and holding out an envelope to her.
– Thank you, Sarah. Did he send anything else? – Charlotte asked hopefully, quickly unfolding the soft white paper.
– 'Nothing, Miss… Just this,' Sarah replied. – Can I go now, or what else do you want me to do?
– No, you're free," Charlotte muttered, thoughtfully reading what her best friend had written to her, who, however, had not been to her house for two months.
The two girls kept up an active correspondence, receiving and sending each other letters and notes several times a day, but it was not enough for Charlotte: she missed the few days when Vivian lived in Lillehus. In those days the two friends had been thick as thieves: the one who got up early woke the other, and they had spent the whole day together, from morning till evening, and had only parted when it was time to go to bed. But since Vivian had become a married woman, things had changed drastically. So drastically that Charlotte was desperate to see her and willing to visit her every day, but to every, "Can I come and see you, my dear? It's been so long since we've seen each other!", the girl would get from Vivian, "Alas! We are terribly busy this week," or "I am not feeling well. I hope to see you soon, my dear friend!".
