"She told me that once I finished the paintings, I should take them to the bookshop to sell, and she'd reward me well. I'm just a painter. I paint what people pay me to paint. I didn't know what any of it was for, I swear it."The moment he'd been brought in, my mother had started backing away, her face drained of color. Her lips were moving, barely making a sound. "No, it wasn't me. I didn't do this. My lord, he's lying!"The painter reached into his money pouch and pulled out a banknote and a hairpin, holding both above his head. "My lord, I never spent the silver. And she gave me this pin as part of the payment. It can prove everything."I recognized that hairpin immediately. It was a rose pin, one my mother had worn for years. Now, it was sitting in a painter's outstretched hands.My mother sank into the nearest chair and sat there, unable to utter a single word.My father looked at her with pure disgust. He walked to the writing table, picked up the quill, and wrote without
อ่านเพิ่มเติม
เข้าสู่ระบบ
