The Neighbour Revealed the Groom’s Secret, and I Got My Revenge
Edward was walking towards the gate of his cottage in the outskirts of York, his arm linked with a stranger.
“Edward, hello!” called out his neighbour, Margaret Wilkins, peering over the fence. “And who’s this with you?”
“Morning, Mrs Wilkins!” Edward grinned. “I’ve decided to wed. Brought my future wife, Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth worked tirelessly in the cottage garden, and Edward kept pace with his beloved. One afternoon, while he was away in the city, Margaret leaned over the fence.
“Fancy a cuppa, neighbour?” she asked with a sly look.
“I’d love one,” Elizabeth nodded.
She spent nearly two hours at Margaret’s and returned just before Edward arrived.
“You seem deep in thought,” he remarked.
Elizabeth only smiled. She already knew the truth.
“Edward! Who’s this, then?” Margaret didn’t bother hiding her curiosity as she eyed his companion.
Edward, steadying the woman beside him, squinted.
“Always on watch, Mrs Wilkins? Getting married, I am. This is Lizzie, my future missus. Big cottage, wanted to see if she could handle it.”
“Elizabeth, is it?” Margaret nodded. “Lovely name. Edward here’s quite the catch—handy, hardworking. You staying long or just the season?”
“Stop meddling,” Edward waved her off, opening the gate for Lizzie.
“Come for tea sometime, Lizzie!” Margaret called after them, laughing.
“Odd woman,” Elizabeth murmured as they entered the house. “What did she mean, ‘just the season’?”
“Don’t mind her,” Edward dismissed. “Folks round here hire help for the summer—she just blurts things out. Simple, that one. And the worst gossip in the village.”
The house gleamed, only a fine layer of dust settled from the winter. Elizabeth admired the tidy curtains, embroidered tablecloth, and delicate napkins. The kitchen bore linen towels with intricate stitching.
“Did you do all this yourself?” she asked.
“Not a chance,” Edward chuckled. “Before you, there were others trying to catch me. I’m a handsome, single man—women threw themselves my way. But I waited for you. And here you are!”
Elizabeth blushed. Edward was indeed striking—well-built, silver streaking his thick hair, a roguish twinkle in his eye. Not to mention his city flat and countryside cottage.
They’d met at York’s weekly market. Edward was eyeing raspberry saplings while Elizabeth searched for parsley seeds for her windowsill.
“Buy three, love—I’ll give you a discount,” the vendor urged.
“What would I do with that many?” she laughed. “I’m alone—one’s plenty.”
“Got a patch going spare at my cottage,” Edward winked. “Fancy joining forces?”
“And what would your wife say?” Elizabeth teased, studying him. Stylish, handsome, clearly older.
“Widower,” he sighed. “But you’ve warmed this old heart.”
That was the beginning. A week later, Edward confessed:
“Lizzie, I’ve never felt so at ease. Don’t want to part ways. I’m off to the cottage for the summer. Fancy joining me? We’ll commute together—it’s not far.”
Elizabeth agreed.
“Why not? The kids are grown, only call when they want money. No husband, not even a cat. Maybe this is fate?”
At the cottage, they soon dropped formalities. Edward’s talk of marriage thrilled Elizabeth—and amused Margaret.
All summer, Elizabeth tended the plot—rows flourished, tomatoes and cucumbers ripened in the greenhouse, weeds stood no chance. Edward dug, fetched water, chopped firewood. To outsiders, they seemed a harmonious couple.
Then one day, while Edward was in town, Margaret called out:
“Coming for tea? Or has Edward forbidden it?”
“Why would he?” Elizabeth frowned. “I’ll come.”
She returned pensive, just before Edward arrived.
“What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“Just thinking how hard it is to lose someone,” she replied, meeting his gaze. “They’re here one day, gone the next.”
“Enough of that,” Edward brushed her off. “If you mean my late wife, that’s long past. Now I’ve got you—don’t know what I’d do without you!” He hugged her and winked.
Weeks passed, the harvest thrived—berries, carrots, tomatoes. But Edward’s mood soured. He nitpicked over trifles; the wedding talk ceased.
“Why’d you leave the greenhouse open?” he grumbled one morning.
“Edward, it’s warm nights—the crop would scorch!” she protested.
“Since when are you the expert?” he snapped. “As if you’ve gardened before! Parsley on a sill hardly counts!”
“That’s unfair,” she said sharply. “My parents had an allotment—I know what grows how. If you prefer, I won’t touch a thing.”
“Alright, alright,” he relented. “But check with me. Speaking of—can you make jam? Berries won’t keep.”
Elizabeth nodded, thinking: *Here it comes.* While she stirred bubbling fruit, Edward was charm itself. Yet once the jars were shelved, the carping resumed. She began planning how to claim her share before leaving empty-handed.
“Edward, what’s going on?” she confronted him.
He opened his mouth to retort—then his phone rang. His expression shifted: shock, then fear.
“What is it?” she asked.
“They’re draining my accounts!” he gasped, scanning alerts. “The bank’s calling—I must reset the password!”
“Edward, it’s scammers!” she warned. “Don’t give the code—you’ll lose everything!”
“Since when are you the expert?” he sneered.
“I mean it—don’t say it!”
“Mind your business!” he barked. “Go pick tomatoes.”
She stepped away. Hearing him recite digits, she shook her head. A moment later, a howl echoed:
“Thieves!”
Edward sat crimson-faced, panting.
“You knew!” he roared. “You’re in on it! They’ve cleaned me out—my car savings!”
“I warned you,” she said coolly. “But you thought me a fool.”
“It’s worse! They took out a loan!” he groaned. “How will I repay that?”
“How much?”
He named a sum. Manageable for her—but she wouldn’t hand it over lightly. Recalling Margaret’s words, she saw her chance.
“I’ll cover the loan,” she said evenly. “But you’ll sell me the cottage for that price.”
“Are you mad?” he spluttered. “It’s worth thrice that!”
“Best of luck then,” she shrugged. “By the time you find a buyer, interest will pile up—bank’ll take the flat too.”
She was bluffing, but Margaret’s revelation had sealed it: *You’re decent, Lizzie. Edward’ll never wed. For years he’s brought lonely women here, promised marriage, worked them all summer, then picked fights and sent them packing. He’s played you. Time he got his comeuppance.*
“Well? Selling or am I leaving?” She hefted a basket of vegetables.
“Add a bit more!” he pleaded.
“Goodbye,” she turned.
“Fine! Done!” he spat.
At the solicitor’s, papers were signed. At the bank, she settled the debt. Back at the cottage, she packed Edward’s things, leaving a basket of veg and a jam jar—*for old times’ sake*. She changed the locks, knowing he might return.
“Tea at mine, Lizzie?” Margaret called, eyeing the new bolt.
“Better you come to me,” Elizabeth smiled. “We’ll celebrate—I’m the mistress now!”
