Anne was no fool. She knew that even if she could convince Mary that Magnus had hurt her, she shouldn’t count on much empathy from a woman she had criticised and humiliated for years. And she had enough experience evoking genuine pity to realize that the other woman’s words and gesture were deprived of it.

Oh, she could deal with people not pitying her. She could even handle not being believed. There had been spiteful, horrid, mean people in her life who had called her a liar! It had wounded her terribly, but she had bounced back with reaffirmed victimhood.

But Mary’s absent tone sounded indifferent. If there was one reaction that made her blood boil it was indifference. At least Magnus had the decency to mistreat her.

Blinded to both strategy and consequences by a sudden flare of rage, she got up, ignoring the offered handkerchief. She turned to Mary, her face now completely changed to something the former maid might recognise from a frightful past. “Keep your pity, Mary. I see through your little act! You don’t care. You didn’t care about the consequences of your actions for me then, and you don’t care now! You just want to feel better about yourself before you die. That’s why you give me Magnus’ money now. That’s why you suddenly take an interest in your daughter now! Well, I will not dance like a puppet to your sorry tune! And I hope that at least I raised Pearl smart enough to see through your act as well! I’d rather be killed by Magnus than be humiliated by your fake pity!”

And with that, she turned and walked away. Walked. Her fashionable heels and weak ankles from giving birth to so many children (and nearly being killed by all of them) did not allow her to accelerate to the dramatic storming out pace she intended.