Page 21 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
He looked at the cover of the book, turned it over, back again, and then looked at her. “M’Lady?”
She blinked once. “That book frightened me, Garret. I’d like a different one. Please.” Her tone was soft with him, as she’d intended it, though it seemed not to make a difference.
“Aye, I’ll bring another.”
With this, he left, and she took to her meal with the same gusto as she had that morning.
As night was falling fast, she began to feel heaviness on her.
She missed her family. Sweet Papa and Mama, their everlasting nurturing of her that they gave so freely. Her sister Emily, that darling girl so full of energy and fire.
No, she thought.I will give them no more tears.
And so, she thought of Lord Oliver. And she once again recalled her dream. She pushed that out of her head as well.
It was better to recall the novel, however terrifying its contents. Yes, it was better. But it was not without wholesome merit, she thought, as she remembered the gallant Theodore secreting Isabella in a cave while he fought the mysterious knight, who was, in fact, her father.
Her belly full, her mind at rest, she began to drift off to sleep once more.
Chapter 15
The redheaded fellow with the smudge on his face was told to wait in the grand foyer at Aspendale. He shuffled from foot to foot, the letter in his hand becoming increasingly damp from the sweat of his palms.
He tried to calm himself, telling himself over and over again that, as far as any of these noble folks were concerned, he was but a courier and nothing more.
But he didn’t like the demeanour of the stout butler, who stared into his eyes, the meaty hand extended for far too long after having been denied the letter.
“No sir,” the redheaded man said. “The fellow what paid me to deliver this note told me to deliver it to Lord Stamford hisself. Told me to put it in his hands, he did. Told me not to leave till I did so, sir.”
The fat butler snarled at him and turned on his heel.
He felt diminished in this incredible house. How he would have loved to live here himself. It was with these thoughts in mind that he began to feel terribly ashamed, for there was a smudge on his face, and his clothes stunk of filth and manure. These thoughts did nothing to quell the nervousness in his limbs, which now moved as if wishing to abandon the rest of the body altogether.
“Who is this man?” said Lord Stamford, entering the room at a swift pace.
“Beg your pardon, sir, but I—” He faltered as he saw the imposing figure behind the Earl. It was none other than Constable Herrick, chief lawman of the village of Stamford.
“Out with it,” said Lord Stamford. “Can’t you see I’m a busy man?”
“Yes, sir. I have a note for you, sir. The fellow what paid me to deliver it told me I’m to hand it to you personally, sir.”
He handed the damp envelope to Lord Stamford, who took it while staring the man in the eye. The redheaded man turned away from the Earl’s gaze shamefully and settled his eyes at his own feet.
There was an audible gasp from the Earl’s throat. “It’s in our Madeline’s own hand.My dearest loves, I am being held captive by a duo that demands that you pay one thousand pounds for my release. You shall await their instructions. Do not try to contact me as it will result in my certain death. Please, my loves, do what they say! Please do not tarry. Patience is a virtue that is apt to be fatigued by exercise! Your darling Madeline.”
Lord Stamford could barely finish, as his voice wavered at the end.
“What is your name?” he said to the man.
“If you please, sir, my name’s Thompson, sir. May I go?”
“Just a moment,” said Constable Herrick. “I knew of a redheaded man by the name of Thompson. He was tried in Slough for the crime of grave robbing.”
There was a cry of shock followed by exclamations of disgust from the stout butler.
“That’ll be all, Foster,” said Stamford, who then turned to Thompson. “Are you that man?”
“No, sir!”
