Page 92 of The Curious Story of the Missing Lady
“Get up!” she’d shout. “Lancelot is in trouble!”
Lancelot was her suitor, you see.
And off we’d go to find her man with sword held aloft, and we’d cheer him on as he fought the vicious dragon that guarded the gold in the castle dungeon.
As it happened—as these things happen often—I grew tired of this game after a few days. It is a keen difference between Madeline and me that she was always able to perpetuate these little fantasies of ours, while I would grow incredibly bored of them in no time at all. I was surprised I lasted this far!
Upon awakening me to deal with a fresh crisis, I yelled at my sister. “Leave me alone,” I said. All I wanted to do was to entertain my dreams. For it was there in that world that I was sole mistress and not subject to the dictates of my older sister.
In an effort to cajole me into following her on her latest quest, she decided to put my dear Percival in jeopardy this time.
“Wake up, Emily!” she screamed. “It’s Percival! He’s charging into battle without his armour!”
“You go and bring it to him,” I said. “Let me sleep.”
“But I can’t bring it to him,” she shouted, “he’s your man!”
“Not anymore,” I said sleepily. “Now, he’s yours. And you can have him.”
Well, dear Diary, you have to have seen it to believe it. Madeline was silent for a moment, and then shook me to full wakefulness.
“Lancelot is mine,” she said in that assertive tone that I know so well. “Percival is yours.”
“No,” I said calmly. “We shall switch.”
Well, up to that point, I had never seen such rage from my sister. The tantrum she threw was something the Devil himself would be proud of.
This is what I recalled today. My dear Madeline, taking the fantasy to such great heights of detail. I could only acquiesce and tell her that, yes, indeed, it was all a joke, of course Percival is mine and Lancelot belongs to you.
I sometimes think my sister has never forgotten that sleight, and that it comes to mind whenever she finds herself ill at ease with her situation.
Ethan Powell is expected for dinner tomorrow night. Dear Ethan, I do love him. Pity such a man will never be a match for me.
Lord Oliver is expected as well. Another man whom, alas, the fates have decided to withhold from me. The bitterest woman in the Old Testament should have such troubles!
Supper was delicious. My belly is full and settled. And tonight is a fine night for dreaming. Now, to bed.
Chapter 65
Of all of the wives of the landed gentry in England, it seemed Mama had the reputation of being the foremost hostess of festive occasions. Madeline could not help feeling the rush of excitement that pervaded the house like a thick perfume. They had consulted with a solicitor on Papa’s behalf and were secure in the notion that they had done all they could do regarding the charge of fraud against him. They vowed as a family that they would put all that woe aside and celebrate Papa’s return to health in true Aspendale style.
The bustle that ensued on the morning of the party was something Madeline had not seen in many a month. Was someone playing some sort of joke on her, not telling her that it was in fact the Regent Himself who was visiting and not a small circle of Papa’s closest friends and family?
Foster barked orders left and right. She approached the man as she would a cage holding some ferocious beast.
“Foster?”
The man spun around, wide-eyed and red-faced, ready to bark another order. Upon the instant of seeing it was Lady Madeline he was about to send down to the scullery to ensure that the silver was polished to gleaming perfection, his face underwent the most startling transformation.
“Oh, Lady Madeline, yes,ahem, what is it I can do for you?”
“Foster, all this fuss for but a few of father’s friends?”
“It is Her Ladyship’s wishes that Aspendale be presented at its most glorious for the occasion, M’Lady, and I for one will not contradict her wishes.”
“Oh, Foster, I did not mean to imply that you would do anything of the sort. I just thought it a bit odd to have ... well ... all this ...” She held out her hands to indicate the wreaths and garlands of green strewn about the walls.
“Again, Her Ladyship’s wishes. She fancies the air of a grove to suggest ... vitality.”
