Page 43 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“My dear Lady Emily,” he said warmly, “what brings you here?”
Lady Emily rose quickly. “First, to beg your forgiveness for the way I behaved yesterday.”
“I assure you there’s no need to apologise. It was perfectly understandable.”
“It was perfectly unladylike, is what it was, and I apologise just the same.”
“In that case, you are, of course, forgiven.”
“Second,” she said, her hands kneading nervously before her, “I want to apologise for Papa. He’s been in constant worry as of late. I’m afraid the ‘heat of pressed brain’, as our Shakespeare put it, has begun to distort his thoughts most terribly.”
“I cannot say I disagree with his actions when you put it that way. But I can say that I believe you and I are of one mind when it comes to Madeline.”
“You are correct,” she said, brightening. “And that is why I am here. I need your help.”
“Anything, Emily.”
She began to pace the room as she spoke. “The situation is this. When Papa received the first note from Madeline, ostensibly written in her hand—”
“Ostensibly?”
“Yes,” she said. “Please allow me to finish. And you’d better sit down.”
“Apologies. Please continue,” he said, taking a seat in the Smith armchair across from Lisbelle.
“Yes, the letter appeared to be in her hand, but something about it has been eating at me. It sounded like Madeline, and yet it didn’t.”
He tilted his head. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
She paced over to Lisbelle. “Lizzy dear, the book, please.”
Lisbelle reached into a bag at her feet, extracted a large volume, and handed it to Emily.
“The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling,” said Emily. “It’s a book I loved once, so much so that I recommended it to Madeline wholeheartedly. Well, you know how sisters can be.”
He chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Oliver, there are many forces at work on a sisterly relation. There is love, of course, but there is also jealousy, spite, and various forms of animosity that rise and fall like waves. One moment, sisters are the best of friends. The next moment, they are deadly enemies. Such is the way. I don’t mean to say there isn’t a bond between sisters. There most certainly is, and it can withstand gales that would fell whole forests. But when sisters are at each other’s throats, there is a world of fire at the ready, and let no one come too close to it. You would do to remember that, Oliver, when the day comes that you join this family forever.”
“I shall, but what does this have to do—?”
“The book? I’m getting to that. This complicated relationship between my sister and I at one point took the form thus: Madeline would not embrace anything that I liked, and vice-versa. If one of us loved raspberry jelly for pudding, the other would despise it, even if the contrary was true.”
Oliver shook his head and chuckled again. It was most confusing, this relationship, and yet, it was enigmatic enough to be a form of exotica worth exploring further.
“And so,” continued Emily, “when the day came that I recommended she readTom Jones, she naturally declined, and declined ever more adamantly the more I pressed it on her.”
“I think I’m beginning to see,” he said, though it was partially a lie.
“Here, I want you to take a look at this,” she said, thumbing through the pages of the volume. She evidently found the page and quickly sidled up to him.
He rose to meet her. She was close enough that he smelled the sweet jasmine that came off her. It made his collar strangely warm to notice it.
“Read this here,” she said, pointing to a line.
He squinted at the text. “But herpatiencewas perhapstiredout, for this is avirtuewhich is veryapt to be fatigued by exercise.”
He looked up at her. She was smiling expectantly.
