Page 122 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Another gasp rose, this time more intense.
“You heard correctly. My friends, love has bloomed between Oliver and Emily, while at the same time, love has also bloomed for Madeline and Lord Peter Lytton, Duke of Briarmere. Both my daughters have agreed that love is more important than a marriage of convenience. They have realised this naturally and beautifully. And they do me honour by their example, as the men they are marrying do me honour. And so, dear friends, I wish to announce that today, our dear Lady Madeline will today become Duchess of Briarmere.”
Lord Stamford took in the applause, feeling his heart swell with pride and affection. He was truly happy on this day.
Chapter 84
One more problem emerged that day.
It happened when Madeline was looking at herself in the mirror in her room. She felt more alive than ever and couldn’t wait for the ceremony to begin.
She gave a twirl, watching the hem of her gown fan around her, and began to sing a lovely song. No more sad songs, she thought. Never again.
Lisbelle came charging in. “He’s done it! I knew he’d do it. Always been trouble. Ever since I came to work here I knew he’d be trouble whenever he came ’round.”
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“Your Uncle Roger; that’s what it is.”
“Uncle Roger?”
“He’s done it. I knew he would.”
“What has he done?”
Lisbelle folded her arms. “Your Uncle Roger has gone and talked the ear off poor Reverend Silliman.”
“It is a wedding, Lisbelle. You can’t begrudge Uncle Roger for talking to the officiant.”
Lisbelle gave a sarcastic smile. “Can’t I? I went downstairs to see if I was needed at all before the ceremony began. You know how it is, M’Lady. I wanted to be sure because once that ceremony begins, I might as well be vanished like a banshee at dawn to them downstairs. I am here to help you, to be your third and fourth arms, M’Lady.”
“Lisbelle,” Madeline said sharply, “please get to the point.”
“I was only saying, M’Lady, that I went downstairs to see if they needed me for anything at all, and wouldn’t you know it, there’s the vicar himself, sitting on a chair in the servants’ hall, nursing ...” She looked behind her, then leaned in and whispered, “drunkenness.”
“The vicar? Drunk?” said Madeline.
“As sure as I’m standing here sober as a saint, he was.”
“Oh dear.”
“You said it, M’Lady. And it was all your Uncle Roger’s fault. Oh, I could strangle him with my bare hands for it, too.”
“But what did he have to do with it?”
“What? Everything! M’Lady, your Uncle Roger went and talked the poor vicar’s ear off for a good half hour, telling him about the five Frenchmen and all that blarney. Well, the poor vicar, with nothing to do but stand there and listen, was too polite—too good a man, that vicar, for his own good—he was too polite to up and leave, saying, ‘Pardon me, Uncle Roger, but I don’t care five figs for your five Frenchmen.’ No, the vicar was too polite for that.”
“Oh dear,” Madeline said again. “I think I know where this is going.”
“I’ll bet you do, M’Lady, for it wasn’t a ten minutes listening to old Uncle Roger pumping his hot breath into the ether when the vicar decided he’d better lighten the load with a little Champagne. Well, the not being a man who drinks often, exceptin’ the sacrificial wine or what have you, the vicar soon fell under the spell of the sparkling muse, as my mum used to say, and was drunk as a sailor in no time at all. And it’s all your Uncle Roger’s fault, it is!”
“Oh, Lisbelle, what are we to do?”
“We’re to wait a little longer. That’s all we can do. There ain’t another vicar for ten or twenty miles as the crow flies. They’re pouring coffee into him downstairs, don’t you worry, but it’ll be some time before the wedding.”
“I’d better talk to Peter,” said Madeline.
“Talk him outta strangling your uncle before I get a chance to stick my thumbs in his neck.”
