William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 18 April 2022

My Poetry. Constance Harding.

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.
Facebook welcome.
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