Chapter 20 - Retribution in the Barn

I marched toward the stables with purpose, each step fueled by a seething rage that had been brewing for years. The smell of hay and horses grew stronger as I approached the barn where Clara's prized mare was kept. But first, I needed something else.

Diverting to the compost pile behind the kitchen gardens, I grabbed a wooden bucket and filled it with the vilest mixture I could find—horse manure, rotting food scraps, and whatever other foul substances were decomposing there. The stench made my eyes water, but I barely noticed, focused entirely on my mission.

With the bucket in hand, I made my way to the manor house. I knew exactly where Clara would be—enjoying her afternoon bath, as she did every day at this time. The predictability of her routine would be her undoing today.

I climbed the stairs silently, bucket held slightly away from my body. A passing maid saw me and quickly averted her eyes, hurrying in the opposite direction. News of my engagement to Duke Thorne had spread quickly among the staff, and no one dared interfere with me now.

Outside Clara's bathroom door, I paused, hearing the soft splashing of water and her humming. I could picture her lounging in the copper tub, probably congratulating herself on burying my mother's wedding dress with my dead kitten.

The thought reignited my fury. Without knocking, I pushed the door open.

Clara's eyes widened in shock and outrage. "What do you think you're—"

"Get out and dig up my mother's dress," I demanded, my voice deadly calm despite the storm raging inside me.

Clara's surprise quickly morphed into her usual smug expression as she reclined deeper into the rose-scented water. "I have no idea what you're talking about, sister dear. And how dare you burst in here while I'm bathing? Get out immediately."

"I know what you did," I said, stepping closer, the bucket's contents sloshing menacingly. "You buried my mother's wedding dress with my kitten."

Clara's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Even if I did, what does it matter? That old dress was falling apart anyway. Besides, you'll have plenty of new dresses once you're a duchess. Though I doubt even the finest gowns can make anyone forget what lies beneath that mask."

I tightened my grip on the bucket. "That dress was all I had left of my mother."

"Your mother," Clara scoffed, flicking water with her fingers. "She's been dead for years. You should have moved on by now." She studied her nails casually. "Anyway, soon enough, the Duke will realize what a mistake he's made with you. When he does, I'll be there to comfort him."

Something snapped inside me. All the years of abuse, humiliation, and pain crystallized into this moment.

"You're right about one thing, Clara," I said quietly. "I need to move on."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What—"

With one swift motion, I lifted the bucket and hurled its contents directly at her. The foul mixture of manure and rotting scraps splashed across her face and upper body, contaminating the bathwater with floating brown chunks.

Clara's scream was piercing. She thrashed in the tub, sending waves of filthy water over the sides. "What have you done?!" she shrieked, wiping frantically at her face. "You disgusting, crazy—"

"That's what I think of your apology," I said, setting down the empty bucket. "And there's more where that came from."

Clara tried to stand, but slipped on the now-slimy bottom of the tub. She fell back with a splash, sobbing with rage. "I'll tell Father! You'll be punished for this!"

I laughed, a sound so foreign to my own ears that it momentarily startled me. "Tell him. What will he do? Lock me away? Beat me? Nothing he can do will change the fact that I'm leaving in two days to become a duchess, while you'll remain here, the baron's spoiled, unwanted daughter."

Clara glared at me through the filth dripping down her face. "You won't get away with this."

I walked to her washbasin, filled another container with water, and mixed in some of the soapy residue from her bath salts—along with another handful of manure I'd kept in my pocket.

"This is for ruining my mother's dress," I said, throwing the second mixture directly at her face.

Clara sputtered and choked as some of it entered her mouth. She leaned over the side of the tub and vomited.

Her maid, Clara Meadows, rushed in at the commotion. She froze at the doorway, taking in the scene with horror.

"Miss Isabella!" she gasped.

I turned to her, straightening my shoulders. "If you value your position here, you'll turn around and forget what you saw."

The maid hesitated, looking between me and Clara, who continued retching over the side of the tub.

"I'm to be the Duchess of Blackwood in two days," I reminded her. "Consider whose displeasure would be more dangerous."

After a moment's consideration, the maid nodded and backed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

I turned back to Clara, who was now crying pitifully, trying to wipe the filth from her hair and face.

"You've made my life hell for years," I said, my voice low and even. "You scarred me. You forced me to wear this mask. You killed my kitten and buried my mother's dress. Did you really think I would never fight back?"

"You're insane," Clara whimpered. "You've always been a freak."

I leaned close to her, ignoring the stench. "Listen carefully, Clara. If Father insists on sending you to live with me at Blackwood Manor, I promise to make every day of your life there miserable. Perhaps I'll make you wear a mask. See how you like being hidden away, treated like a monster."

Clara suddenly lunged forward, her hand stretching toward my face. Before I could react, she caught the edge of my mask and yanked it off.

"Look at you!" she shrieked, holding my mask triumphantly despite her filthy state. "You're hideous! No amount of power or money will ever change that!"

I stood perfectly still, my scarred face exposed. For the first time in years, I felt no shame, no urge to cover myself. Instead, I smiled, knowing it would distort my scars in a way that had always frightened her.

I grabbed her wrist, forcing her to drop my mask, and pushed her back down into the filthy water. Pinning both her hands, I leaned over her, my face inches from hers.

"One day," I whispered, "your face will match mine. And when that day comes, remember this moment. Remember that you created the woman I'm becoming."

Clara's eyes widened in genuine fear. I released her and straightened up, retrieving my mask from the floor.

"Dig up my mother's dress," I said as I refastened the mask. "Or the next time, I'll do worse than throw manure at you."

I walked to the door, pausing to look back at my sister—still cowering in the filthy tub, her beauty temporarily marred by the foul substance covering her.

"I've endured your cruelty because I had no choice," I said. "But things have changed now. Remember that."

As I closed the door behind me, I heard Clara's broken sobbing. For the first time in my life, the sound brought me not guilt, but satisfaction.