CWMBR 17

Chapter 17

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"Huh? Ah..................."

Declan groaned to himself. He looked down at the floor, his eyes troubled.

"If the miscarriage is true, it's going to be even more embarrassing for us. The employees insist that the pregnancy must have been a lie....... With evidence like this, we can't afford not to have it checked, because I'm sure they'll be able to tell the difference between animal blood and human blood."

Ain continued to stare down at the floor long after Declan had left the bedroom. He remembered Bridget's unusually pale face. And Magnus's urgent demeanor, as if he were treating a patient with a great illness.

Come to think of it, it wasn't the only time. When he met her again at the inn in downtown Breford, Bridget was still pale, too pale for a simple change of bedding, and she was traveling with Magnus. She wasn't a child, so why was she traveling with him all the time?

Could this really be a miscarriage, something she hadn't recovered from?

Did she bleed here, and if so, whose child was it? Maybe not his. If he wasn't the one who slept with her that night, then the child that may have been in her womb wasn’t his.

But if the miscarriage was true, she left the manor without taking proper care of herself. No wonder the old doctor was so restless...................

Ain rose to his feet. He didn't want to continue this delusion because he wasn't sure of anything.

But it was hard to shake off the strange qfeeling. For some reason, his blood ran cold.

***

The next day after Bridget arrived at the monastery, it began to rain heavily. The rain was too thick to go outside, and she was forced to stay inside.

Daily life at the Abbey fell into three main categories. Tending the cemetery, cultivating a small field, and weaving lace.

The lace weaving was mostly done on days when it was too rainy to go outside. The women would gather in the common room, the largest room in the monastery, and weave lace at their own pace while chatting and laughing. The crackling of wood in the fireplace and the pounding of the rain against the glass outside the window provided a peaceful backdrop to the conversation.

Normally, this was the daily routine of the nuns who lived in the monastery, but every now and then, a guest would join them. This time, it was Bridget.

Bridget had never woven lace before, so the scene was quite mysterious to her. It was almost unbelievable to watch as the seemingly ordinary threads were woven together to create a beautiful pattern. As Bridget stared in wonder, one of the nuns handed her the lace she had been working on. It was so thin and intricately patterned that her hands trembled as she took it.

"Here, hold it like this.”

"Oh, my God, I can't do that."

She would much rather pick up a pen and write a long essay, but she couldn't keep up with such delicate work. After fiddling with the thread with clumsy hands, Bridget finally shook her head in surrender. She felt like her hands would never be able to create such a beautiful and delicate craft.

After a few moments of holding the yarn, Bridget, sensing her subject matter, decided to just watch others do it, and that was enough to satisfy her.

As she wandered around in silence, she spotted an elderly nun sitting in the corner of the common room. She sat with an air of awkwardness, as if she had just arrived at the monastery, which struck a strange chord with her. After a moment's hesitation, Bridget cautiously approached her.

The young nun looked a little surprised to see Bridget sitting next to her, but then she bowed her head slightly.

In her lap lay a circular piece of lace fabric. It was a very basic and simple pattern compared to what everyone else was making.

Bridget's gaze fell on her lap, and she gave her an embarrassed smile.

"It's too simple, isn't it? My lace isn't good enough to sell, so I'm practicing."

"That's so cute, what are you making?"

"Oh, this..................."

Bridget asked with a twinkle in her eye, and the young nun smiled shyly and held up the lace fabric. Holding it in her hands, she could see its shape more clearly. At first glance, it looked like a pouch, but it was the wrong size. She tilted her head, trying to guess its purpose, and the young nun replied with a laugh.

"A baby hat. I'm expecting a nephew soon."

"Oh."

After hearing that, Bridget could see the round shape resembled a bonnet. It was still a work in progress, but it wasn't hard to imagine the finished product. She stared at the lace for a long time. Misunderstood the gaze, the young nun smiled awkwardly as she fiddled with the lace.

"I'm ashamed to say I'm not very good at it."

"It’s ................cute. I’m sure he’ll be very happy."

Bridget retorted with a faint smile and pushed herself up.

"Are you going in now?"

"Yes. I can't stay in the way when I can't even help."

Several of the nuns said it was alright, but Bridget smiled and bowed slightly. The nuns didn't bother to hold her back this time.

Was the air in the common room unusually warm? When she stepped out into the hallway, the air felt unusually chilly. The rain was still pounding against the windows, and the sound of the rain, which had been soothing in the common room, was now muffled.

Bridget stood there for a moment, staring out the cloudy window. The rain had distorted the landscape beyond recognition, making it seem as if she were still at Breford Manor. Especially since the air in the open, cold hallway resembled it so closely.

"I want you to tell me what happened to you at the mansion."

Was she thinking of Breford's life? Suddenly, she remembered Aine's voice asking.

Bridget absentmindedly placed a hand on her lower stomach. If he asked her what had happened to her at Breford's manor, there was only one answer she could give.

Nothing happened to her.

Months of staying at the mansion. She wasn't harassed by them, she wasn't exposed to violent threats, she wasn't subjected to horrific abuse and verbal abuse. There she was....... just another piece of dusty furniture, just like the rest of them, neglected with such indifference. 

She was just taking up space in a room, with some ceremonial food, but not much else. No, she didn't need much. Wouldn't it have been nice to have someone to talk to, even if it was just for a few words?

Aside from Magnus, who visited the manor from time to time, Bridget had no one to talk to but the baby in her belly. The idea of a woman living in a mountain mansion with no place to go but her own mind, and talking to her belly, was enough to make anyone think she was crazy. But there was nothing else to do, because there was nothing in that mansion for her.

Her health had deteriorated rapidly since she became pregnant, and she had no energy to do anything active, and she was depressed all the time. After writing a long letter to Ain and handing it over to the postman, she would skip meals and sleep in exhaustion.

Faced with unintelligible chatter and strange glances from his employees, her shoulders would slump and she would not want to leave the room. She was not that kind of person, but at some point, she found herself confined to her room.

When she overheard the employees calling her a sullen woman, she didn't have the heart to question them on the spot. Because it sounded so true.

No, in fact, it would be hard to call her sane even now. Letting out a shallow sigh, Bridget glanced at the closed common room door. As she stared down into the warm scarlet light that leaked through the crack beneath the door, she remembered the shy smile of the young nun making a baby hat.

Baby hat...................

Bridget realized that she hadn't thought of preparing baby things while she was at Breford Manor, until the nun mentioned it. She was completely unprepared for the baby.

That's why my child left me.

A baby wouldn’t want a mother like that, so it left. It was all her fault. She wasn't good enough. She was greedy without deserving it.

Bridget crossed the hallway in silence. Her arms still wrapped around her flat stomach.

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