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( december 19th )
They have received guests at the manor, the talk of the village goes. Socialites from the capital, Copenhageners, a different race from the people living in these parts. Do they even know what a cow looks like, or would they only recognise it by taste?
At the manor, they are served beef tenderloin in the east wing dining room, beneath the stares of the Rosengaard family. Their guests compliment the food, scorn the landscape that grew it and comment with vulgar curiosity on the portraits on the walls. We could as well be at a ball, the man laughs, pointing to a painting hanging above Caroline Becker's head. She is certainly dressed for the masquerade.
Caroline turns in her seat to see - and what she sees makes her gasp, a trembling hand clasping her mouth.
"Oh," Erik Becker chuckles, "hers is a tragic tale."