Constance Harding was a beautiful girl her short life ended in disaster she was a house maid in the early days adored by the household and master. They blamed it on a horrible accident so were the findings of the court she was barely eighteen and a half that day cut down by the Lords bloody sport. The lord of the Manor Sir Henry Folds was a chip of the old block they said his Father before him was a ruthless man at an early age he too was dead. Constance was in charge of the hunts catering it was her task to feed all the guests even although personally she loathed blood sports or the hunting of animals, or tests. She left the halls early to get to the lodge the party was due in one hour cooks prepared a banquet fit for a King expertly cooked with fruit and flour. The table prepared, the food was superb Sir Henry nodded to Constance in awe you could see he was keen on her from that day no complaints or finding a flaw. The feelings were not mutual, Constance was happy with her fellow working in the stables the guests had arrived, sat at their place looking tiny amidst the long tables. After the meal the guests slowly left nodding approval for a very fine meal some loading doggy bags being discreet with food or anything they could steal! Sir Henry beckoned Constance to join him for a while as he sat adjacent the huge burning fire his passion was kindled fuelled by bottles of wine knowing what in his heart he desired. Constance paced along the long-floored hall so slow he thought she may have stopped Sir Henry became impatient and gestured to Constance tiredness made her head flopped. She knew what was coming, it was a certainty she thought but she always managed to escape dawned in her uniform, her cheeks bright red over her arm was her massive black cape. Sir Henry offered her a glass of red wine Constance refused with a smile he began right away telling her how much he loved her she had obviously known for a while! not taking no for an answer Sir Henry was determined he tried to force her with his charms Constance pulled her head away but he locked her in a grip in his arms. No cried the girl I do not love you tears fell down both of her cheeks I have been telling you this for a while for months for days and for weeks! Sir Henry was intoxicated not just with the wine his passion grew stronger by the second while Constance fought of his raging advances pointing to the door she nodded and beckoned. Angry and hurt by a female’s rejection he reached for a rifle on the shelf if I cannot have you then no man will at first, pointing the gun at himself! still fuelled by rage with a sweating brow he pointed the gun at the door shouting profanities his rage was on fire with feelings rejected and sore. He shot at the door but missed by a mile as Constance fell hard to the floor the rage turned to tears as he looked down upon her body lying limp at the door. Constance died within seconds of the shot Sir Henry took her body to the field his status and respect would be tarnished by this and his fate would probably be sealed. The inquest declared a shooting accident no witnesses to say otherwise no dna or Police equipment available so, the result was not a surprise. At the funeral faces were ashen for a girl who was idolized and adored Sir Henry stood at the back of the crowd his status and position restored. Constance died at a young age for sure whilst Sir Henry lived to a ripe old age haunted by a secret he had kept for years for one night of passion and rage. This poem is fictional and does not relate to anyone.