Page 63 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“As good as can be.”
“Are you well enough to receive a visitor?”
“I suppose so,” she said, straightening herself up as best as she could.”
“Very well. A Lord Peter Lytton to see you.”
The name sent a shiver through her.
“Oh,” said Lisbelle from her ever-present perch in the corner, “you may send him straight up, Mr Foster.”
“I was asking Lady Madeline ifshewere well enough to receive a visitor.”
“It’s perfectly fine, Foster. Please, send him up.”
Lisbelle sprang up as if shocked out of her seat and began fluffing the pillows beneath Madeline’s head.
“Do I look alright, Lizzy?”
“You look absolutely fetching, M’Lady, but let’s just get this hair less of a tangle then.” She grabbed a silver-handled brush off the vanity table and worked it several times through Madeline’s hair.
“Ouch! Lizzy, your touch is brutal!”
“A little pain in service of beauty, M’Lady, nothing more. There, fit to receive the Regent himself.” She perched herself in her corner seat and picked up her knitting.
A moment later, Foster entered the room, stately as ever. “Lord Peter Lytton, M’Lady.”
Lord Peter entered, his hat in his hand. She’d only just noticed now that he sported thick sideburns the same colour as the hair on his head—a rich, sandy brown. Decked out in morning attire, with black tailcoat and breeches and boots, he looked as though he could pass for an expert sportsman.
“You’re staring at my attire,” he said. “Allow me to explain. I am to lead a hunting party later on this morning as a beginning to an official welcome home celebration for Father. We’re meeting on my cousin’s estate, and I thought I’d stop by and see how you were faring.
“Most kind of you. I am as well as can be. It’s funny. It was as if some unknown force of nature kept my body and mind sound for my time in captivity. Once that force realised that I was safe, it saw fit to allow my body to crumble.”
“Are you that ill?”
“Of course she’s ill,” chimed Lisbelle. “What kind of question is that?” Her eyes widened as if she’d just realised her impertinence. She swallowed hard. “Forgive me, M’Lord. I’ve had a tiring week.”
“It’s nothing, Lisbelle. You have a patient to look after.”
Madeline noticed something tucked beneath the man’s arm. “You have ... a book?”
“Ah, yes.” He withdrew the volume and showed it to her.
She tried in vain to read it. “I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid my eyes have weakened along with the rest of me.”
“No matter,” he said, holding the cover in front of his face. “It says,The Monk: A Romance in Three Volumes,by Mister M.G. Lewis esquire.” His face changed, and he looked at her. “Would you like for me to read it to you?”
“You’ll miss your party!”
He laughed. “I did not intend to read it entirely through in one go.”
“Silly girl,” said Lisbelle.
“Yes,” said Lord Peter. “I shall read you some. Are you comfortable?” He pulled up a chair for himself. “Now then, let’s begin. Lisbelle, are you paying enough attention?”
“Oh, dear me,” Lisbelle said, flushing.
He cleared his throat and began to read. His voice was mellifluous and grand as he did. Madeline lay back on her pillow, her eyes gently closed, taking his narration in like it was some enchanting melody.
