Rose Manor- Part 2

The day Wendy Hugh discovered the crying baby on her street, was one of her most memorable, yet worst moments. Since the neighbours had begun discussing the woman, Victoria Black, who lived in the long since deserted mansion- everyone had forgotten who she used to be, what the house used to be. But Wendy had been pressured so often, that, by now, she too had forgotten and begun to associate Victoria Black, not with the charming and beauteous Rose Manor that seemed so long ago now- but instead with the murders and fears that haunted the small frightful village and plagued its nightmares.

Her inconspicuous home was only a few houses away from the dreadful manor and none of her close friends would let her forget it.

It was that afternoon- while she had been hounding her two sons, John and Peter- her oldest, John named after his father-, to refrain from skipping through the kitchen whilst she baked the birthday cake for her young nephew- that she had been nipping outside to subtly conceal the boys’ toys from sight of the ever-judging neighbours. When a peculiar sound had diverted her attention. Twisting her torso to make sense of the cause, she caught sight of a small wicker basket laid carefully by the road. Curiously stepping forward to investigate, she gasped and almost fell backward when she saw its contents. Covering her gaping mouth with her dainty fingers- lightly dusted with white flour- she gingerly approached the basket again, to certain her shock. And her now wide eyes had not mistaken her, for a barely month-old baby did lay, crying erratically, inside the small wicker basket. Reaching for the delicately folded note laid upon the baby’s blanket covered feet, the elegant, if slightly rushed ink writing, read:

To Whom It May Concern, this may be one of the hardest things I have ever had to do, abandon my only baby daughter to the mercy of the residents of Grenwich. Care for her, is my desperate plea to you, and never let her know of her true origin- which was of Victoria Rose Black. My babe can no longer hold her faith and hope upon me, for I can no longer bestow such luxury upon her. So please accept her and protect where I no longer could. Her name is Anne-Rose Black.

Yours, V. Black

Such a compassionate act of gracious humanity occurred that starry night, as Wendy Hugh carried the innocent, vulnerable little baby back into her home. But there was none to see it, save a tall, selfish woman who was known around the town as Mrs Spritt, an extremely prejudiced religious woman who destroyed people with her viscous gossip. And she had witnessed everything happen from Victoria Black leaving the baby by the side of the road, in more tears than her child, to Wendy Hugh cradling the baby in her arms as she returned into her home. Alas the malicious twinkle in her eye and the hushed curse under her breath at the incredible act of blasphemy before her, told the sparrow in the crisp-leafed hedge beside her (the only other body present) that they were not to be the only ones who had discovered the evil secret of No. 24, Hugh House.