Page 41 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Don’t,” cried Lady Emily, holding out an arm as if to summon him back with a gesture.
“I’m sorry, Lady Emily,” he said, and walked briskly out.
Emily turned to her parents. “You see what you’ve done with your rash decision? You’ve rent this family in two!”
“That’ll be all, child,” Mama said sternly.
Emily let out a growl of frustration. Fear and rage roiled within her, and she stormed out of the room and up to her bedroom, where she flung herself upon the bed, buried her face in her pillow, and wept until numbing despair overtook her.
She lay unable to move, her mind blank with hopelessness.
Then, a spark of something. What was it? She sat up, her mind beginning to roll into motion once more.
There was something in that first note Madeline had sent.
If it was indeed Madeline who’d written it at all ...
Chapter 30
Lord Peter had been looking forward to a sumptuous dinner, but the strange note – if one could call it that – was swallowing up his appetite with distraction.
He entered the dining room alone, the gong not having rung yet. He needed time to think. The note seemed to have been clipped from a book. But whatever its origin, its placement in the confines of his pocket could only have been made by Madeline.
Lord Peter understood himself well and knew that for all his bleatings of love, he hardly knew the girl. He knew he was in love with the mereideaof being in love, and so sought to apply it to any sort of fancy he felt for any member of the fair sex.
And why shouldn’t he? All of life was a piece of succulent fruit to be savored. There was beauty in all of them. What was love if not a desire to apply oneself in total commitment to the exploration of what lay beneath the surface of that beauty?
His father would call him irresponsible. What did the old man know, really?
He smiled at the thought of his own rakishness. Yes, he had something of the rake in him. He had no regard for the label. It was a word employed only in the service of negating one’s own boredom with life. And so, in the eyes of such a bored person, anyone who enjoyed life was a rake. Yes, it made complete sense. Father did not, nor would he ever, understand.
He began to feel better, his stomach relaxing to a point where it was free to annoy him with a growl. Now, the mystery of the note in the pocket was just that – a mystery, and a keen one at that. It added some spice to his attraction to the girl. She didn’t seem like a captive. She was an ordinary maid to a Lord and Lady who’d fallen on hard times. That was all.
The peel of the dinner gong resounded throughout the great hall just outside. His brother, Lord Eric, entered upon the instant.
“Crikey, you’ve beaten me here, you rascal,” he said jovially.
“Oh, I happened to be in here. Fear not, dear brother, your title of reigning champion of the dining room has gone unchallenged.”
“Thank heaven for that. At any rate, I thought the damned thing would never ring.”
Peter smiled as he watched his brother prepare two drinks at the sideboard.
“Do you think Dickinson sneaks the stuff when we’re not around?” said Eric. “I mean, it makes no difference to me whether he does. The old boy is entitled. He works hard enough. If I had a boss like Father, I’d sneak it whenever possible.”
“Eric, can we talk for a moment?”
“Everything alright?”
“Oh, quite. That is, I think so. Do you remember when I went off on my own during the hunt?”
“You’re just lucky Father wasn’t there to witness it. Have no fear, Peter, for the right sum, I’ll be happy to keep it between us.”
“I’ll have you know,” said Peter, “I came upon a most curious situation in my wanderings.”
Eric handed him a tumbler. “Do tell.”
Peter sipped. “There was nothing terribly strange about it outright, but, I don’t know, something has transpired since that has made me reconsider.”
