Page 73 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“This ismost unacceptable!”
Herrick shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. “Yes, M’Lord.”
“How did this happen?”
“I have a theory that it was Mr Garret who supplied the paper and ink.”
“Mr Garret? I thought he’d been incarcerated.”
“Yes, M’Lord. Hehadbeen. Until the magistrate freed him on the basis that he was naught but an unwilling accomplice. He was fined five pounds and sent on his way. I think—that is, I’m afraid, M’Lord—that Mr Johnson, the court-appointed officer down at the holding cell, was responsible for Mr Garret’s visiting Lady Elizabeth shortly after his liberation.”
Ambrose put a hand to his head. “Dear God ...”
“M’Lord, I implore you to see no fault in this officer for allowing the visit. He was ignorant of the significance. Plus, M’Lord, he happens to be my nephew.”
Ambrose looked at the man, his heart softening a touch. “Understood,” he said. “Still, I trust you yourself will deal with him?”
“Yes, M’Lord. Most assuredly.”
“Well,” said Lord Ambrose, “then here we are. And where does it leave us?”
Herrick cleared his throat. “M’Lord, if I may, I would like to offer my services once again should the need arise. You could appeal the court’s decision. If you decide to do so, I will have Lady Elizabeth rounded up and delivered post-haste. Erm, the usual fee would apply, M’Lord.”
“Of course,” said Ambrose, turning towards the fire. “You can be certain I shall visit the magistrate in the morning. And yes, your services will be required.”
Herrick bowed his head and took his leave as Ambrose paced the room.
How quickly had his good spirits been dashed? His heart now ached in his chest.
He walked over to the sideboard for another glass of sherry. Perhaps some brandy would be better. He reached for the carafe.
The pain in his heart tightened, spread across his chest, and wrenched his entire left side in an excruciating seizure.
Chapter 53
Abigail turned over in her half-empty bed, restless, her mind racing. Perhaps it was the weather. Rain was likely to come soon. She found she always slept dreadfully right before a storm.
She wished her Ambrose were there beside her. But he was happy, she mused, and deserved a man’s time of solitude. Still, she wanted his tall, lean person beside her, keeping her safe and warm.
She got up and padded over to the vanity. There was her favourite music box. She opened it, and a little ballerina turned sweetly to a tune by Handel. What was the name? Madeline would know it. She was the musical one in the family. Where had she gotten that talent? Certainly not from her, and not from Ambrose. And then there was that gorgeous voice of hers. Both her daughters had voices that soothed the soul. Madeline’s was made for music, while Emily’s was one for speaking. She found herself smiling at the thought of all her loves under one roof. She wanted them there forever. If only she could seal the place up.
She walked back to the bed, the music box playing behind her. The soft melody caressed her mind. Her lids became heavy, and soon the blessed relief that can only come from a sleep previously denied settled her.
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The glare of a candle flickered on the walls of her eyes.
“Ambrose?”
“It is I, Foster, My Lady,” the man said in tones she’d not heard from him before. “Please forgive the intrusion, but His Lordship has taken ill in the library.”
Was this a dream? How long had she been asleep?
“Foster?”
“Yes, My Lady. Please rise. His Lordship is quite ill.”
The frosted panes of dreams fell away, and she rose with a jolt, scrambling for her robe. “Ambrose? Foster, what happened?”
