Page 32 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
Patience is a virtue that is apt to be fatigued by exercise!
How true. How wise. But where had she heard it before?
Chapter 22
Lord Peter Lytton galloped ahead of his party. The hounds had ventured, thus, was he not granted the same liberties as a dog?
“There goes my illustrious older brother,” cried Lord Eric, three years his junior. “What’s the matter, brother? Afraid of a little old fox?”
Lord Peter smiled, feigning deafness to the chiding of his brother and the laughter of the other members of the hunting party. He chose instead to respond by spurring his steed, Mercury, onward toward the forest that bordered their land.
What need had he for hunting? A party of twenty men blowing bugles, running a poor creature ragged. It was as cruel as it was unfair as it was boring. To the Devil with them and their bugles!
The mighty oaks rushed past him as he rode through the woods, happy and carefree.Thisis what it is to be a free man, he thought.Submitting to the grandeur of nature, swept through it on your steed– he could ride forever on and feel nothing but increased freedom.
He and Uncle Henry argued frequently on the value of the colonies’ independence. While neither had approved, it was Lord Peter’s contention that a man could not come into his own unless he was free, however he defined the word. And America was made up of such men. And it was for that reason that he felt he could not fault them entirely.
And so, to the Devil with his father as well. His father wanted him tied like a hog to a spit? Very well, then, he’d ride on. Stop carousing in the village with common men? Have it as you wish, Father, but I’ll not slow my steed for a moment, lest I come upon an inn with a full tap and merry songs and good humour. That was freedom, he thought, not the monkish life his father wished for him.
He spurred Mercury on even more as the anger and resentment flamed within him. He heard himself cry to the beast, “Faster!” and laughed heartily as it sped.
The vegetation grew thick around him.Good, he thought.Theyshall never find me. I’m free at last.
He slowed the beast to a trot and called out, “You hear that, Father?”
His own voice fell dead upon the canopy of trees above.
“Father? Hear it? ’Tis the sound of my liberty!”
He waited for a response. He was panting. The horse foamed. He patted it. “There, boy. Good show.”
He looked around. The place was thick with brambles, and all around branches lay twisted like the ropey muscles of a giant’s neck.
He laughed, and for a long while until tears came into his eyes. “He won’t find us, Mercury. We’re free now!”
The horse trotted further into the woods. Lord Peter felt the weight sinking his heart.
It was the weight of his years upon it, and his responsibilities, and his desire to please the old Duke even though he detested everything the man stood for.
“I love my life, Mercury,” he said. “He can’t expect me to give it up.”
He slowed the horse to a stop and looked up and around.
“The dream is over, old boy. That’s all there is to it. What do you say, chap? Think we should get back before they organise a search party?”
The horse snorted and shook its head.
“Is that so? Well, I thought you were paying attention. Right, let us try to find our way back, shall we?”
Despondency weakened his limbs, and he felt himself slouching in the saddle. Yes, the dream was indeed over.
His ears pricked up at a sound. A bird?
“Whoa, boy.” The horse stopped, and Lord Peter put an ear to the air. “Yes, I hear it. A woman singing.”
And so it was. The most beautiful sound he’d ever heard in his life. Briefly, he thought of Odysseus and the sirens, and that brought a wry chuckle into his throat.
“I should lash myself to your back, old boy; how about it? Lest I’m lured to my death by that heavenly sound.”
