Late that evening,Harriet stared at the dressing table mirror, having already dismissed the maid who’d helped her prepare for bed.
With stiff fingers, she untied the ribbon that secured her white linen nightgown and eased it open to reveal her chest. She slowly traced the web of scars. The angry red, lumpy blotches spread from her collarbone down to the swell of one breast to the opposite side of her chest.
Sometimes, she forgot how ugly they were. She often went for days without truly looking at them. The doctor had said they’d fade with time, but they hadn’t. Not really.
She knew they could be worse. Some with burn scars were left with skin that never healed. While hers were still uncomfortable at times, they were no longer raw.
The events of that fateful afternoon were forever etched on her mind.
Harriet had hated seeing Lord Chapman belittle her mother, something he did time and again. During the two years they’d been married, her mother’s brightness had faded, smothered by his cruel remarks. The situation had worsened as time passed and soon, it seemed as if he had nothing good to say. Not to Harriet, but especially not to her mother.
Harriet couldn’t stand it. She’d hated him with everything she was. Her mother kept trying to find ways to placate him to no avail.
He’d expressed dissatisfaction with the tea cakes, and her mother had stepped out of the drawing room to request the butler bring something else. Lord Chapman had made yet another demeaning remark about his wife not hiring the proper staff and how she couldn’t do even the simplest tasks correctly.
Something inside Harriet had snapped at his words. She hadn’t been able to hold back and told him that her mother deserved happiness with a gentleman who respected and admired her.
For a brief moment, Harriet had been proud of herself for finding the courage to stand up to him. To take control.
Lord Chapman had thrown the entire pot of steaming tea at her in response.
The fabric of her gown had held the boiling liquid against her, worsening the injury. She’d jumped to her feet, crying out, the pain unbearable. It had felt as if her skin were on fire, yet she couldn’t do anything to stop it since her gown fastened at the back.
Her stepfather had remained seated, shaking his head as though disgusted by her behavior. Luckily, a maid had come to see what was wrong, and her mother soon followed. Between the two of them, they managed to unfasten the gown to peel it from her burnt flesh.
The days that followed were agony. The fabric had embedded into her skin in places. Removing the threads was torture, one no amount of laudanum had eased.
Lord Chapman had shown no remorse when her mother confronted him. “If Harriet was more respectful, I wouldn’t have been forced to react in such a manner.”
He’d told them numerous times in the days that followed that Harriet should be grateful the hot liquid hadn’t struck her face as those scars would’ve been impossible to hide.
Grateful? Never.
Her mother had been beside herself with worry and anger. Though her stepfather often spoke harshly to them, he’d never done something so terrible until that afternoon.
From what her mother told her later, Lord Chapman resented the time she spent tending Harriet. His angry voice had echoed through the house on more than one occasion, disturbing Harriet’s restless sleep. But Harriet hadn’t been able to do anything to protect her mother while still recovering.
Nearly three weeks passed before Harriet had been able to rise from bed for any length of time. She’d reduced the doses of laudanum she’d been taking to ease the pain, determined to regain her strength.
The doctor had encouraged her to try to walk when the pain was bearable, so she walked along the corridor a few times each day.
Unfortunately, Lord Chapman had caught her at the top of the stairs one evening before she returned to her room. He’d accused her of pretending the injuries were worse than they were.
Harriet hadn’t bothered to answer, her mind still muddled from the laudanum and the sleepless nights she’d endured.
Lord Chapman had grabbed her as she’d tried to brush past him and tore at the bandages over her chest. His actions had reopened the healing wounds, reigniting the pain. She’d been so frightened that he’d hurt her again.
She shoved him, intent on escaping.
Her mother came upon them as her stepfather tumbled backward down the stairs, striking his head.
The sight of his lifeless body at the foot of the stairs was one she’d never forget. Guilt swept over her and threatened to take her under along with the pain.
Her mother rushed her back to her room and sent a servant to fetch the doctor, though the butler checked Lord Chapman and said he was beyond help.
Whether any servants had witnessed the scene was unclear. Her mother said there was no need to ask them since it had been an accident. She’d had Harriet repeat that several times while they waited for the doctor.
Harriet re-tied the ribbon, willing the memories to fade despite knowing the past would remain with her forever just like the web of scars across her chest.